Chapter V · [COMPOSED BY STERN.]

No post-horses in Europe, not even in England, Russia, or Hungary can be compared with those of Java. Over high mountain ridges, along the brow of precipices that make you shudder, the heavy-laden travelling carriage flies on at full speed. The coachman sits on the box as if nailed to it, hours, yes, whole days successively, and swings the heavy lash with an iron hand. He can calculate exactly where and how much he must restrain the galloping horses, in order that, after descending at full speed from a mountain declivity, he may on reaching that corner * * *

“O God” (cries the inexperienced traveller),——“we are going down a precipice, there’s no road,——there’s an abyss!” * *

Yes, so it seems. The road bends, and just at the time when one more bound of the galloping animals would throw the leaders off the path, the horses turn, and sling the carriage round the corner. At full gallop they run up the mountain height, which a moment before was unseen——and the precipice is behind you. Sometimes the carriage is only supported at the bend by the wheels on the inside of the curve: centrifugal force has raised the outside ones off the ground. It needs a great deal of coolness, not to shut one’s eyes, and whoever travels for the first time in Java, generally writes to his family in Europe, that he has been in danger of his life; but he whose home is in Java laughs at that.

Reader, it is not my intention, particularly at the commencement of this history, to waste time in describing places, scenery, or buildings.—I am too much afraid of disheartening you, by what would resemble prolixity; and therefore, until I feel that I have won your attention, till I observe in your glances and in your countenance that the destiny of the heroine, who jumps somewhere from a fourth storey, interests you, I shall not make her hover in the air, with a bold contempt for all the laws of gravitation, so long as is necessary for the accurate description of the beauty of the landscape, or the building, that seems to be put in somewhere to give occasion for a voluminous essay on mediæval architecture. All those castles resemble each other. They are invariably of heterogeneous architecture; the main building always dates from some earlier reign than the wings which are added to it afterwards under the reign of such and such a king. The towers are in a dilapidated state. * * * Reader, there are no towers. A tower is an idea, a dream. There are “half towers,” and turrets. The fanaticism which wanted to put towers to the edifices that were erected in honour of this or that saint, did not last long enough to finish them; and the spire, designed to point out heaven to believers, is generally supported by two or three low battlements on the huge base, which makes you think of the man without thighs at the fair. The towers of village churches only, with their spires, are finished.

It is not very flattering to Western civilisation, that the enthusiasm for an extensive work has very seldom prevailed long enough to see that work finished. I do not now speak of undertakings whose completion was necessary to defray the expenses: whoever wants to know exactly what I mean, must go and see the Cathedral at Cologne. Let him think of the grand conception of that building in the soul of the architect;—of the faith in the hearts of the people, which furnished him with the means to commence and continue that labour;—of the influence of the ideas, which required such a colossus to serve as a visible representation of unseen religious feeling—and let him compare that enthusiasm with the train of ideas, that some centuries afterwards stopped the labour.

There is a profound chasm between Erwin von Steinbach and our architects! I know, that for many years they have been occupied in filling up that chasm; at Cologne too they are again working at the Cathedral. But will they be able to join the broken wire; will they be able to find again in our days, what constituted the power of prelate and builder?—I do not think so. Money may be contributed, stone and lime may be bought, a draughtsman may be paid to draw a plan, and a mason to fix the stones——but the lost and still venerable faith, that saw in an edifice a poem—a poem of granite, that spoke very loudly to the people—a poem in marble, that stood there as an immovable continual eternal prayer, cannot be purchased with money. * * * *

As soon as the arrival of the new Assistant Resident was known, a pendoppo was erected in great haste; a table and some chairs brought there with some refreshments, and in that ‘pendoppo’ the Regent, with the Controller, awaited the arrival of the new chief. After a broad-brimmed hat, an umbrella, or a hollow tree, a ‘pendoppo’ is certainly the most simple representation of the idea “roof.”

Picture to yourself four or six bamboo canes, driven into the ground, tied together at the top with other bamboos, on which is placed a cover of the large leaves of the water-palm, called in these regions atap, and you will have an idea of such a ‘pendoppo.’ It is, as you see, as simple as possible, and here it had only to serve as a pied-à-terre, for the European and native officials who were there to welcome their new chief.

