(2) Since 1875 the construction of railways and of other public works, notably the harbour works at Tanjong Priok, the port of Batavia, has been undertaken by Government. Since the cost has been paid out of current revenue, and not raised by loans, these works have necessitated a further annual expenditure of 8,000,000 florins. The total sum spent in public works between the years 1875-1884, amounting to 75,000,000 florins, is almost exactly equivalent to the deficit incurred during the same period.

(3) In suffering from the competition of France in sugar, and of Brazil in coffee, Java has not been peculiar. The British West Indian colonies are at the present time most disastrously affected by the bounty-fed sugar industry of France, and Ceylon is only just learning how to compensate itself for the diminution of its coffee export by the introduction of a new industry—tea.

As for the general progress of the island, it is sufficiently indicated by the fact that since the date (1831) of the introduction of the system, the population has increased from six to twenty-three millions, and the revenue from thirty million florins to one hundred and thirty-two.

Although the culture system has yielded such satisfactory results, it has been gradually abandoned since 1871.

The reason for this change of policy is the feeling that the system, though necessary originally to develop the resources of the island, is at variance with the best interests of the natives, and hinders the introduction of private enterprise and capital. Increased commercial prosperity is expected to compensate for the loss of revenue caused by the withdrawal of the Government from the work of production. In the mean time, it has been found necessary to impose various new and direct taxes. The most important of these is a poll tax on the natives, which has taken the place of the personal services formerly rendered by them on the Government plantations. Originally imposed in 1871, it yielded two and a half million florins in 1886. Another compensating source of revenue is the growth of the verponding. As already mentioned, this is a tax of three-fourths per cent, on the capital value of house property and industrial plant. It is assessed every three years, and therefore is an accurate test of the growth of private wealth invested in the colony. In the fifteen years from 1871 to 1886, the amount yielded by this tax showed a growth of seventy-five per cent.

It is not necessary to detail the various steps by which the Dutch have carried out this policy of abandonment. It is sufficient to note the general result.

To-day all industries, with the exception of coffee, opium, and salt, are free. In the production of the two latter, opium and salt, the Colonial Government maintains a complete monopoly; in the case of coffee they compete with the planters. The extent of the shares respectively taken by the Government and private enterprise in the trade of the island is exhibited by the following returns for 1889:—

IMPORTS. EXPORTS.

Government 13,009,445 florins 33,072,175 florins Private persons 160,375,326 " 164,590,439 " —————- —————- Total 173,384,771 " 197,662,614 "

The Government still produces two-thirds of the coffee crop. In 1889 the amount produced respectively by the Government and the planters was 578,000 and 356,000 piculs.

Of the two chief industries of the island, sugar and coffee, the exports in 1890 amounted in value to fifty and fifteen million florins respectively. To these must be added two new industries—tea and cinchona bark. The former is only in its infancy, and is confined to the immediate neighbourhood of Soekaboemi, the head-quarters of the planting interest in Java. Here there are two important estates, Sinagar and Parakan Salak, which are from 12,000 to 15,000 acres in extent. The latter industry is especially hopeful. In 1890 the area of cinchona plantations was 22,500 acres, and 6,000,000 pounds of bark, containing four per cent, of sulphate of quinine, was exported. This amount is equivalent to half the world's supply for the year.

Of the import trade it is not necessary to say more than that the most important item is that of the various cotton goods, coming mainly from this country, which serve the natives with material for clothing suitable for their tropical climate. It is also important to remember that there are a quarter of a million Chinese residents in the island, by whom all the retail, and part of the wholesale, trade is conducted.

Last year the administration of Java was the subject of a severe criticism in the Netherlands Parliament. The complaints were chiefly directed against the conduct of the Achin war, the opium monopoly, and the continued interference of the Government in the coffee industry. The reply of Baron Mackay, the colonial minister at the Hague, was in substance as follows:—

The Achin war, he said, was the result of unavoidable circumstances, and neither the Colonial nor the Home Government could be regarded as responsible for the loss of revenue involved in it. He added, however, that "excellent results were expected from the blockade system" now adopted, and that there were already signs that the Atchinese would before long be brought to terms. With regard to the sale of opium, he assured the States-General that "every possible means were being taken to reduce the sale of the drug, and to remedy its evil effects." He frankly recognized the importance of the question of coffee-culture, but at the same time urged the advisability of maintaining the system for the present. It was not certain, in the first place, that the existing system could be changed with advantage; and, in the second, "no product in the immediate future could be looked for to replace coffee as a source of revenue."

Undoubtedly the resources of Java are at the present time subjected to a heavy strain. On the other hand, it must not be forgotten that (1) the burden of the Achin war may be at any time removed, and (2) all public works are being paid for out of current revenue without recourse to loans. There is, therefore, no reasonable ground for supposing that the present financial difficulties of the Colonial Government are more than temporary. A glance at the balance-sheet of the island for the year 1889 shows to what an extent the difficulties are due to an increasing sense of responsibility towards the natives, and to an intention to eventually open all the industries of this singularly fertile island to private enterprise.

HEADS OF REVENUE AND EXPENDITURE FOR 1889 IN MILLION FLORINS.

Revenue. Expenditure.

Taxes 40 Instruction 10

Monopolies 31 Army and navy 40

Sale of produce (of this Public works (of this coffee contributes 37, railways cost 10) 20 sugar 2) 49 Administration, etc. 60 Other sources (railways, school fees, etc.) 14 —- —- In round numbers 134 130

When the natives have been educated and the industries of the island freed from unnatural restrictions, financial and commercial prosperity will return to Java.



CHAPTER X.

ON A COFFEE PLANTATION.

The Tji Wangi bungalow—Coffee plantations— Cinchona—Native labour—A wayang—Country-bred ponies—Bob and the ducks—Loneliness of a planter's life.

Horace's remark,[18] "Those that cross the sea change temperature, not temperament," is especially true of the Englishman out of England. The room in which I was now seated differed in scarcely anything from the regulation "den" of every Englishman, whether in Scotland or Timbuctoo. From the French windows I could see smooth lawns and bright flower-beds, while beyond appeared the dark green plantations surmounted with grey mountain heights. Photographic groups and etchings shared the task of decorating the walls with riding-gear and Indian knives. The writing-table was strewn with photograph-frames of all sorts and sizes. The black "boy" who brought tea and whisky and Apollinaris, alone gave a hint of "foreign parts." The house itself stood 3500 feet above sea-level; but some of the estate (which covered 800 acres) rose nearly 1000 feet higher still. At this altitude the temperature was never excessively hot: at midday it averaged 70 deg.; certainly it never approached the heat of Batavia; and that night I did what I had not done before in Java—slept with a blanket over me.

