Gold. A Dutch-Indian story for English people

Front matter

Lane's Library THE BODLEY HEAD Gold Copyrighted in the United States All rights reserved GOLD A DUTCH-INDIAN STORY FOR ENGLISH PEOPLE By Annie Linden LONDON : JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD NEW YORK : THE CENTURY COMPANY, CONTENTS PAGE Chapter i. ....... i Chapter ii. . • .21 Chapter hi. ....... 38 Chapter iv. ...... 49 Chapter v. ....... 65 Chapter vi 79 Chapter vii. .... 95 Chapter vih. • .118 Chapter ix. . . ■ • • J3S Chapter x. ...... 147 Chapter xi 162 Chapter xn Contents VIII PAGE Chapter xiii. . . . . . 199 Chapter xiv. ...... 216 Chapter xv. ...... . 239 Chapter xvi. . . . . . . .257 Chapter xvii. . . . . . .272 GOLD

Chapter I

In a quiet angle of the Keizersgracht, in Amsterdam, stands a tall narrow house, that looks as if it had out-grown its strength, for it leans forward from its neighbours, and its carved door and bril liantly white window-frames are too high and too narrow for comfort or beauty. Yet this gawky building has a "home look," its gabled roof is faced with bulg ing stone "horns of plenty," its brick walls are glistening with linseed oil ; a seat is placed invitingly at right angles with the front door, which is reached by spotless grey stone steps, whilst its polished door bell is a testimony to Dutch cleanliness. Rosy -cheeked children often romp in and out of this queer old house ; some times a grave, grey-eyed man brings them, sometimes a beautiful woman, who A Gold 2 often tenderly scolds the dear old lady that she always finds sitting by the window "for not coming to live with Jan."

But she knows, does this dear old lady, that many a poor creature would miss her sadly if she changed her abode ; for many a sad woman would not dare to seek her in a grand new house, many a little child would turn sick with fear at the sight of that deserted window corner. She knows that when it is cold, and the gulls sweep round the trees, even the bargemen glance up eagerly at the house as they force their way between the drift ice. And these bargemen know, too, that if a certain old head is still to be seen bobbing over her knitting at the narrow window, they will surely find a friendly ear in which to pour their winter troubles of empty stomachs and cold limbs. Often — for it is a frail old head that cannot nod the morning into afternoon so much longer — they wonder dumbly what they would do if the " Old One " were dead; suppose the ice thickened in the night, and kept them lying at that gull haunted quay for weeks?

How their chil- Gold 3 dren would cry with cold without the " Old One's" knitted stockings, and how much more bitter that cold would feel, with naught but the memory of the " Old One's" fragrant soup and invigorating coffee ! Think, too, if little Willem had carved those tiny wooden shoes too late ; it would be pitiful to watch him quietly crying in the stuffy cabin because the " Old One " was dead, and would never know that he was grateful for the crutches she had given him. Poor boatmen ! with your sordid cares, may Death long forget that venerable lovely life ! May God long spare this " Old One " for you, and all who love her! But this story is not of you nor your sorrows. Neither is it to laud the Dorcas-like deeds of the "Old One." But this old lady is our hero's aunt Tilly, and the quaint Dutch house is the home of his youth.

"Indian people" are not much liked in Amsterdam, but Jan van Riemskerk's father was an exception to this rule. Amsterdam society courted him, for was he not the head of the Amsterdam branch Gold 4 of the old family, Van Riemskerk! and had not his grandfather declared himself to be too proud of his good historical name to accept a new-fangled title of nobility ? He had money too, which, said Amster dam, "was an excellent thing for the family." Amsterdam forgot entirely that she had called this very man hard names for deserting her to seek that money. Had he rotted away in a far land, of poverty and despair, Amsterdam would have whispered, "Serve him right. Why couldn't he stay at home 'with us' and live as his fathers have lived before him ? " But when he returned, his for tune huge, and his liver huger, Amster dam forgave him at once, accepted his fortune, and deplored his liver.

Nevertheless, Mr Van Riemskerk was not grateful for the smiles of society. He lived quietly in his grandfather's old house with his sister, Matilda, and his only son, Jan, and he enjoyed his quiet hour at the club before dinner better than all the entertainments of Amsterdam. Every now and again he did a duty Gold 5 round of visits on a Sunday afternoon, and three or four times during the winter he gave a large ponderous dinner party, where the wines were varied oftener than the subjects of conversation. What gave him true pleasure were his cosy little dinners of five or six, when he served the soup at the head of his table, and his gentle sister sat opposite to him, then his son Jan, and the favoured few saw him at his very best. He told them of his life in Java, of his speculations and adventures, and if he were long-winded sometimes, well, the wine was good enough to sit over, and no officious footmen whisked away the plates.