It was not very correct of me to call the Assistant Resident the “chief” of the Regent. I must explain the machinery of government in these regions. The so-called “Dutch India”—[I think the expression inaccurate, but it is the official term]—as far as regards the relation of its population to the mother country, must be divided into two very distinct great divisions.

One of these consists of tribes whose kings and princes have been content to be tributary to Holland, but have nevertheless retained the direct government, in a greater or less degree, in their own hands. The other division, to which the whole of Java belongs, with a very trifling, perhaps only apparent exception, is totally and directly subject to Holland. There is here no question about tribute, tax, or alliance. The Javanese is a Dutch subject. The King of Holland is his king. The descendants of his former princes and lords are Dutch functionaries: they are appointed, transferred, promoted, dismissed, by the Governor-General, who reigns in name of the King. Criminals are condemned and punished by a law made at the Hague. The taxes paid by the Javanese flow into the Exchequer of Holland.

This book will treat chiefly of these Dutch possessions, which form an integral part of the kingdom of Holland. The Governor-General is assisted by a Senate, but this Senate has no power to modify his resolutions. At Batavia, the different branches of the Government are divided into departments, with Directors at their head, who form the link between the supreme direction of the Governor-General and the Residents in the provinces. Yet in matters of a political nature these Residents apply directly to the Governor-General.

The title of “Resident” dates its origin from the time when Holland acted the part of a protecting State rather than that of a feudal superior, and was represented at the Courts of the several reigning princes by resident functionaries. The Princes are gone; the Residents have become rulers of provinces; they have acquired the power of prefects. Their position is changed, but the name remains.

It is properly those Residents who represent the Dutch authority in the eyes of the Javanese population, who know neither the Governor-General, nor the Senators of the Indies, nor the Directors at Batavia; they know only the Resident and the functionaries who reign subordinate to him.

A Residency, so called—some of them have a population of one million souls,—is divided into three, four, or five departments or regencies, at the head of each of which is an Assistant Resident. Under these the government is carried on by controllers, overseers, and a number of other officers, who are required for the gathering of the taxes, the superintendence of agriculture, the erection of buildings, for the waterworks, the police, and the administration of justice.

In every department the Assistant Resident is aided by a native chief of high rank, with the title of Regent. Such a Regent, though his relation to the Government and his department is quite that of a paid official, always belongs to the high aristocracy of his country, and often to the family of the princes, who have governed in that part or neighbourhood as independent sovereigns. It is very politic in Holland to make use of the ancient feudal influence of the princes, which in Asia is generally very great, and is looked upon by most of the tribes as a part of their religion, because, by making those chiefs paid officers of the Crown, a sort of hierarchy is created, at the head of which is the Dutch Government, in the person of the Governor-General.

There is nothing new under the sun. Were not the Margraves, the Burgraves, of the German Empire, appointed in the same manner by the Emperor, and generally elected from among the Barons? Without expatiating on the origin of the nobility, which is sufficiently evident, I wish here to insert the observation, that throughout the Indies the same causes have had the same effects as in Europe. If a country must be ruled at a great distance, you will need functionaries to represent the central power. Thus the Romans under their system of military despotism chose prefects from among the generals of the legions who had subjugated a country. Such districts thenceforth remained “provinces,” and were ruled as conquests! But when afterwards the central power of the German Empire endeavoured to hold the people in subjection by other means than by material force, as soon as a distant region was considered to belong to the Empire from similarity of origin, language, and customs, it became necessary to charge with the management of affairs a person who not only was at home in that country, but was elevated by his rank above his fellow-citizens, in order that obedience to the commands of the Emperor might be rendered more easy by the military submission of the people to him who was intrusted with the execution of those commands; and in this manner the cost of a standing army was altogether or in part avoided at the expense of the public treasury, or, as it generally happened, of the provinces themselves, who had to be watched by an army. So the first Counts were chosen out of the Barons of the country, and if you take the word literally, then “Count” is no noble title, but only the denomination of a person invested with a certain office. I, therefore, also think, that in the middle ages the opinion prevailed, that the German Emperor had the right to appoint “Counts” (governors of districts), and “Dukes” (commanders of armies), but that the Barons asserted that they were, as regards their birth, equal to the Emperor, and were only dependent upon God, except as regarded their obligation to serve the Emperor, provided he was elected with their approbation and from among their number. A Count was invested with an office to which the Emperor had called him; a Baron considered himself a Baron “by the grace of God.” The Counts represented the Emperor, and as such carried his banners; a Baron raised men under his colours as a knight. The circumstance that Counts and Dukes were generally elected from among the Barons, caused them to add the importance of their employment to the influence which they derived from their birth; and it seems that afterwards, especially when people got accustomed to the hereditary nature of those employments, the precedence arose which these titles had over that of Baron. Even now-a-days, many a noble family, without imperial or royal patent, that is to say, such a family as derives its nobility from the origin of the country itself, a family which always was noble, because it was noble—autochthonous—would refuse an elevation to the title of Count. There are instances of this.