[Footnote 18: "Coelum non animum mutant qui trans mare currunt."]

The next morning, two handsome Sandalwood ponies were brought round, and H—— took me over the estate. We rode between coffee and cinchona plantations on roads of various widths cut in zigzags or curves up the mountain sides, sometimes with the sun blazing full above us, sometimes shaded by the light foliage of the albizzias, until we reached a rough stone monument which marked the highest point. In the higher ranges we sometimes came upon a piece of bush with the tall rosamala trees still standing; or caught a glimpse of wide plains, bounded in the far-off distance by lofty mountains.



On more than one occasion H—— stopped to talk to the natives. They were engaged in weeding—the heaviest work on the plantation, since, in the hothouse atmosphere of Java, continual labour is required to keep down the rapidly growing plants of all kinds, which would otherwise impoverish the soil and choke the coffee trees. He usually addressed the mandors, or native foremen, but once or twice he spoke sharply to an idle or careless worker. His method, he explained, was to treat them with strict justice, but merciless severity: both were necessary to secure their respect, adding that it was useless for a man who was not respected to have anything to do with native labour.

It was during many such rides, supplemented by visits to the factory and long after-dinner talks with many different persons, that I learnt something of the ins and outs of a planter's life.

Although the Dutch Government are gradually abandoning the "culture" or "Government-plantation" system, the change is too recent to permit as yet of the full development of private enterprise in the island. Even now there are Government plantations in every village, in which the natives are compelled to work without wages. Of course, it is easy to undersell the planters by produce raised on these conditions. In addition to the direct Government competition, they complained of export duties on their coffee and cinchona, and of ad valorem property taxes upon their plantations and buildings. Altogether, I gathered, the planters considered themselves very badly treated; but they had just formed an association in order to maintain their interests, and to take concerted action against the assistant-residents and the officials generally, who sometimes failed to appreciate the benefit conferred upon the country by the making of roads and other similar improvements.

The average size of the Javan coffee plantations is from 400 to 500 acres. At Tji Wangi there were 500 acres laid down in coffee, and 300 in cinchona. Part of the plantation was new, and H—— had done some clearing since he had taken over the estate. He described the process. The first thing to be done was to clear the forest. The trees were felled; the light timber—underwood and branches—was removed or burnt, but the huge trunks, bare and blackened, were left upon the ground. Indeed, I saw many such trunks, affording a curious contrast to the young plants growing around them. After this, he had formed plantations of albizzias (a slight, tall tree, with a foliage resembling that of the accacia), and planted the young trees, when they were sufficiently grown, at intervals upon the ground he had just cleared. Finally, the coffee trees, which had been grown from seedlings, and had remained in the nurseries for a year, were planted in rows, six or seven feet apart, under the shelter thus provided for them by the albizzias. The coffee trees do not bear until their third year. At the fifth year they reach maturity, and then continue in their prime for as long as ten or fifteen years. Those grown upon the higher, and therefore cooler, ranges will sometimes remain in first-rate condition for even a longer time.

H—— gathered a branch to show me the berry. It was like an acorn with the cup taken off in shape, and of a reddish-brown colour. These berries are harvested ordinarily at the beginning of the dry monsoon, i.e. in April or May. As the coolies are paid in proportion to the amount they gather, the whole crop is first of all measured. It is then put into a pulping-machine, and the husk or outer covering removed. The coffee is now said to be in the parchment, i.e. the two lobes of the bean are still covered by a parchment-like skin, and in this condition the bean is washed down into the fermenting-tanks, where it remains for thirty-six hours. After a final washing, it is dried in the sun in large wooden trays running on wheels, or else on concrete platforms. Most of the Javan coffee is sent off to Europe while it is still in the husk, in order that it may present a better appearance in the European markets. At Tji Wangi, however, the whole work of preparation was done on the estate.

As is well known, the civilized world is indebted for its increased supply of quinine to Mr. Charles Ledger, the naturalist. In a subsequent chapter I have given Mr. Ledger's interesting account of the manner in which he succeeded, after various adventures, in the course of which occurred the death of his faithful Indian servant, Manuel, in procuring a small quantity of Cinchona calisaya seed from Bolivia, part of which was sold to the British and part to the Dutch East India Governments. It is from the nurseries thus formed that the plantations of Java and Ceylon were stocked.

In Java the cinchona is ordinarily grown by grafting slips from a hybrid or Ledgeriana of known quality on to the Succirubra stem. The succirubra grows fast, but yields only a small percentage of quinine; the hybrid contains from ten to sixteen per cent. of sulphate of quinine. By this device a combination of quick growth and good bearing qualities is obtained, since the hybrid thus formed bears as freely as the graft. The cinchona crop is harvested whenever it is convenient, independently of the seasons, but generally at the same time as the coffee. The quinine is contained in the bark of the tree. The first crop of a plantation consists of branch bark. After the plants have been growing for about six years, a whole row is taken out. In this case the trees are entirely removed not 'barked' at all, and the whole of the bark, even that of the roots, is utilized. It is separated from the wood by beating the stems with sticks or wooden hammers. This is done by women, who sit in circles round large trays, into which they drop the bark as it falls off. It is then left to dry, and afterwards collected and placed in long wooden troughs, where it is stamped fine with heavy wooden stampers. In this condition it is packed into round bales. Finally, both coffee and cinchona are transported by coolies to the nearest railway station.



It is in respect of labour that the Javan planters have an advantage over those of Ceylon. At Tji Wangi from 125 to 600 coolies were employed according to the season of the year. They were paid at the rate of 20, 15, and 10 cents (or 4d., 3d., and 2d.) respectively for a man, woman, or child per day; the mandors, or foremen, however, received from 30 to 40 cents per day. Yet so simple and cheap are the necessaries of life in Java, that in this district a good master has no difficulty in getting Javanese or Sundanese natives to work for him at this rate of payment, and the plantation cooly, in spite of his low wages, manages to enjoy his two days' holiday every week in the year.

H—— said that the average cost of living per head among his coolies was not more than 10 cents, or 2d., per day. It should be added, however, that the rate of wages varies in the different residencies. In those in which there are large towns, especially in the eastern districts, the native workers, both coolies and artisans, are paid at a considerably higher rate than they are in the Preanger Regencies.

I have already mentioned the wayang as one of the most popular amusements of the natives, and I shall have something more to say about it in connection with the native literature. At Tji Wangi I had an opportunity of witnessing this performance in its simplest form, i.e. the wayang klitik, in which the puppets are exhibited themselves to the audience instead of being made to project shadows on a transparent screen. Here, as at most plantations, it was customary for the weekly market, held after pay-day, to be followed by a wayang.

