“Saya… Your humble servant.”
He pronounced the two syllables in a harsh, sibilant tone of politeness, giving each syllable equal emphasis, and accompanied the formula with a brief, automatic nod of the head. The radèn-ayu, seated beside Léonie, answered in the same way:
“Saya…”
Though she invariably followed it with a slightly embarrassed laugh. She was still very young, perhaps just turned eighteen. She was a princess from Solo, and Van Oudijck could not stand her, because she introduced Solo manners and Solo expressions into Labuwangi, in her arrogant assumption that nothing was as distinguished and purely aristocratic as the customs and expressions of the court of Solo. She used courtly words, which the population of Labuwangi did not understand, and she had forced on the Prince a coachman from Solo, complete with the royal livery, which included a wig and a false moustache, at which the population stared goggle-eyed. Her yellow complexion was made even paler by a light layer of rice powder, applied moist, the eyebrows slightly arched by a line of black; jewels were pinned in her hair, which she wore in a traditional glossy bun, and in the centre was a kenanga flower. Over a full-length batik robe, which according to the custom of the Solo court trailed in front of her, she wore a red brocade jacket trimmed with gold braid and fastened with three large jewels. Two fabulous gems, in heavy silver settings, weighed down her ear lobes. She wore light mesh stockings and gold-embroidered Chinese slippers. Her small, slender fingers were covered in rings, as if set with diamonds, and she carried a white feather fan.
“Saya… saya…” she answered politely, with her shy laugh.
Léonie paused for a moment, tired of the one-sided conversation. Once she had talked to the Prince and the radèn-ayu about their sons, there was little else for her to say. Van Oudijck, whom Eva had given a guided tour of her galleries — since there was always something new to admire — rejoined his wife; the Prince rose to his feet.
“Well, Prince,” Van Oudijck said, in Dutch. “How is radènayu pangéran, the Princess dowager?”
He inquired about the widow of the old prince, Sunario’s mother.
“Very well… thank you…” muttered the Prince in Malay. “But Mama has not come with us… so old… tires easily.”
“I need to talk to you for a moment, Prince.”
The Prince followed Van Oudijck onto the front veranda, which was empty.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you that I’ve just received bad news about your brother, the Prince of Ngajiwa… I am informed that he has recently started gambling again and has lost large sums. Have you any knowledge of this, Prince?”
The Prince withdrew into his puppet-like stiffness, and said nothing. His eyes stared right through Van Oudijck, as if focused on something far in the distance.
“Tida…” came the negative reply.
“I instruct you, as head of the family, to investigate this matter and to keep an eye on your brother. He gambles, he drinks, he dishonours your name, Prince. If the old pangéran, your father, had had any inkling that his second son was wasting his life like this, it would have grieved him greatly. He bore his name with pride. He was one of the wisest and most noble princes that the government has ever had on Java, and you know how highly the government esteemed the pangéran. Even in the days of the Dutch East India Company, Holland was greatly indebted to your family, which was always loyal. But times appear to be changing… It is very sad, Prince, that an old Javanese family with such an exalted tradition as yours is no longer able to adhere to that tradition…”
Radèn Adipati Surio Sunario turned a shade of olive green. His trancelike gaze pierced the District Commissioner, but he saw that the Commissioner too was seething with rage. And he smothered his strange flashing gaze till it became a sleepy, tired look.
“I thought, Commissioner, that you had always felt affection for my house,” he murmured, almost plaintively.
“You thought correctly, Prince. I held the pangéran in great affection. I have always admired your noble house, and I have always tried to support it. I should like to continue to support it, together with you, Prince, hoping that you see not only — as you are said to — the world beyond this one, but also the reality around you. But it is your brother, Prince, for whom I feel no affection and whom I cannot possibly respect. I have been told — and can trust those who told me — that the Prince of Ngajiwa has not only gambled… but has also failed to pay the chiefs of Ngajiwa their salaries this month…”
They looked each other in the eye and Van Oudijck’s calm, assured gaze once again met the Prince’s flashing trancelike stare.
“Your informants may be mistaken…”
“I suspect that they would not bring such reports without having absolute certainty. Prince, this matter is very sensitive. Once again: you are the head of your family. Investigate the extent to which your younger brother has misused government funds and ensure that complete reparation is made as soon as possible. I am deliberately leaving the matter to you. I shall not raise the question with your brother, in order to spare a member of your family for as long as I can. It is up to you to reprimand your brother and point out to him what in my eyes is a crime, but one which you through your prestige as head of the family can still expunge. Forbid him to go on gambling and order him to keep his passion in check. Otherwise, I foresee very regrettable consequences, and I shall have to recommend your brother’s dismissal. You yourself know how reluctant I am to do this, since the Prince of Ngajiwa is the second son of the old pangéran, whom I held in high esteem, just as I would always wish to spare your mother, the radèn-ayu pangéran, any kind of sorrow.”
“I thank you…” murmured Sunario.
“Take good note of what I am saying to you, Prince. If you cannot make your brother see reason, and control his passion — if the salaries of the heads are not paid as soon as possible… then I shall be forced to act. And if my warning is to no avail… that would mean your brother’s downfall. You yourself know that the dismissal of a prince is such an exceptional event that it would bring shame upon your family. Help me to save the house of the Adiningrats from such ignominy.”
“I promise,” murmured the Prince.
“Give me your hand, Prince.”
Van Oudijck pressed the thin fingers of the Javanese.