The persons intrusted with the government of such a county naturally tried to obtain from the Emperor, that their sons, or, in default of sons, other relations, should succeed them in their employment. This also happened very often, though I do not believe that the right to that succession was ever proved, at least in the case of those functionaries in the Netherlands, the Counts of Holland, Zealand, Flanders, Hainault,—the Dukes of Brabant, Gelderland, etc. At first it was a favour, soon it became a custom, at last a necessity; but never did that succession become a law.

Almost in the same way, as to the choice of persons,—because there can be no question of similarity of position,—a native functionary is placed at the head of a district of Java, who adds to the rank given him by the Government his autochthonous influence, to facilitate the rule of the European functionary representing the Dutch Government. Here, too, hereditary succession, without being established by law, has become a custom. During the life of the Regent this is often arranged; and it is regarded as a reward for zeal and trust, if they give him the promise that he shall be succeeded by his son. There must be very important reasons to cause a departure from that rule, and where this is necessary, a successor is generally elected out of the members of the same family. The relation between European officials and such high-placed Javanese nobles is very delicate. The Assistant Resident of a district is the responsible person; he has his instructions, and is considered to be the chief of the district. Still the Regent is much his superior—through local knowledge, birth, influence on the population, pecuniary revenues, and manner of living. Moreover, a Regent, as representing the Javanese element, and being considered the mouthpiece of the hundred thousand or more inhabitants of his regency, is also in the eyes of the Government a much more important personage than the simple European officer, whose discontent need not be feared, because they can get many others in his place, whilst the displeasure of a Regent would become perhaps the germ of disturbance or revolt.

From all this arises the strange reality that the inferior actually commands the superior. The Assistant Resident orders the Regent to make statements to him; he orders him to send labourers to work at the bridges and roads; he orders him to gather the taxes; he summons him to the Council, of which he, the Assistant Resident, is President; he blames him where he is guilty of neglect of duty. This peculiar relation is made possible only by very polite forms, which need not exclude either cordiality, or where it is necessary, severity; and I believe that the demeanour to be maintained in this relation is very well described in the official instructions on the subject, as follows, “The European functionary has to treat the native functionary, who aids him, as his younger brother.” But he must not forget that this younger brother is very much loved, or feared, by his parents, and in the event of any dispute, his own seniority would immediately be accounted as a motive for taking it amiss that he did not treat his younger brother with more indulgence.

The innate courteousness of the Javanese grandee,—even the common Javanese are much politer than Europeans in the same condition,—makes this apparently difficult relation more tolerable than it otherwise would be.

Let the European have a good education, with some refinement, let him behave himself with a friendly dignity, and he may be assured that the Regent on his part will do all in his power to facilitate his rule. The distasteful command put in an inviting form is punctually performed. The difference in position, birth, wealth, is effaced by the Regent himself, who raises the European, as Representative of the King of the Netherlands, to his own position; and the result of a relation which, viewed superciliously, would have brought about collision, is very often the source of an agreeable intercourse.

But all this must be paid for. The Dutch Government which has founded itself on the influence of these Regents, knows this; and therefore nothing is more natural than that it has raised their incomes to a standard that must appear exaggerated to one unacquainted with Indian affairs, but which is in truth very seldom sufficient to meet the expenses that are necessarily incurred by the mode of life of such a native chief.

To be convinced of the success of that policy we need only consider the immense quantity of Javanese products sold in Holland; and we shall also be convinced of its injustice, for, if anybody should ask if the husbandman himself gets a reward in proportion to that quantity, then I must give a negative answer. The Government compels him to cultivate certain products on his ground; it punishes him if he sells what he has produced to any purchaser but itself; and it fixes the price actually paid. The expenses of transport to Europe through a privileged trading company are high; the money paid to the chiefs for encouragement increases the prime cost; and because the entire trade must produce profit, that profit cannot be got in any other way than by paying the Javanese just enough to keep him from starving, which would lessen the producing power of the nation.