When I reached the factory I found that the wages were being paid. The coolies were seated (or rather squatted) on the ground in rows inside the coffee-washing shed, while H—— sat at a table, with his manager and foremen standing round him. After receiving their wages, the crowd of natives flocked through the factory gates to an open space in front of the storehouse. Here the different itinerant vendors had already arranged their goods on stalls or on the ground. There were all manner of cottons and silks, trinkets and hardwares. In addition to these, queer edibles were to be seen—little dishes of pickled vegetables and cured fish, fruits and cakes, even gold-fish. These latter were kept in vessels filled with water, so that the fish could be put back into the ponds again if they were not sold.



It was a pretty scene, this crowd of bright-coloured humanity. The skin of the Javanese is little darker than that of the Italian, and his clothes are gloriously picturesque. As usual, the hats, jackets, scarfs, and sarongs displayed every shade of colour and variety of pattern. The wayang did not begin until the evening. The chief performer, called the dalang, or manager, squatted on the ground before two poles of bamboo placed horizontally at a height of about three feet, into which he stuck the puppets, taking them from a box placed by his side. He chanted a long legendary tale taken from the ancient Javan literature, and dealing with the times before the European occupation of the island. At intervals he broke into a dialogue, when he worked the puppets' arms and legs with wires, so that they seemed to be acting their several parts. Behind the dalang was a gamelan, or series of gongs mounted on a wooden frame much like an ordinary couch. These gongs were struck with wooden hammers by other members of the company, and thus served as an orchestra. It was interesting to observe the deep attention with which the audience followed the movements of the puppets, and listened to the recitations and dialogue. H—— said they would sit there listening for hours, far into the night, without getting tired.

Owing to the restrictive trade policy of the Government, the planters, as a class, are much more identified with the native princes than with the Dutch officials. In a subsequent chapter I shall have occasion to speak of the development of horse-racing in Java, and of the support which is given to the movement by the native princes. At Tji Wangi I was shown a recent importation from Sydney—Lonely, who was destined to lower the colours of the Regent of Tjandjoer recently carried to victory by Thistle, also an Australian horse. The stables (like everything else in Java) were built of bamboo. They were kept in first-rate order. The stalls were occupied chiefly by country-bred ponies, the progeny of the native races of the neighbouring islands of Sandalwood and Timor. H—— said modestly that his stud was a very small one, but that if I would visit a Dutch neighbour I should see a stud of fifteen racers, beside brood mares. Race meetings and the various social gatherings connected with them are among the most important resources of the planter's life. H——'s nearest European neighbours were seven miles away, and he said that he could seldom entertain visitors at Tji Wangi, because of the scarcity of game in the neighbourhood. Indeed, the loneliness of the life is its great objection. The case of the Dutch planters is rather different. They are often married, and with their managers, form quite a little society of their own. But an Englishman rarely has the courage to bring a wife so far from home. In most cases it is the near prospect of returning with a fortune which alone makes so isolated an existence bearable.

Under these circumstances, it was not strange that H—— should keep a number of canine pets. Among them Bob, an English bulldog, was his favourite. He was as good-natured as he was ugly, seldom misbehaving, even when tempted beyond doggish endurance by the proximity of dark skins and waving drapery. On one occasion, however, he did give way to anger; but it must be admitted that he had provocation. H—— had some black ducks which he had carefully reared to ornament the little lake in the garden. One afternoon, when Master Bob was taking his siesta in the neighbourhood of the kitchen, with his small white teeth protruding, after the manner of bulldogs, from his black lips, and gleaming in the light, an unfortunate duck came by. Seeing the white oblong-masses in the region of Bob's mouth, she very naturally concluded that they were grains of rice left by the careless quadruped. Acting upon this theory, she hastily essayed to seize the morsel. The impact of her bill upon his nose woke Bob in terrible indignation. A short scuffle and a plaintive quack, and that duck's career was ended. But that was not all. So serious did the bulldog consider this insult to his dignity that, in spite of repeated castigations, he never rested until he had killed the whole of the remaining brood of ducks.[19]

[Footnote 19: Whenever I think of Bob and the ducks I remember that line of Virgil, in which he tells of Juno's hatred of the Trojans—"AEternum servans sub pectore vulnus."]

Bob's predecessor in office had been poisoned by a native cook. "But I got her two months," H—— added, "and told my people that I had sent for another bulldog from England, and that if they poisoned him I should send for six more."

"But you once told me you had your house broken into. How did that happen?" This was in one of our talks in the smoking-room after dinner.

"It wasn't a very exciting business," he replied. "All I know was that the money was gone the next morning. The night before I was very tired and slept soundly; when I woke up I found my despatch-box gone. I summoned my people and set them to look for it; it was found about a hundred yards away, with the papers in it, but the money gone. About a month afterwards I discovered that one of the natives had been spending more money than he could account for, and, by the help of the native police, I got him convicted and sentenced to transportation for four years. There were three men concerned, but the others escaped through insufficient evidence. One of the stable boys had pulled up the bolts of the front door, and the thieves had quietly walked in, taken the box outside, and broken it open. It was a mere accident—my putting the money into the despatch-box instead of into the safe; but, of course, I took precautions against a repetition of the affair. I had my safe fastened into the ground, and the two safes at the office were built into the wall, as you saw.

"Now, you see, they know there's always a revolver here"—pointing to the desk—"and another by my bedside at night. There are a couple of guns there, but of course they would not be any good, although the bowie-knife hanging by them would. I always have two dogs in the house, one here and one in my bedroom, and there are five or six outside."



CHAPTER XI.

ANIMAL AND PLANT LIFE.

Mr. Wallace and the Malay Archipelago—Animals— Birds—General characteristics of plants—European flora in mountains—Darwin's explanation—Fruits— History of cinchona introduction—Mr. Ledger's story—Indiarubber.

No less than eight years (1854—1862) were employed by Mr. Wallace, the naturalist, in "the study of man and nature" in the Malay Archipelago. During this period he collected a vast number of specimens of animals and plants, and, some years after his return to England, gave the results of his travels to the world in his "Malay Archipelago." The general conclusions which Mr. Wallace was led to form are of such interest, that I shall endeavour very briefly to lay them before the reader.