The old man-servant knew better than to hurry anyone, and took so much in terest in each newly -opened bottle, that the guests knew they were expected to enjoy it, and welcomed the conver sational powers of their host as an opportunity given to them to enjoy it slowly. Jan loved his father dearly, and, what is unusual in sons, understood him. Know- Gold 6 ing how the old man spent hours and hours in his study poring over the literature of a dead world, he could un derstand why "Indian life" had never bored him. Indeed, his father had ac quired a vast amount of knowledge in Java. Sometimes the student was so absorbed in his researches that he had a dreamy look all day long; walking or eating, his thoughts were in the entrancing pages; his desires centred on solitude. Jan knew better then than to babble Am sterdam news or Bourse scandals.

He took care that his father did not forget to eat and drink, and he got him out to see the sunsets from the high bridges that span the canals, and to fill his cramped lungs with such air as there was. Then, as the pressure of concentra tion lessened, he would remind him of his club, and so things would become nineteenth century again. But Jan had not always been at home : his father had wished to make a scholar of him ; so he had studied at Utrecht, and taken high honours there. Still the Gold 7 young man had no wish to shut himself up in a study. "But, father," he would often say, " one learned member of the family is quite enough; you study with delight, not because you are told to do so, but because you have found the worth of it for yourself. Let me also go out into the world, if only to learn there that it is better to stay at home.

The Unknown attracts me. I cannot be gin where you end; I must live first." And the old man always answered, "I can't spare you, Jan, my boy; I can't spare you," and would look up wist fully at his son, his old blue eyes filled with tears, and his thin hands trembling : for Jan was very like his mother, who had died in Java when he was a baby, and the wife of a year had been tenderly loved and always remembered. " He has his mother's eyes," his father had said, when, knowing that he would never look into those eyes again, he had turned, weeping, to her child ; " He has her eyes, God bless him!" And so, for "Mother's eyes," the son had been loved from the first ; for " Mother's eyes " he Gold 8 could not be missed now : it was as though the fond wife had made this bond with her little child always to keep some tender memory of herself about the man she loved so dearly.

Therefore it came to pass that after his student days Jan stayed at home. He could just remember Java, a sort of jumbled vision of vivid green, much fruit, and sunlight. The smell of the native markets, too, and the kettle-like humming of the insects, would start into his memory, even when he was a man; and then the faithful old " Baboe " * Riapan, who had crouched at his mother's death-bed, and cared for, and spoiled him all his life, had sung him weird songs of her land, and impressed his young mind with her tales of its mighty past and glorious future; till, as he grew to manhood, India, clothed in mystery, threw her spells over him, and arising, like a beautiful goddess, lured him to her. "Why don't you send that 'Baboe' away ? She spoils Jan, and fills his * Baboe — i.e. Malay for nurse.

Gold 9 head with nonsense," the common -sense members of the Van Riemskerk family had asked Jan's father again and again. " Because she nursed my wife, and took care of my baby when everyone else failed me," was the old man's invariable reply ; and the common - sense members would shake their heads, and wonder if India had deranged poor Van Riemskerk's brain as well as his liver. So Riapan the baboe lived on the Keizersgracht till the end of her days. She mended the linen, grumbled at the cold, and spoilt Jan, and Jan learnt from her much of the folk-lore of the Dutch Indies, rich in poetry, teeming with prophecy. She told him of forgotten nations; of ruined cities built upon rocks of gold; of kings who had fallen from heaven; of healing fountains springing from pure crystal; of charmed poisons made in secret; or, as he stood spell bound at her knee, she chanted pro phecies of what India would be when her people had broken forth like the "fire mountains" and driven the white man away for ever.

Gold 10 " And yet you love me ? " little Jan would ask, "and I am white." " Yes, I love you all, all," Riapan muttered. "But though I hold you in my arms, I cannot keep you from the ' must be ' : and Allah has written that 'must be' on the sides of the mountains. There, when my people were yet great, they found it; there, it still comforts them, when, by secret ways, they go to look upon it; there, when they are again a nation, it will cry to them, that Allah has spoken ; that Allah is the Truth, the Must Be!" Riapan spoke Javanese; and the soft musical language and wailing songs sounded strange enough in that old fashioned house on the Keizersgracht. But she was dumb before visitors, and even kind Aunt Tilly could never get her to sing. "I must sing to those who can under stand," she always said.

