Prologue -
Chapter 1 -
Chapter 2 -
Chapter 3 -
Chapter 4 -
Chapter 5 -
Chapter 6 -
Chapter 7 -
Chapter 8 -
Chapter 9 -
Chapter 10 -
Chapter 11 -
Chapter 12 -
Chapter 13 -
Chapter 14 -
Chapter 15 -
Chapter 16 -
Chapter 17 -
Chapter 18 -
Chapter 19 -
Chapter 20 -
Chapter 21 -
Chapter 22 -
Chapter 23 -
Chapter 24 -
Chapter 25 -
Chapter 26 -
Chapter 27 -
Chapter 28 -
Chapter 29 -
Chapter 30 -
Chapter 31 -
Chapter 32 -
Chapter 33 -
Chapter 34 -
Chapter 35 -
Chapter 36 -
Chapter 37 -
Chapter 38 -
Chapter 39
A few days afterwards the young Stern and Frits visited a book sale in het Wapen van Bern. I had forbidden Frits to buy anything, but Stern, who has sufficient pocket money, came home with some worthless things. That's his business. But behold, Frits told me that he had seen Shawlman, who appeared to be employed at the book seller's. He took the books from the cases and pushed them on a long table to the auctioneer. Frits said that he was very pale, and he had seen a man who appeared to be the governor who rebuked Shawlman when he had dropped a few volumes of the Aglaia. That was clumsy indeed, for this is a really nice collection of needlework for ladies. Marie has it with the Rosemeijers, who are sugar merchants. She embroiders from it – from the Aglaia I mean. But when he was being rebuked, Frits had heard that he earned 15 pennies a day. "Do you want me to throw 15 pennies away on you?" the man had said. I calculated that 15 pennies a day – I presume that Sundays don't count, for in that case the employer would have named an amount per month or per year – comes to 225 guilders a year. I take my decisions quickly – when one is an experienced businessman, one always knows immediately what to do – and the next morning I was at Gaafzuiger's. That's the name of the bookseller who held the sale. I asked for the man who had dropped the Aglaia.
"He has been fired," said Gaafzuiger. "He was lazy, pedantic and sickly."
I bought a box of wafers and decided immediately to be more patient with Bastiaans. I could not decide to fire an old man. Strict, but when it is possible also meek, that has always been my principle. However, I never fail to enquire into things I need to know, so I asked Gaafzuiger where Shawlman lived. He gave me the address and I wrote it down.
I thought for a long time about my book, but because I appreciate the truth, I must admit that I did not know how to start this job. One thing was sure: the materials which had been found in Shawlman's packet were important for coffee brokers. The question was how to separate and order those materials. Every broker knows that a good ordering is of primary importance.
But writing, apart from my reports to principals, is not really my thing, and yet I felt that I had to write, because the future of my profession might depend on it. The information which I found in Shawlman's articles is of such a nature that Last & Co could use it for its own benefit. If that were so, everyone will understand that I would not go through the trouble of having a book printed which would also be read by Busselinck & Waterman, for one must be crazy to help a competitor. That's one of my strict principles. No, I saw that there is a danger which might spoil the entire coffee market, something which can only be prevented with the united forces of all brokers, and it is even possible that these forces will be insufficient and that the sugar refinadors (Frits says "refiners", but I write "refinadors". So do the Rosemeijers, and they are sugar traders. I know that one says "a refined rascal", not "a refinaded rascal", but that's because anyone who has to do with rascals wants to be rid of them as soon as possible) that the sugar refinadors and the traders in indigo will also be needed.
While writing I think about this, and it could be that shipowning companies might also be involved, and the merchant fleet – sure, this is so! And the sailmakers and the Minister of Finance, and the poor relief, and the other ministers, and the pastry bakers, and the galantry sellers, and the women, and the ship builders, and the wholesalers, and the retailers, and the housekeepers and the gardeners.
And, it is strange what thoughts come to one's mind while writing – my book is also of interest to millers, and preachers, and those who sell Holloway-pills, and brandy distillers, and tilers, and the people who live on charity, and pump-makers, and rope-makers, and weavers, and butchers, and the clerks in a broker's office, and the shareholders of the Dutch Trade Company and actually, well understood, all the others too.
And the king too, yes, the King in particular!
My book must go into the world. There is simply no choice. Let Busselinck & Waterman read it too – jealousy is not my case. But tamperers and interlopers they are, I say! Today I said it to young Stern, when I introduced him to Artis. He may write it to his father.