In the first place, the evidence supplied by the nature of the distribution of the various plants and animals is such as to point to the belief that the whole Archipelago is composed of fragments of two separate continents. The Malay islands must, therefore, be divided into two groups. Of these groups the first, roughly consisting of Sumatra, Java, Borneo, and the Philippines, once formed part of the continent of Asia; while in the second, the Celebes, Flores, Timor, the Moluccas, and New Guinea, we have fragments of a great Pacific continent, which has been gradually and irregularly broken up. The inhabitants of the former region, to which Mr. Wallace gives the name Indo-Malayan, are Malays; those of the latter, the Austro-Malayan, are Papuans.

Secondly, the intervening seas, which surround the various islands which have now taken the place of these former continental tracts, have been formed by the subsidence of land from which the foundations have been withdrawn by the continued activity of a long volcanic chain which traverses the Archipelago from end to end. And therefore, strange as it may seem at first sight, the fertile island of Java, with its rich plains and abundant vegetation—so unlike the traditional barrenness of a volcanic region—is the work of this subterranean energy.

"The island of Java contains more volcanoes, active and extinct, than any other known district of equal extent. They are about forty-five in number, and many of them exhibit most beautiful examples of the volcanic cone on a large scale, single or double, with entire or truncated summits, and averaging 10,000 feet high."[20]

[Footnote 20: "Malay Archipelago."]

Thirdly, not only did Sumatra, Java, and Borneo once form part of the continent of Asia, but the subsidence of land which caused their separation from the continent, and from each other, is of very recent date—recent, that is, in the scale of geological eras. This is shown by the fact that the separating seas are so shallow that to-day ships can anchor anywhere in them. We shall, therefore, expect a strong similarity, almost amounting to a complete identity, to exist between the animals and plants of Sumatra, Java, and Borneo and those of Southern India, Burmah, and the Malay Peninsular. Such, according to Mr. Wallace, is the fact.

"The elephant and tapir of Sumatra and Borneo, the rhinoceros of Sumatra and the allied species of Java, the wild cattle of Borneo, and the kind long supposed to be peculiar to Java, are now all known to inhabit some part or other of Southern Asia.... Birds and insects illustrate the same view, for every family and almost every genus of these groups found in any of the islands occurs also in the Asiatic continent, and in a great number of cases the species are exactly identical."

In addition to the rhinoceros and wild cattle mentioned above, the wild animals of Java include the jackal, the tiger, and several species of monkeys. Snakes and alligators are also to be found in the island. There is a good supply of domestic animals with the exception of sheep. This useful animal was so entirely unknown to the natives, that when the Dutch attempted to introduce it into the island it was necessary to find a name for it. It was accordingly called a "Dutch goat;" nor is there at the present time any other term in the Malay language by which the animal can be designated. I have already spoken of the utility of the Javan horses. They are imported in large numbers from the neighbouring island of Sandalwood, and great attention is being paid to the production of country-breds. An attempt is also being made to improve the breed by the importation of English and Australian thoroughbreds. I was also informed that in recent years a number of cattle had been introduced from India. As in most Eastern countries, the ox is used in Java for drawing carts and for other agricultural purposes; but the buffalo is the most valuable of all animals to the natives, by whom it is especially employed in the cultivation of the ricefields. The only dangerous animal is the tiger, and the sport of tiger-hunting still forms one of the recreations of the native princes.

The birds of Java are distinguished for their variety and for the rich plumage with which they are adorned. During a single month passed in Ardjoeno, a mountain situated in the regency of Paseroean, in the east of the island, Mr. Wallace collected ninety-eight species of birds. Among these he mentions the Javan peacock, of which he obtained two specimens more than seven feet long; the jungle fowl (Gallus furcatus); the jungle cock (Gallus bankiva), called by the natives bekeko; various species of woodpeckers and kingfishers; a hornbill (Buceros lunatus) more than four feet long; and a "pretty little lorikeet (Loriculus pusillus) scarcely more than as many inches." When he visited the west of the island, he found still more valuable specimens in the Preanger regencies, twenty miles south of Buitenzorg. Among the mountains of this neighbourhood, and at an elevation of 4000 feet, he collected in a fortnight forty species of birds, "almost all of which were peculiar to the Javanese fauna." In these were included the "elegant yellow-and-green trogon (Harpactes Reinwardti); the gorgeous little minivet flycatcher (Pericrocotus miniatus), which looks like a flame of fire as it flutters among the bushes; and the rare and curious black-and-crimson oriole (Analcipus sanguinolentus)." Mr. Wallace also speaks of the rare and beautiful butterflies which he captured here. In particular he secured a specimen of the calliper butterfly, "remarkable for having on each hind wing two curved tails like a pair of callipers."

It is in this neighbourhood that the large Javan wood-pigeons which I saw at Tji Wangi are to be found. As they are excellent eating, they are shot by the planters, though it is often difficult to get within range of them owing to the height of the rosamala trees in which they settle.

There are certain characteristic developments of plant-life which arrest the attention of the traveller in Java.

In the towns he cannot fail to be impressed with the large-leaved and gorgeously coloured shrubs which surround the houses of the European residents; he will notice, too, that the streets and open spaces are planted with waringin and tamarind trees, and when he travels into the interior he will find that the roads which traverse the island are still lined by the same trees. Of these the former is a species of ficus; the latter, the tamarind, has been introduced from Madagascar. Towards the end of the year it is covered with orange blossoms, which finally develop into a somewhat acid fruit. In the country the dwellings of the Javan peasants are almost universally surrounded by palms, bananas, and bamboos. While the palms and bananas supply the native with fruit, from the bamboo he has learnt to make numberless useful articles, ranging from a house or a boat to a drinking-vessel or a musical instrument. Cooking-utensils, baskets, hats, and all manner of tools are constructed out of the material provided by this useful tree. While I was staying at a friend's house at Weltevreden I had a singular illustration of the variety of uses to which the bamboo could be put by observing the method of cutting the grass adopted by a native gardener. He was squatting on the ground, and had by his side about half a dozen sections into which he had split some bamboo rods about two feet in length. These he rapidly passed over the grass backwards and forwards with a semicircular sweep, and their sharp edges mowed the grass down as cleanly as the blade of a scythe. In this way he cleared a space around him, and, gradually advancing, eventually trimmed off the whole plot of grass.

The tropical forests, again, are characterized by a remarkable uniformity and sombreness which gives them an aspect quite unlike that of European woods. The vast cylindrical trunks of the great forest trees, rising like pillars from the midst of ferns and lesser growths, support a lofty roof of leaves. Beneath this screen innumerable forms of plant-life develop without let or hindrance, and the whole abundant foliage is bound into an inextricable mass by parasites and creepers. On every side the eye is met by one monotonous tone of verdure, for the supremely favourable conditions for plant-life which obtains tend to produce a total effect, not of variety, but of sameness.