To the European officials, also, a premium is paid in proportion to the produce. It is a fact that the poor Javanese is thus driven by a double force; that he is driven away from his rice-fields; it is a fact that famine is often the consequence of these measures; but the flags of the ships, laden with the harvest that makes Holland rich, are flapping gaily at Batavia, at Samarang, at Soorabaya, at Passarooan, at Bezookie, at Probolingo, at Patjitan, at Tjilatjap.

“Famine——? In Java, the rich and fertile, famine?”—Yes, reader, a few years ago whole districts were depopulated by famine; mothers offered to sell their children for food, mothers ate their own children.——But then the mother-country interfered. In the halls of the Dutch Parliament complaints were made, and the then reigning Governor had to give orders that the extension of the so-called European market should no longer be pushed to the extremity of famine.

“Oh! this angelic Parliament!——”

This I write with bitterness—what would you think of a person that could describe such things without bitterness?

I have yet to speak of the last and principal source of the revenues of the native chiefs, viz., their arbitrary disposal of the persons and property of their subjects. According to the general idea in nearly the whole of Asia, the subject, with all that he possesses, belongs to the prince. The descendants or relatives of the former princes like to profit by the ignorance of the people, who do not yet quite understand that their “Tommongong,” “Adhipatti,” or “Pangerang” is now a paid official, who has sold his own rights and theirs for a fixed income, and that thus the ill-requited labour of the coffee plantation or sugar field has taken the place of the taxes which they formerly paid their lords. Hence nothing is more common than that hundreds of families are summoned from far remote places to work, without payment, on fields that belong to the Regent. Nothing is more common than the furnishing of unpaid-for provisions for the use of the Court of the Regent; and if the Regent happens to cast a longing eye on the horse, the buffalo, the daughter, the wife of the poor man, it would be thought unheard-of if he refused the unconditional surrender of the desired object. There are Regents who make a reasonable use of such arbitrary powers, and who do not exact more of the poor man than is strictly necessary to uphold their rank. Some go a little further, and this injustice is nowhere entirely wanting. And it is very difficult, nay even impossible, entirely to destroy such an abuse, because it is in the nature of the population itself to induce or create it. The Javanese is cordial, above all things where he has to give a proof of attachment to his chief, to the descendant of those whom his forefathers obeyed. He would even think himself wanting in the respect due to his hereditary lord, if he entered his Kratoon without presents. These gifts are often of such small value, that to refuse them would be a humiliation, and the usage is rather more like the homage of a child who tries to give utterance to filial love by offering his father a little present, than a tribute to tyrannical despotism.

But the existence of such a good custom makes the abolition of a bad one very difficult.

This is known to the Government; and whosoever reads the official papers, containing the laws, instructions, regulations, etc., for the functionaries, applauds the humanity and justice which seem to have influenced those who made them. Wherever the European is intrusted with power in the interior of Java, he is clearly told that one of his first obligations is to prevent the self-abasement of the people, and to protect them from the covetousness of the chiefs; and, as if it were not enough to make this obligation generally known, a special oath is exacted from the Assistant Residents that when they enter upon the government of a province, they will regard this fatherly care for the population as their first duty.

Besides, where could the European officer get witnesses having the courage to give evidence against their lord the Regent? And, if he ventured to make an accusation without being able to prove it, where would be the relation of elder brother, who, in such a case, would have impeached his younger brother’s honour? Where would he then find the favour of the Government, which gives him bread for service, but which would take that bread from him, which would discharge him as incapable, if he rashly accused so high a personage as an “Adhipatti” or “Pangerang?”

No, no, that duty is by no means easy! This can be proved by the fact—apparent to every one—that each native chief pushes too far the limit of the lawful disposal of labour and property; that all Assistant Residents take an oath to resist this, and yet that very seldom a Regent is accused for abuse of power or arbitrary conduct.

It seems also that there must be an insurmountable difficulty in keeping the oath: “TO PROTECT THE NATIVE POPULATION AGAINST EXTORTION AND TYRANNY.”