So I was, for a few days, in terrible consideration about the book, and lo, Frits helped me along the way. I did not tell him this, since it isn't good to let someone know that one is obliged to him – that's one of my principles – but it is true. He said that Stern was such a charming boy, and that he learned the language quickly, that he had translated German poems by Shawlman into Dutch. You see, I had the wrong world in my house: the Dutchman had written in German and the German translated into Dutch. It would have been much simpler if everyone had stuck to his own language. But, I thought, what if I had Stern write my book? If I want to add something, I can write a chapter now and then. Frits can help too – he has a list of words which must be written with a double E, and Marie can do the handwriting. That also guarantees that the book will be decent, for you understand that a broker will not give his daughter anything to read that is not decent or chaste.
I informed the two boys about my plan, and they agreed. However, Stern, who has some knowledge of with literature – like so many Germans – wanted to have a vote in the result. I did not really like that, but the spring auction is nigh, and I have no orders from Ludwig Stern yet, so I did not want to oppose him. He said that: "if his breast swelled with feelings for truth and beauty, no power in the world could prevent him from speaking the words which matched that feelings, and he preferred to be silent, rather than to see his words limited by the dishonouring shackles of everydaynes" – Frits says dayness but I don't, the word is long enough. – It was a bit crazy of Stern but my profession is more important than anything else, and the Old One is a good house. So we decided:
- That each week he would deliver a few chapters for my book.
- That I would change nothing in his writing.
- That Frits would correct the spelling errors.
- That I would write a chapter now and then, so the book would look better.
- That the title would be: The coffee auctions of the Dutch Trading Company.
- That Marie would do the writing for the printer, but that we would bear with her when the laundry came.
- That the finished chapters would be read each week on the circle meeting.
- That all indecency would be avoided.
- That my name would not be on the frontispiece, because I am a broker.
- That Stern would be allowed to publish a German, a French and an English translation of the book, because – as he said – such works will be better understood abroad.
- (Stern insisted on doing this) That I'd send Shawlman a ream of paper, a box of pens and a jar of ink.
I accepted everything, for I was in a hurry for the book. The next day Stern had completed the first chapter, and behold, reader, the answer to the question why a coffee broker – Last & Co, 37 Laurier Canal – writes a book that looks like a novel.
Stern had hardly started when he came in trouble. Apart from the big job to select and order the abundance of materials, he found in the manuscripts words and expressions which he did not understand, and neither did I. Usually it was Javanese or Malay. Furthermore there were abbreviations which were hard to decipher. I saw that we needed Shawlman. I find it indecent that a young man makes wrong connections, so I wanted to send neither Stern nor Frits. I took some sweets, which had remained from the previous circle meeting – I always think of everything – and I went to his home. It wasn't a wonderful home, but the equality of all men, also what concerns their homes, is an illusion. He had said so himself in an article about the right on happiness. Besides, I dislike people who are never satisfied.
It was in Lange Leidschedwarsstraat, a back room. Below lived a junk shop dealer who sold all kinds of things, cups, saucers, furniture, old books, cutlery, portraits of Van Speyk and much more. I was careful not to break anything, for in that case those people always require more money than the actual value. There was a little girl on the porch, dressing her doll. I asked whether Mr Shawlman lived there. She ran away and the mother came.
"Yes, he loives here, misser. Just go up the stairs, affer the foirst landing, and den de steps to de second landing, and den another stair, and you're dere, very easy. Mijntje, go and sye that dere's a gennelman. Who can she sye you are, misser?"
I said that I was Mr Drystubble, coffee broker, from Laurier Canal, but that I'd introduce myself. I climbed as high as I had been told. On the third landing I heard a child's voice singing: "soon comes papa, dear good papa". I knocked and it was opened by a woman or a lady – I'm not sure what to say. She was very pale. Her features showed traces of fatigue and reminded me of my wife when the laundry is finished. She was clothed in a long white shirt, a jacket without front, which hung till her knees, which had been fixed on the front with a black pin. Instead of a proper dress or skirt, she wore underneath a flowered cloth, which appeared to be wrapped several times around her body, and which was rather tight around her hips and knees. There was no trace of folds, width or size, as is proper for a woman. I was glad that I had not sent Frits, for her clothing appeared really indecent to me, and it was even stranger that she moved easily, as if she found it quite proper. The woman did not appear to know that she did not look like other women. It also appeared to me that she was not shy at all with my unexpected coming. She hid nothing under the table, did not move chairs, she did nothing that could be expected when a distinguished-looking stranger comes.