One of the most interesting facts connected with the Javan flora is the appearance of European flowers upon the higher levels of the mountains. The phenomenon is the more remarkable in the face of the consideration that the seeds of such flowers are so heavy, and the distance from their present habitat so great, as to negative the supposition that they have been carried by the wind; nor can their presence be satisfactorily referred to the agency of birds.

At first sight, therefore, the existence of flowers such as the violet, the buttercup, and the honeysuckle in an island south of the equator, and surrounded by vegetation of a totally different order, appeared to be so inexplicable that the hypothesis of a separate and distinct origin was advanced. A more satisfactory explanation has, however, been furnished by Darwin, which is now generally accepted. Very briefly, this is as follows. It is supposed that at the time of the glacial epoch the depression of temperature was so great as to admit of the prevalence in the tropics of forms of plants now peculiar to the temperate regions of the north. As the heat increased, such plants retreated from the tropics, for the most part northwards, but not exclusively. Following the snow-line, they also climbed to the cool heights of the lofty mountains of Central India and of Abyssinia, and even crossed the equator. They now linger upon the summits of the Javan mountains, and furnish by their presence an additional proof of the original union of the western islands of the Archipelago with the continent of Asia.

During his stay at Buitenzorg, Mr. Wallace ascended the mountains Pangerango and Gede. He describes this expedition as "by far the most interesting incident" of his visit to Java, and gives a full account of the various European plants which he found growing at different altitudes. In particular he mentions the royal cowslip (Primula imperialis), "which is said to be found nowhere else in the world but on this solitary mountain summit," and the stem of which he found sometimes growing to a height of over three feet. The list of families of European plants growing upon Pangerango and Gede given by another scientific traveller, Mr. Motley, includes, among others, such familiar names as the violet, the buttercup, the primula, the lily of the valley, the honeysuckle and the wood-sorrel. I have already mentioned the fact that it is found possible to grow all European plants (but not fruits) in the mountain garden which is established on the slopes of Gede, and which forms part of the Government gardens.

Of the tropical fruits in general I am inclined to think that their excellences have been very much over-estimated. There is nothing to equal or approach a fine jargonelle pear, a peach, or hothouse grapes. The orange, cocoanut, banana, and mango are so well known as to need no special description. In addition to these, the commonest fruit are the pomelo, the mangosteen, the duku, the rambutan, and the durian. The pomelo is six or seven inches in diameter, with a smooth green exterior, not unlike that of a water-melon; the fruit is pink in colour, and easily breaks up into sections. It tastes like a very dry and rather acid orange, and the peel makes an excellent bitter in sherry. The rambutan resembles a horse-chestnut in size and appearance, except that its shaggy exterior is red instead of green. The duku and mangosteen, on the other hand, are smooth and green, and in other respects resemble a walnut. All three, rambutan, duku, and mangosteen, provide a gelatinous substance with a delicate acid flavour. The durian is as large as a cocoa-nut, and its exterior is armed with spikes; the fruit is soft and pulpy, tasting like a custard in flavour, but it has a horrible smell, and possesses strong laxative qualities. Mr. Wallace devotes several pages to a description of its various qualities, remarking that "to eat durians is a new sensation, worth a voyage to the East to experience." Credat Judaeus non ego. There is also a species of green orange, with a very thin skin and fine acid flavour, to be obtained in Java.

A general view of the products of the island has already been given in Junghuhn's table in Chapter II., and some of the more important have been subsequently described at length. Any account of the plants of Java would, however, be incomplete without a narrative of the introduction of cinchona into the East Indies.

This plant, from the bark of which quinine is obtained, is a native of Peru, and for a long time the Peruvian Government jealously maintained exclusive possession of it. Forty years ago, the Dutch Colonial Government despatched Haskarl, one of the officials of the Buitenzorg gardens, to Peru for the purpose of procuring cinchona seed. He succeeded in obtaining some seed of a very inferior quality, and the plantations produced from it were practically useless. In 1866, however, both the British and Dutch Indian Governments purchased small quantities of seed from Mr. Charles Ledger. From this seed the very valuable plantations of Java and Ceylon have been propagated. I have already described the method of cultivating Cinchona Ledgeriana adopted by the planters, and how advantage is taken of the extreme liability of the cinchona plant to hybridization. The manner in which the seed was secured forms an interesting episode in the history of scientific botany. The story is told by Mr. Ledger in a letter to his brother published in the Field of Feb. 5, 1881, in which it will be seen that these seeds were obtained at the cost of the life of Manuel, the naturalist's faithful Indian servant.

"While engaged in my alpaca enterprise of 1856, a Bolivian Indian, Manuel Tucra Mamami, formerly and afterwards a cinchona bark-cutter, was accompanying me with two of his sons. He accompanied me in almost all my frequent journeys into the interior, and was very useful in examining the large quantities of cinchona bark and alpaca wool I was constantly purchasing. He and his sons were very much attached to me, and I placed every confidence in them. Sitting round our camp-fire one evening, as was our custom after dinner, conversing on all sorts of topics, I mentioned what I had read as to Mr. Clement R. Markham's mission in search of cinchona seeds. Now, Manuel had been with me in three of my journeys into the cinchona districts of the Yungas of Bolivia, where I had to go looking after laggard contractors for delivery of bark. It was while conversing on the subject of Mr. Markham's journey, and wondering which route he would take, etc., that Manuel greatly surprised me by saying, 'The gentleman will not leave the Yungas in good health if he really obtains the rogo plants and seeds.' Manuel was always very taciturn and reserved. I said nothing at the time, there being some thirty more of my Indians sitting round the large fire. The next day he reluctantly told me how every stranger on entering the Yungas was closely watched unobserved by himself; how several seed-collectors had their seed changed; how their germinating power was destroyed by their own guides, servants, etc. He also showed me how all the Indians most implicitly believe, if, by plants or seeds from the Yungas, the cinchonas are successfully propagated in other countries, all their own trees will perish. Such, I assure you, is their superstition. Although there are no laws prohibiting the cinchona seed or plants being taken out of the country, I have seen private instructions from the prefect in La Paz ordering strictest vigilance to prevent any person taking seed or plants out of the country. More than half a dozen times I have had my luggage, bedding, etc., searched when coming out of the valley of the Yungas.

"You are aware how I am looked upon as a doctor by the Indians. Well, one day I said, 'Manuel, I may some day require some seed and flowers of the famous white flower, Rogo cascarrilla, as a remedy; and I shall rely upon you not deceiving me in the way you have told me.' He merely said, 'Patron, if you ever require such seed and flowers, I will not deceive you. And I thought no more about it.

