Fransz Meets Helena
From Chapter 8 in Mixed Blood: My Colonial Family's Hstry n the Dutch Weast Indie
Helena was dressed in a white, cotton-lace skirt and blouse appropriate for visits to the home of the Assistant Resident, Willem Hesselink. Jenny, Willem’s young wife, and Helena were second cousins. Helena disembarked from the coach, and Jenny warmly welcomed her with a kiss on the cheek. After refreshments, the two took the accustomed afternoon nap, and for the remainder of the day they were inseparable. Even with the ten-year age difference, Jenny and Helena always got on well and had much to discuss.
Dinner and the Ball
They were in Helena’s room where the baboe (servant) was helping her dress for dinner. Helena’s hair had been braided and rolled into the usual chignon. But Jenny, taking over, fixed Helena’s hair by making several looplets held in place with an ivory comb. In the front she formed ringlets.
“Like this,” Jenny said, looking at Helena. “It compliments your face.” As Helena regarded herself in the mirror, she saw that her face, with its firm chin, was soften by the ringlets. She then stood up in front of the mirror appreciating how the dress with its low, pointed waist, and billowing skirt accentuated her well-shaped body.
Helena rode in the carriage with Jenny and Willem to the Resident’s lavish home. On route, she took in familiar scents of tropical fauna, the ubiquitous sounds of chirping of birds and of monkeys screeching, and the inconspicuous natives walking submissively or carrying goods to deliver or to sell. Upon entering the mansion, she was struck by an immediate shift—from luscious disorderliness to the stark, formality of the resident’s home with its tidy opulence.
Dinner was served in the back gallery—a long hall supported by white pillars decorated with flowering shrubs. Three female servants entered and circled the table; one carrying a silver basin for pouring rose water, and the other had a silver bowl for washing hands. The last one followed with towels for drying one’s hands. The meal was a Dutch version of Indonesian menu the colonials called rijsttafel (literal translation rice table), which was originally developed to impress visitors with the exotic abundance of the colony. A cone-shaped plate of rice was set at the center of the table (hence rice table), and then a line of servants brought out steaming bowls with fish, meat, and fricassees, a variety of curries, sauces, preserved fruit, pickles, fried bananas, and young palm shoots. The meal was eaten with a fork and spoon. It was not Helena’s first rijsttafel, but the variety of flavors never ceased to astound her.
After dinner, the guests gradually advanced towards the ballroom, where an ensemble was playing Strauss. Men, dressed in black suits walked stately around the room. The women moved gracefully in their light-hued gowns with large sleeves and billowing skirts.
The men hovered around the lovely Jenny like hummingbirds at a flowering bush. Standing next to Jenny, Helena was situated in a perfect position across from the entrance to observe new arrivals. Entering the arched doorway, she spied a tall and erect man in blue military uniform. His head shifted from left to right scanning the scene. He had a square face with a mustache and dark, almost black, wavy hair. Helena continued to mingle, but her awareness remained with the officer.
As the Lieutenant entered the room, he continued considering the crowd, occasionally nodding in greeting. He turned and gazed in Helena’s direction. And blue eyes met hazel ones.
“It’s the customary elegant assembly,” a gentleman next to Helena said. She nodded in response but did not shift her focus.
Jenny followed Helena’s gaze and called with a broad smile, “Lieutenant Berg.” Jenny knew everyone.
He walked over and kissed Jenny’s gloved hand. He then looked up with penetrating, yet playful eyes and an engaging smile, which contrasted with the correctness in his general attitude.
“Fransz, this is my cousin, Helena de Wit-Falck,” Jenny said, and then to Helena, “Lieutenant Fransz Berg.”
He nodded with a deep bow, and Helena curtsied in return.
“Fransz is in the same unit as Willem’s cousin, Eric.” She then said with a glimmer in her eye, “He likes to entertain us with poetry.”
“Indeed?” Helena’s interest heightened. “Which poets? Or do you pen your own?”
“Not for public,” he said, enigmatically. “I enjoy the Romantics, mostly the Germans.”
“Which?” she asked, curiously.
“Goethe, Schiller, Pushkin,” he said, as his eyes widened.
“I am more familiar with the English—Blake, Byron, Keats…”
“Tyger! Tyger! burning bright,
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?” he recited.