She had, like a Chinese, combed her hair backwards. Behind her head it was tied in a kind of knot. Later I heard that her clothing was common in the Indies, which they call sarong and kabaai, but I found it very ugly.
"Are you Miss Shawlman?" I asked.
"With whom do I have the honour of speaking?" she asked, and her tone seemed to imply that I also had to mention something about honour.
Well, I dislike compliments. It's different with a principal, and I have been long enough in business to know my affairs. But to use a lot of unneeded conversation, there on the third floor, seemed rather futile to me. So I said shortly that I was Mr Drystubble, coffee broker, 37 Laurier Canal, and that I wanted to see her husband. Why yes, why need I say more?
She showed me a reed chair, and she took a little girl in her lap, who had been playing on the floor. The little boy, who had been singing, looked at me and inspected me from top to bottom. He did not appear to be shy either! He was a boy of about six years, also in strange clothing. His wide shorts barely reached halfway down his thighs,, and his legs were bare to the ankles. Very indecent, I thought. "Dost thou come to see papa?" he suddenly asked, and I saw immediately that his education was imperfect, otherwise he would have said: "Do you come". But I was uncertain of myself and wanted to talk a bit, so I replied:
"Yes, lad, I come to see your papa. Do you think he'll soon be back?"
"I don't know, He went out to find money to buy a paintbox for me" (Frits says: payntbox, but I don't. Paint is paint, not paynt).
"Hush, my boy," the woman said. "Go and play with your pictures or the Chinese musical box."
"Thou knowest that that gentleman took everything yesterday."
To his mother he also said thou and it appeared that there had been a 'gentleman' who had 'taken everything away' … a pleasant visitor! The woman did not appear to be happy either, I saw her wiping an eye, while she took the little girl to her brother. "There," she said, "play with Nonni." A strange name. And he did so.
"Well, Miss," I asked, "do you expect your husband soon?"
"I cannot tell," she replied.
Then suddenly the little boy, who had been pretending he was in a boat with his sister, left her alone and asked me:
"Sir, why dost thou say Miss to mama?"
"Why then, lad, what else am I to say?"
Well, like everyone else! The miss is downstairs, she sells saucers and tops.
Well, I am a coffee broker – Last & Co, 37 Laurier Canal – there are thirteen in our office, and when I count Stern, who receives no salary, there are fourteen. Well, my wife is miss, so was I to call that woman mistress? That could not be! Everyone has his standing, and what's more, yesterday the bailiffs had carried everything away! I found my miss perfectly correct and I stuck to it.
I asked why Shawlman had not come to me to get his packet back. She seemed to know about it and said they had been travelling, to Brussels. He had been working for the Indépendance but could not stay because his articles were often rejected at the French borders. A few days ago they had returned to Amsterdam, because Shawlman got a job here.
"At Gaafzuiger's?" I asked.
"Yes that was it! But it had been a disappointment," she said. Well, I knew more about it than she. He had dropped the Aglaia and he was lazy, pedantic and sickly. That's why he had been sacked.
"And," she continued, "he would certainly soon come and see me, perhaps he was there at this moment, to get a reply from me for what he had asked."
I said that Shawlman should certainly come, but that he should refrain from ringing at the door, because it bothers the bell-girl. If he waited a moment, I said, the door would be opened, when someone wanted to leave. And I left the house, taking the sweets with me, for, frankly said, I did not like that place. I did not feel at ease. A broker is not a carrier, I think, and I say that I look very good. I wore my fur coat, and yet she sat there so simply, talking plainly with her children, as if she was on her own. And it seemed that she had wept, and I dislike dissatisfied people. It was cold and unpleasant there – of course because everything had been carried away – and I like a pleasant atmosphere in a house. While I went home I decided to bear with Bastiaans; I dislike to fire someone.
Here comes Stern's first week. It is a matter of course that there is a lot in it that I dislike. But I am bound by article 2, and the Rosemeijers like it. I believe that they admire Stern, because he has an uncle in Hamburg who is a sugar merchant.
Indeed, Shawlman had been there. He had spoken with Stern, and explained some words and cases which he did not understand. Stern didn't understand, I mean. I now ask the reader to struggle through the following chapters, and soon there will be something of a more solid nature, by me, Batavus Drystubble, coffee broker: Last & Co, 37 Laurier Canal.