"Manuel was never aware of my requiring seed and leaves for propagating purposes; he was always told they were wanted to make a special remedy for a special illness. For many years, since 1844, I had felt deeply interested in seeing Europe, and my own dear country in particular, free from being dependent on Peru or Bolivia for its supply of life-giving quinine. Remembering and relying on Manuel's promise to me in 1856, I resolved to do all in my power to obtain the very best cinchona seed produced in Bolivia.

"His son Santiago went to Australia with me in 1858. In 1861, the day before sending back to South America Santiago and the other Indians who had accompanied me there as shepherds of the alpacas, I bought 200 Spanish dollars, and said to him, 'You will give these to your father. Tell him I count on his keeping his promise to get me forty to fifty pounds of rogo cinchona (white flower) seed. He must get it from trees we had sat under together when trying to reach the Mamore river in 1851: to meet me at Tacna (Peru) by May, 1863. If not bringing pure, ripe rogo seed, flowers, and leaves, never to look for me again.'

"I arrived back in Tacna on the 5th of January, 1865. I at once sent a message to Manuel, informing him of my arrival. At the end of May he arrived with his precious seed. It is only now, some twenty-four years after poor Manuel promised not to deceive me, manifest how faithfully and loyally he kept his promise. I say poor Manuel, because, as you know, he lost his life while trying to get another supply of the same class of seed for me in 1872-3. You are aware, too, how later on I lost another old Indian friend, poor Poli, when bringing seed and flowers in 1877.

"I feel thoroughly convinced in my own mind that such astonishingly rich quinine-yielding trees as those in Java are not known to exist (in any quantity) in Bolivia. These wonderful trees are only to be found in the Caupolican district in Eastern Yungas. The white flower is specially belonging to the cinchona 'rogo' of Apolo.

"You will call to mind, no doubt, the very great difficulties you had to get this wonderful 'seed' looked at, even; how a part was purchased by Mr. Money for account of our East Indian Government for L50 under condition of 10,000 germinating. Though 60,000 plants were successfully raised from it by the late Mr. McIver, I only received the L50.

"The seed taken by the Netherlands Government cost it barely L50.

"Such, then, is the story attaching to the now famous Cinchona Ledgeriana, the source of untold wealth to Java, Ceylon, and, I hope, to India and elsewhere. I am proud to see my dream of close on forty years ago is realized; Europe is no longer dependent on Peru or Bolivia for its supply of life-giving quinine."

Before closing this chapter I may mention that there is a considerable plantation of gutta-percha trees in the horticultural garden at Buitenzorg. The best producer of gutta-percha, Pelaguium (isonandra) Gutta, grows nowhere on the island naturally, but seeds were obtained from two specimens of this plant which had been placed in the botanical garden, and the plantation was established some years ago at the suggestion of Dr. Treub. In view of the recent development of electrical engineering and the increased demand for indiarubber generally which has arisen in the last few years, the fact that an unlimited supply of this valuable plant can be obtained in Java is one of some importance to the commercial world.



CHAPTER XII.

SOCIAL LIFE.

Dutch society in the East—Batavian etiquette— English residents—Clubs—Harmonie—Concordia— Lawn-tennis—Planters—Horse-racing.

Boston is not the only place in the world which has decided upon insufficient evidence that it is the centre of the universe. We all of us have a weakness for the special form of civilization with which we are most familiar, and to discover excellences of character and manners essentially identical with those we have been taught to associate with a cherished society in our own country, in places where we least expect them, is part of the discipline of travel. In the Dutch over-sea settlements society is more exclusive and regulated by a more rigid code of etiquette than it is in Holland. Nor will it seem strange, when the special conditions of Javan life are remembered, that the persons composing this society should be indolent, luxurious, and imperious. On the other hand, an abundance of leisure, and a consciousness of racial superiority acquired by habits of command exercised for several generations, endow it with some of the finer qualities associated with ancient society based upon the institution of slavery.

Nor must we forget that the Dutch are not mere "birds of passage" in Java, as is the case with the English in India. On the contrary, the majority of the Dutch residents are persons whose families have been settled in the island for many generations, and who look upon Java as their home. One has only to look round in the streets of Weltevreden to realize the fact that Batavia is a colony, not merely a possession. From seven to eight in the morning, troops of boys and girls are to be seen going to school. The little girls are dressed in light materials; they do not wear either hats or bonnets, and rarely carry sunshades. The boys wear brown holland trousers and jackets, and the military cap of a continental school. Although children are sent to Holland for social reasons, the climate of Java does not require that painful separation of parents and children which is one of the disagreeable accidents of Indian life. On the contrary, the Dutch race appears to have developed favourably in Java, and the colonial-born women are famous for the beauty of their complexions and for the fineness of their physique. Another test of the social condition of a community is its shops. In Batavia there are excellent shops. Not merely can the newest books, and the cleverest etchings, and all the numberless refinements of Bond Street be obtained, but the manners of the tradespeople indicate that they are accustomed to deal with persons who require to be served promptly, and with the best.

In addition to the native and Chinese population, there are seven thousand Europeans resident in Batavia. As most of these latter are persons whose various employments allow them a good deal of "leisure," there is a corresponding amount of social activity. This is regulated by the rules of old-fashioned continental society, with such innovations as have been rendered necessary or merely suggested by the special conditions of the place and climate. As the official class is the basis upon which Batavian society rests, it is not surprising that ceremony should play an important part in its system. Among European communities in warm countries, a considerable licence is generally allowed in the matter of dress; but in Batavia, etiquette requires a man to wear a frock coat and white gloves for paying a call. Moreover, before a call which is intended to initiate an acquaintance can be made, notice of the caller's intention, and of the day proposed, must first be sent. These formal calls are made from seven to eight in the evening, and it is not considered polite to leave before the hour has expired. During this period iced water is handed round in elegant glasses, furnished with silver trays and tortoiseshell covers. Again, after introduction to an unmarried lady at a dance, a man is required to properly legitimize the acquaintance. In order to do this, he must be presented to the parents of the lady, if this has not already been done, and he is expected also to make the acquaintance of such of her relatives as are resident in the neighbourhood.

At the date of my visit (1890), the English community in Batavia consisted of fifty or sixty men and five ladies. Up to the last ten years there has been an English chaplain at Batavia; but there is some difficulty in raising the necessary stipend, and so the interesting little church is at present deserted. It is only quite recently that the English residents have received any sort of recognition in Batavian society. Now, however, they have succeeded in establishing two institutions—a paper-chase (on horseback) and a lawn-tennis club, which are likely to modify the rigour of its etiquette.