" Dead words find dull listeners"; and then she would creep away, and go to sleep in some warm corner. When Riapan died, Jan hummed her people's songs in memory of her; and Gold 11 that good soul, Aunt Tilly, tried to be sorry that she was dead. Still, she felt it more "wholesome" for Jan to be without her. It was a comfort, too, to be able to air the linen room again in "real Dutch" style, and not to have the stuffy stove burning when no "white person" wanted it. Altogether Aunt Tilly thought it very considerate of Riapan to die when she did, and perhaps in her heart of hearts she was more thankful to the old woman for this, her last act, than for all the other deeds of her lifetime. "Poor Riapan," she sighed, as she looked from the open window to the swallows circling round the church tower, and the doves sunning themselves on the opposite gables.

" Poor old Riapan ! Still," turning to the housemaid, "death comes to us all, Grietje ! You can give away her blankets, and let us make a thorough good cleaning up here, so as to begin afresh." Mr Van Riemskerk had his office in Amsterdam. He had left a distant cousin in his Indian shoes. When Jan refused Gold 12 to turn book-worm, his father had de cided to take him into the office, and as the old student was only too pleased to let his cloak of power fall on his son's shoulders, by the time Jan was six and twenty he had the business pretty much in his own hands ; and every one knows what a fine merchant's business Riems kerk & Co. of Amsterdam does. When Jan had refused to " get know ledge," he had fallen out of his father's favour for a time, but when he saw how the boy, quietly putting aside his longings to wander, had settled to office work, taking gradually upon himself the daily worries and responsibilities of it, he loved him even better than before, for now he could dig down deeper and deeper into the past with a clear conscience; and, thanks to Jan, his closing years would be devoted to the work he loved best.

"Yes, he is a good boy," reflected the old fellow; "but that is natural, for he has his mother's eyes." One mail day brought news that Mr Van Flot, the Indian agent, was very ill, and ordered home by the doctors; the Gold 13 next day a telegram announced his death. The unexpected news quite upset old Mr Van Riemskerk, who really loved his cousin, Van Flot, and Aunt Tilly looked so pale and woe-begone that Jan sus pected some old love tale, and, with the cruelty of youth, laughed at it to himself. "Dear! dear!" said Mr Van Riemskerk, "some one must go out directly." Jan felt his heart stand still. " It had better be me," added the old man. "Think of your liver," answered Jan, trying to control his disappointment. "Think of my fiddlesticks," muttered his father. "And your book." "It is the very thing for my book, Jan ; there are several works in Java that I must refer to sooner or later; it is impossible to do without them, and the sooner I go the better.

I am old as it is, and to die without finishing my book No, I will start by the next boat." Then Jan felt that the wild hope which had sprung up in him was doomed. Gold 14 But the doctor asked Mr Van Riemskerk if he were mad. "With your liver," said he, "the tropics would be certain death ; it would be a clear case of suicide if you went." " But, doctor ! my book ! I am almost at a stand-still with it, and I hailed this chance of getting at the Indian libraries as quite providential. I would rather five five years less, and complete my work." The doctor was not so hard-hearted as to explain to the old man that it would surprise him if he lived for five years longer, anywhere ; he only answered : "Well, my good sir, I can't bind you. If you go, take your coffin with you." "Then you knock my whole scheme on the head?"

" I do, and if I could knock your literary work on the head too, I would. India is rapid death for you : study is death too, only slower. A man with your liver should take to gardening, and live in the open air." "I should be a dead man in a year!" "You may die within a year in your study." Gold 15 Mr Van Riemskerk smiled; he thought the doctor was talking nonsense. "We can both be dead before to-morrow," he answered, and rose to take his leave. "By -the -by, do you think that my son could go?" he turned back from the door to ask. "Certainly! the best thing in the world for him. A little rubbing up would do him a lot of good : he is too quiet to please me." " He thinks a great deal." " Ah ! does he ! Look at me, my friend ! You find me healthy? Well! I never think ! " And the fat, cheerful little man bowed his patient out.

Hardly seeing his way, Mr Van Riems kerk stumbled home. So it had come at last, this parting from his boy. Memories of his lost wife pressed upon him. What would she have wished about it all ? Ah ! it would have been his first act to hurry to her grave! " Seven-and-twenty years ago, seven-and-twenty years ago ; and the child has his mother's eyes," he muttered. Then he thought of the book he was writing, — could it really be that he must die before it was finished? This reflection Gold 16 was a doubly unwelcome one, after the elation he had felt at the prospect of getting speedily all the information he required for the completion of the work, and he tried to shake it off. He looked very old and helpless as he tottered along the canal. Jan overtook him and offered him his arm. He stood still for a moment clinging to it, and passing his hand backwards and forwards across his forehead.

