Free The Hidden Force by Louis Couperus Page A

although he wouldn’t admit it. But he remembers the glorious past of the Adiningrats, he still remembers the last glorious figure, the noble old
pangéran
, and he compares him with his sons, one a fanatic, the other a gambler…”
    “I think our Prince—not the Prince of Ngajiwa: he’s just a coolie—is divine!” said Eva. “I think he looks just like aliving shadow puppet. But I’m afraid of his eyes. What terrible eyes! Sometimes they’re sleepy, but sometimes they’re the eyes of a madman… But he’s so refined, so distinguished. And the
radèn-ayu
is an exquisite little doll too: yes, yes… She says nothing, but she looks decorative. I’m always glad when they do me the honour of attending my parties, and when they’re not there, there’s something missing. And what about the old
radèn-ayu pangéran
, grey, dignified, a queen…
    “An inveterate gambler,” said Eldersma.
    “They’re gambling everything away,” said Van Helderen. “She and the Prince of Ngajiwa. They’re no longer rich. The old
pangéran
had wonderful regalia for state occasions, magnificent lances, a jewelled betel-nut box, spittoons—useful items, those!—priceless. The old
radèn-ayu pangéran
has gambled it all away. I think that all she has left is her pension, 240 guilders, I believe. And how our Prince manages to keep all his cousins in his official residence according to Javanese custom, is a mystery to me.
    “What custom?” asked the doctor.
    “Every prince gathers his family round him like parasites, clothes them, feeds them, gives them pocket money… and the population finds that dignified and chic.”
    “Sad… greatness fallen into decay!” said Ida gloomily.
    A boy came and announced that dinner was ready and they adjourned to the rear veranda, and took their places at table.
    “And what have you got up your sleeve, dear lady?” asked the senior engineer. “What are the plans? Labuwangi has been very quiet recently.”
    “It’s awful really,” said Eva. “If I didn’t have my friends, it would be awful. If I weren’t making plans the whole time, having ideas, it would be awful, living like this in Labuwangi. My husband doesn’t feel the same, he works, just as all of you gentlemen work; what else can one do in the Indies but work, despite the heat. But for us women! Really, what a life, if one does not discover happiness in oneself, in one’s home, in one’s circle of friends—if one is fortunate enough to have such a circle. Outside of that there’s nothing. Not a painting, not a sculpture to be seen, no music to be heard. Don’t be angry, Van Helderen. Your cello-playing is delightful, but no one in the Indies keeps up with the latest developments. The Italian opera is performing…
Il Trovatore
. The amateur companies—not bad at all in Batavia—do…
Il Trovatore
. And you, Van Helderen… don’t deny it. I saw how entranced you were when the Italian opera from Surabaya brought
Il Trovatore
to the club here. You were in seventh heaven.”
    “There were some lovely voices…”
    “But twenty years ago—so I’m told—people were just as enchanted by…
Il Trovatore
. It’s terrible! Sometimes, all of a sudden, it weighs me down. Sometimes I have the sudden feeling that I have not grown accustomed to the Indies, and that I never will, and I feel homesick for Europe, for life!
    “But, Eva…” protested Eldersma in alarm, frightened that she would actually go back and leave him alone in his utterly joyless working environment in Labuwangi. “You know you sometimes appreciate the Indies, your home; the good, full life…”
    “Good materially…”
    “And you appreciate your work. I mean, all the things you can do here.”
    “What? Organizing parties? Organizing fêtes?”
    “You’re the real commissioner’s wife, Eva,” enthused Ida.
    “Which fortunately brings us back to Mrs Van Oudijck,” teased Mrs Doorn de Bruijn.
    “And to professional secrecy,” said Doctor