The Dutch are famous for their clubs. These institutions flourish in Java, and in Batavia they contribute materially to the social life of the place. Among many others, the Societeit Harmonie and the Concordia are the most considerable. At both of them frequent concerts and dances are held. In connection with this latter amusement, it was interesting to find that all the dancing at Batavia was done on marble. I was told that it was not considered unpleasant, and that the only wooden floor in the island was in the Governor-General's palace at Buitenzorg. The Harmonie is a large square building, surrounded on two sides with porticos and verandahs, standing at the corner of Ryswyk. The main entrance leads into an extensive hall with white walls and a lofty roof supported by ranges of pillars. On the marble floor are arranged a number of small tables for light refreshments. To the right and left of this hall is the billiard-room and the reading-room. The former contains some twenty or thirty French and English tables; and the latter is well supplied with European papers and magazines. The two rooms are separated from the hall by light wooden screens, which allow the air to circulate freely from one to another, and in this way the whole building is kept pleasantly cool. The Harmonie was founded in 1815 during the British occupation. In 1889, shortly before my visit, a dinner was held commemorating the foundation of the club, and on each menu card an account of the event was printed, taken from the British Government Gazette published at the time. Compared with the Concordia, it is a civilian club; for, although this latter does not by any means restrict its membership to officers in the forces, the management is entirely in the hands of the military, who make the neighbourhood of the Waterloo Plain, where the club stands, a sort of military quarter. The Concordia gives an open-air concert every Saturday evening and every alternate Wednesday afternoon.

I went to one of the Saturday evening concerts, and enjoyed it very much. The air was warm and calm, and it was very pleasant to sit under the wide-spreading waringin trees and gaze up at the twinkling brightness of the stars through the screen of leaves. There was quite a crowd of members and their friends promenading or sitting in easy groups round the little iron tables. The kiosks were brilliantly lighted, but through the branches of the waringin trees the soft radiance of the moon could be seen shining upon the dull blue vault of the sky. The performance was given by the staff band, which never leaves Batavia, and is said to be the best in the East Indies. I give the programme:—

I.

1. FUR'S VATERLAND MARSCH C. Milloecker.

2. WIENER FRAUEN WALZER J. Strauss.

3. OUVERTURE JELVA F. Reisiger.

4. GRUSS AUS DER FERNE INTERMEZZO J. Verhulst.

5. MARSCH UND CHOR A. D. OPER. DIE ZAUBERFLOeTE W. A. Mozart.

6. FANTAISIE LA REINE DE SABA Ch. Gounod.

II.

7. OUVERTURE DIE FRAU MEISTERIN Fr. v. Suppe.

8. DIE MUHLE IM SCHWARZWALD R. Eilenberg.

9. FINALE A. D. OPER. ARIELE DIE TOCHTER DER LUFT E. Bach.

On Sunday afternoon a military band plays in the centre of the Waterloo Plain, and all Batavia turns out in carriages or on horseback to listen—all Batavia, that is, with the exception of the very select few who keep to themselves almost entirely, or, if they attend a Concordia concert, never leave their carriages. This select few includes the highest officials and their families, personages such as the general and admiral, and the members of the East India Council. There is an interesting fact in connection with the admiral that recalls the time when the supremacy of the sea was the pride of the Dutch nation. The Governor-General, the general of the forces, and the admiral of the fleet all enjoy the title of "Excellency," while they reside in Java; but, whereas the two former cease to be entitled to it when their term of command is over, the admiral is "his Excellency" to the end of his days.

As I mentioned before, the strictness of Batavian etiquette is likely to be modified by the introduction of a pastime so essentially English as lawn-tennis. The courts of the Bataviasche Lawn-tennis Club are in the Zoological Gardens, south of the King's Plain. The club holds numerous tournaments in the course of the year, and competitions are established for both a ladies' and gentlemen's championship. The great majority of the men who play are English, but the ladies are, from the small number of English women in Batavia, almost exclusively Dutch. The holder of the championship of Batavia, and the secretary of the club, in 1890, was an Englishman, Mr. R. L. Burt. In addition to this club, the old Batavia cricket club, which has an excellent ground on the King's Plain, has been practically converted into a men's lawn-tennis club. I was told that as many as six double courts were to be seen in full play on ladies' days at this club. So that it would appear that the Dutch ladies, at all events, have taken very kindly to lawn-tennis.

The style of living in Batavia is very similar to that of European society in India. The cheapness of labour and consequent number of servants give a certain air of luxury to even moderate establishments. The Malay cooks are particularly skilful in the matter of curreys, and in a good house a "rice-table" is a thing to be remembered. The neatness and quickness of the natives generally make them very suitable for the duties of domestic and body servants. A Batavian dinner is served at a late hour in a lofty and spacious apartment, which is one of a series of chambers through which the air freely circulates from the front to the back of the house. From this room the outside world is excluded only by partially drawn blinds, and through the open windows the perfumes of flowers or the sounds of music are borne in upon the guests. After dinner the party return to the portico in the front, which is almost as completely furnished as an inside room, and the rest of the evening is spent practically in the open air.

Beside the officials who are scattered over Java and the Dutch possessions in the East, the planters form an important element in the social life of the island. They are by no means exclusively Dutch, but the class includes a considerable number of Englishmen. Such men are usually drawn from the higher classes in Holland or in England, and are fairly wealthy and refined. Like the sheep farmers of Australia, they are exceedingly hospitable, and their bungalows are often convenient and even luxurious. Often, too, these latter are set in the midst of mountain scenery, and surrounded by charming gardens.

The planters are the representatives of the principle of free commerce, and the natural opponents of the official class. Everywhere among them complaints are heard of the prejudice displayed against private enterprise, and of unnecessary obstacles placed in their way by the controleurs and assistant-residents. As I have already mentioned, a planters' union has lately been established for the purpose of protecting the planting interests. It meets at Soekaboemi, and it is hoped that, by means of concerted action, such grievances will be brought more effectively before the Government. After all, the planters are the real producers of the island, and their importance increases every year in proportion as the area of Government plantations is reduced. In many respects the planters are allied with the native princes. To a large extent the two classes lead the same life and share the same pursuits. They are both brought into close connection with the natives, and they both find their chief recreation in various forms of sport.