"Aren't you well, father?" " I have had a blow, Jan. Smit won't hear of me going to India." " Ah ! father ! but does he think you are ill?" " It is the old story — my confounded liver." There was a long silence. Jan's heart was beating wildly under his prim waist coat; but he loved his father truly, and the old man's weakness touched him : it seemed heartless to talk of his own wishes just then. "I suppose you must go, Jan." "It seems the only thing to be done. " I shall miss you sadly." Gold 17 " We should have been parted just the same if you had gone, father." " Yes, but I should have hurried back to you. The old feel that they have but httle time to dawdle about in," said Van Riemskerk, thinking of his interview with Dr Smit. " Besides, you might have come with me." "And the office here?

Why, father, all would have gone to rack and ruin ! And as to hurrying back, if you once lost yourself in those old libraries and places, I fear that Aunt Tilly as well as I would have to come and dig you out, and carry you home by force ! But, believe me, if you let me go, I will do my utmost best to hunt up all you wish for. You know I am almost as much interested in the work as you are!" The poor old man smiled feebly at such sad flippancy, and answered : "I am sure, dear boy, you would do your best. I will make some notes for you, and you can rub up your Javanese; and try and pick up some Malay on the boat. You remember something of Java nese from Riapan, I suppose?" n Gold 18 And so it was settled that Jan should go to Java. His outfit was a true comfort to Aunt Tilly; she sewed her tears into his "caba jas" (Dutch - Indian sleeping jackets), and stopped weeping to wonder what sort of climate it could be which required no knitting of socks, and if her thoughts went back to a certain tobacco pouch orna mented with forget-me-nots that she had secretly worked for another Indian outfit many years ago, she kept her memories to herself; and when Jan kissed the tears off her spectacles, he flattered himself that they were all shed for him.

Old Mr Van Riemskerk neglected his study, and followed his beloved boy about the house. He produced the most curious presents for him from his own particular cupboards, where even Aunt Tilly hardly dared to rummage. Jan was often more embarrassed than charmed with these gifts. He would vastly have preferred a new revolver to his father's old pistols; and begrudged the boxroom that had to be sacrificed to what he designated in secret "a lot of old-fashioned rubbish." Gold 19 However, he accepted the offerings grace fully, even as he listened patiently to his father's oft-repeated advice. He made, also, careful notes of the books he was to seek for, and felt a languid curiosity to read the rare old works for himself, so that he determined to work hard at Malay and Javanese. Riapan's songs rang in his ears again — he might find out more than even she knew of her degraded people, in those almost sealed writings.

" How excited Riapan would have been ! " he remarked one evening, as they chatted of the approaching journey, round the old-fashioned tea table, with its handle less blue china cups and silver tea caddy. "My boy, she would have gone with you!" replied his father. Jan laughed at the idea of setting out on his adventures under the care of his old nurse; but his father shook his head, saying— "Ah, but she was a faithful soul." "We can never be too grateful for small mercies," murmured Aunt Tilly, as she poured out the tea. Gold 20 Jan thought he knew what his aunt meant, as he glanced at her over the tea cups ; but his father said : " Matilda ! What an irrelevant remark ! "

Chapter II

"Asa bird that wandereth from her nest, so is a man that wandereth from his place." — Proverbs. The day came at last when Jan was to leave his home for Java. His father and Aunt Tilly went to see him off at the station, and glad as he was to get his freedom, he felt very mournful as he stood gazing through the carriage window at the tearful old pair. Suddenly, as the train began to steam out of the station, he felt certain that he was looking at his father for the last time, and stretching out his arms he cried, "Good-bye! Good-bye!" The old man looked up at him, with love and sorrow in his tired blue eyes. " We shall meet again in Heaven, Jan ! " he said. Then Jan knew that his father had read his thoughts, and believed them. Jan had arranged to go by the Dutch mail from Genoa. Gold 22 He had often travelled before.