Helena followed with the next verse, and conversation between the two flowed easily. As the others moved away or to dance, Helena and Fransz found themselves alone.
“Would you care to dance?” he asked.
Helena affirmed, and they waltzed to Strauss and then danced a Schottische, which was the new rage in Europe. When they became heated, the couple stopped to seek refreshments.
It began as a comfortable friendship with sparks of attraction that, for each with a different, private reason, neither dared address. There was much to discuss, like literature, philosophy, poetry, and music. Helena was surprised that Fransz showed knowledge of Indonesian culture and history. The two talked little about themselves. Aside from being an intelligent and witty conversationalist, she unexpectedly found Fransz reflective and philosophic. She would later discover that he could behave most impulsively. He did so with the kind of courageousness and trust that could make rash behavior look well thought out. When it was time for her to leave Padang for home, Fransz asked whether he could come to visit.
When both were in town, Helena and Fransz would meet at the resident’s home or at various gatherings in Padang. In due course, Fransz called on her at the plantation. Helena was concerned about Rita’s reaction. However, her sister-in-law could plainly see the mutual attraction even before Helena acknowledged her own feelings. Helena had been open with Fransz about her marriage with Hans that had been a mistake. She told Fransz that she was not divorced and that they lived separately.
Over time the friends became lovers. When not in the company of others, their favorite activity was to lounge on the veranda reading their favorite poets and novelists. Fransz had some Russian and Helena knew English, and they both read French. She read fragments of the English poets and quite enjoyed hearing him recite in his mother tongue.
On this evening, Fransz listened to Helena as she read out loud from The Hunchback of Notre-Dam:
‘Do you know what friendship is’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ replied the gypsy; ‘it is to be brother and sister; two souls which touch without mingling, two fingers on one hand.’
‘And love?’ pursued Gringoire.
‘Oh! love!’ said she, and her voice trembled, and her eye beamed. ‘That is to be two and to be but one. A man and a woman mingled into one angel. It is heaven’
They read and conversed deep into the night over a bottle or two of wine.
Fransz was in a quandary. He should have told Helena about his own circumstances when she had spoken of her failed marriage. And while he knew that these arrangements were common and accepted in the Indies, he could not fully concede to his personal situation. He felt an urgency to tell Helena the truth and blamed himself for his cowardliness. Had he only met Helena sooner. Now with recent developments, he did not know how to broach the subject.
Determined, at their next meeting, he asked her to sit. “I have something important to tell you.”
“You are so serious,” Helena smiled, touching his face.
“I need to tell you . . . I need to tell you,” he faltered, then started a new. “You know that many unmarried men have inlandse (local) housekeepers?” He said this looking down at his hands. “I should have said something before….” He paused and then looked into her eyes. “I live with a njai, Lena. And she is with child.”
The words pierced like a knife in her stomach. It was one thing to find out about Hans and his njai. She had not actually loved her husband, but now…. Not Fransz too! Feeling numb and unable to speak, yet feeling obliged to say something, she muttered, “I see.” She could not look at him.
Fransz wanted to tell her that the intimacy he shared with Sarina had ended, but these words sounded lame to his ears. The guilt from the events leading to having to flee Germany, that he had pushed away, now reemerged. Not able to endure the intensity of his thoughts and emotions, along with Helena’s silence, Fransz rose, bowed, and left. Helena, alone and in shock, collapsed in anguish.
Hours later, Rita found her sitting on the veranda with red and swollen eyes staring into nothingness. When Rita asked what the matter was, Helena said, “I am such a fool.” Then her story poured out.
After another good cry in Rita’s arms, the sister-in-law said, “He’s a thoughtless lafaard (coward). What is the man thinking? Fool!”
It felt good to hear Rita scourge Fransz. Yet…
After a time, Rita continued with, “As much of a bastard that he is, I know the man loves you.”
“But, Rita, he has a njai with child,” said Helena gloomily.
“I appreciate your principles, but do you want to hear what I think?”
“I suppose...”
“You cannot use the same standards that you would in Holland. As honorable as Fransz is, he is a man. They will have their njais and, with or without children, very few remain with, let alone marry them. He isn’t the type to remain with an inlandse. If it isn’t you, Helena, one day it will be another totok (European) he’ll marry. I see that you love each other.”
[1] Intending to illustrate the couple Fransz and Helena, this image is from a few decades later than when they met. ]