He and some fellow-students had taken long walking tours through Germany ; and what modern young Dutchman is there who does not know Paris and Brussels well? Still his holidays had generally been short ones, for his father missed him terribly. No one ever knew what it had cost the old man to send his curly-headed, grey eyed boy to Utrecht University; indeed, it was only his intense desire that he should become a scholar, that had in duced him to break up the dear home life, and let Jan take rooms near the college. Jan had not become exactly the man of letters that his father had hoped for; yet he was thoughtful, and well read beyond his age. With the restless ness of the young child who wants to know the name of everything he sees, Jan's busy brain was always asking "Why?" He puzzled over human suffer ing, social inequalities — all that he called " Life's unfairnesses " ; and forgetting that he had not learned to govern himself, he thought he could have arranged matters far better than the Almighty had Gold 23 done, and would have liked to set about making "a new heaven and a new earth!"

It is always a pity when a man under thirty begins to think; and Jan would have done better to enjoy hfe whilst it could be sweet to him. The truth of it was, he had been too much with his father, and (to quote St Paul) he had eaten of that "strong meat which be longeth to them that are of full age, even those who by reason of use have their senses exercised to discern both good and evil," and the result was, naturally, mental indigestion, so that nothing under the sun seemed good. And now he told himself that his one desire had turned to ashes, for his father's white face haunted him, and he feared that his absence would hasten the old man's death. Yet he believed, too, that in India some strange fate awaited him, some fate to which he had been drawn his whole life. All was changing, changing! home and country had vanished, and he was alone with those fancies that had ever danced before his eyes, like will-o'-the wisps !

Gold 24 He was delighted with Italy. He wrote home and told them how the stately palaces with their priceless pictures im pressed him, though these palaces were as rare jewels in an unworthy setting of modern Italian dirt. Aunt Tilly prized the httle evidences of love most in his letters, his vague descriptions confused her; but her brother longed to see Italy again, with his boy, yet he began also dimly to understand that it was good for that beloved son to try his wings alone. " If I could have parted with him sooner," he thought, "he might have become a scholar after aU; he would have learned the worth of all knowledge when alone with his ignorance." But the old man forgot that all knowledge is not found within book covers, nor can it be locked behind the gates of a university. Jan went out of his way to see some thing more of Italy, but at length he retraced his steps, and Genoa with its mournful palaces and tawdry churches spread out before him.

He strolled about the market-place, and Gold 25 watched the old women curiously, and the pretty ones critically. Some men were quarrelling at a corner, over a chicken, and he marvelled at the zest they took in their argument. A httle man was playing a violin outside a wine-house ; a ring of listeners around him : they ap plauded his talent, but slunk away when a dark-eyed child ran in amongst them with a shell for centesimi. " I believe," thought Jan, " that an Italian loves his cents even better than a Dutchman does. These Genoese, just now, were carried away by the music — the pure love of all that is beautiful; but when it ceased, their pleasure ceased, and then, why pay for it? A Dutchman could not have enjoyed to the same degree, but he would have felt bound to part with a cent or two in exchange for his pleasure, such as it was."

He left the town, and the huge dry bed of the river, and climbed up to the Campo Santo. He was blankly disappointed with it. Group after group of marble mourning families in frilled dresses and frock coats, revolted his Gold 26 sense of dignity and reverence. The workmanship was exquisite; the art — bad. Poor Italy! poor fallen art! he thought, as he sauntered from one grave to the other. A turn of the gallery opened before him another vista of monuments. A woman was standing at the end of it, motionless as the marble widows around her — a tall slight figure with a beautifully poised head. As he approached, Jan saw that her hair was ruddy gold, and that her face was pale, grand, and strangely set for one so young. She heard him coming, and fell on one side, that he might pass her easily. Jan tried to see what colour her eyes were, but she did not look at him; and he noticed as he turned into another gallery that her attention was again fixed upon the monument before her.

The gaUery ran round a square, and so, when Jan turned the corner, he got a view of the monument. It represented a woman — classically robed, faultlessly beautiful — seated, weary with prayer and sorrow, on the black steps of a tomb. Gold 27 After the laced-edged pillow cases, and gilded wedding rings, its perfect simpli city was a welcome eye-rest; and Jan sighed contentedly as he looked on the marble woman who told her story so superbly. For a moment she was as real to him as she who had moved out of his way; quite as real, tiU a sunbeam playing on the red gold of the live woman's hair attracted him; then he wondered again what colour her eyes were, and forgot the sorrowing marble. Which way would she walk when she did move on, or was she going to stay there all day? Jan wondered. Suddenly two little swarthy men dashed into the gallery from some side way, passed the girl with an impertinent stare, nudged each other, whispered together, turned, and, repassing her, walked down Jan's gallery.