Horse-racing in particular has of late years developed very considerably. The principal meetings are held at Buitenzorg and at Bandong, the former in June and September, the latter in July. At Bandong the native princes turn out in force, and the native population hold a carnival in the town. One of the greatest patrons of the turf is the Regent of Tjandjoer. At the time of my visit he was the owner of the premier horse in the island—Thistle, whose sire was Teviot of West Australia. The planters round Soekaboemi are also among the principal supporters of horse-racing in Java.

In Java, as elsewhere, they had a grievance. It was said that the owners of big studs of country-breds dominated the arrangements for events, and that the programmes were made up in favour of such native-bred horses to the exclusion of imported stock. Such a policy was regarded as unfavourable to the best interests of horse-racing in Java, since, instead of encouraging the importation of thoroughbreds from Australia and Europe, it tends to perpetuate the native race. The country-bred horse is undoubtedly a handsome-looking animal, but he exhibits a tendency to become weedy and razor-chested, and fails to carry a heavy weight from deficiency of bone. It is also found that the progeny of imported stock decline in quality both in size and stamina. This is the joint effect of climate and inferior food. Horses are trained merely on fresh grass and paddy (i.e. the ear and part of the stalk of the rice plant). Bandaging, I was told, was almost unknown; at the same time the animals were generally sound in feet and legs.

The average height of the country-bred horse is 14.3 to 15 hands; and good time over a mile is between 1 min. 52 sec. and 1 min. 55 sec., carrying at the rate of 75 lbs. (Dutch) for 4 feet, and one pound for every quarter of an inch in advance. In other words, a fifteen-hand horse carries about nine stone. There is no system of handicapping, but horses carry weight for inches; so that a horse may defeat a rival any number of times without effecting a change in the weights, and a known winner carries less weight than his defeated rival if the latter is an inch or two above him.

There are no recognized steeplechases, but generally one or two events at each meeting are reserved for gentlemen riders, and private matches are sometimes arranged. In 1888 the commandant at Buitenzorg offered a prize for a cross-country race for the purpose of encouraging riding among the officers. The event, however, was won by an English planter.

The Buitenzorg meetings are attended by all the best people in the island, and on the first day the Governor-General appears in state. The racing is fixed for the morning, and lasts from nine to twelve. It is a rather curious fact that in Java the starter has discarded the universal red flag, and waves a Dutch tricolour instead.



CHAPTER XIII.

THE HINDU JAVANESE LITERATURE.

The Hindu Javanese literature concerned with the past—Javanese alphabet—Extent of Javanese works— Kavi dialect—Krama and Ngoko—The Mahabharata and the Ramayana in Kavi—Native Kavi works—The Arjuna Vivaya—The Bharata Yuddha—Episode of Salya and Satiavati—Ethical poems—The Paniti Sastra— Localization of Hindu mythology in Java.

The literature of a country reflects its life, but under certain conditions. The literature of Java is mainly, but not entirely, concerned with the distant past, when the quiet tide of Eastern life had received as yet no disturbing impulse from the stream of Mohammedan and European conquest. This Hindu Javanese literature tells us of a people far advanced in the essentials of civilization, and reveals the existence of a social system which, though undoubtedly primitive, was at the same time complete and homogeneous. From the date of the Mohammedan conquest onwards, that is to say, for the last four centuries, the national life has been directed by alien forces. During this period but little or nothing has been added to the literature of the country, since the fresh ideas which have been introduced have come from Mohammedan conquerors, who were themselves provided with a sufficient medium of expression, and one which they sought, as a matter of policy, to impress upon the subject races of the island. Beyond enlightening us upon the social system prevalent many hundred years ago, it would seem that a knowledge of their literature could contribute but slightly towards a comprehension of the Javanese. This opinion, however, is modified by the fact that the Kavi literature has been popularized by translation into modern Javanese, and that the mass of the population are still acquainted with its main features by means of these versions accompanied by the representations of the theatre and the wayang. The ideals of conduct conveyed in these epics, romances, legends, and ethical treatises will, therefore, be those with which the Javanese are still familiar, and presumably such as still enlist their sympathies. Besides this general insight into native methods of thought, there are also certain features of their life and of their present relationship to their European conquerors upon which interesting lights are thrown by an acquaintance with the traditions and beliefs enshrined in the ancient literature.

The Javan alphabet, according to the native idea, consists of only twenty consonants. But as a matter of fact, each of these consonants is credited with an inherent vowel sound of a (often written o) as in water; and there are five vowel signs which are attached to the consonants, and so vary the inherent a. There are also twenty auxiliary consonant forms, corresponding to the original twenty consonants, which are used in all combinations of consonants. Even this does not exhaust the list, for there still remain a number of double letters, while modifications of the letters of the alphabet are employed for numbers. Speaking of this alphabet as a whole, Crawfurd says[21] that it reaches perfection, since "it expresses every sound in the language, and every sound invariably with the same character, which never expresses but one." He concludes, "In splendour or elegance the alphabet of the Arabs and Persians is probably superior to that of the Javanese; but the latter, it may be safely asserted, surpasses in beauty and neatness all other written characters." Some idea of the extent of the Javanese literature may be gained from the fact that M. Vreede's recently issued account of the Javanese manuscripts in the Leiden University Library[22] gives the names of some five hundred manuscripts, containing no less than one hundred and fifty separate works. And—to come nearer home—the collection of the Royal Asiatic Society contains as many as forty-four Javanese manuscripts, for which the society is mainly indebted to the generosity of Lady Raffles. No little interest and learning have been displayed by continental scholars in the study of these works; but, unfortunately, their valuable treatises, written in German, French, and Dutch, are not easily accessible to English readers. In order to find an account of the Javanese literature in English, we have to go back more than half a century to the works of Raffles and Crawfurd. Fortunately, the former has enriched his "History" with unusually full and interesting extracts from Javanese works. But since Raffles was in Java immense advances have been made, not only in our general knowledge of oriental languages, but especially in the interpretation of literature by means of antiquarian remains. It is not that his account is rendered worthless by these recent researches. On the contrary, in this latest work, Vreede's "Catalogue," we find frequent quotations from Raffles' appendices. At the same time, when we see how much he achieved with his inadequate materials, it is difficult to suppress a feeling of regret that the fuller information, which is available to-day, was not at the disposal of the author of a "History of Java." As I have embodied in the text some extracts from Raffles' translations, it may be well to say a word as to the value of these versions. What Vreede says of a particular passage is true of these renderings in general: "They are not literal translations, but the spirit of the work is well rendered."

[Footnote 21: "Indian Archipelago."]

[Footnote 22: "Catalogus van de Javaansche en Madoereesche Handschriften der Leidsche Universiteits-Bibliotheek door A. C. Vreede. Leiden: 1892."]

In the present chapter we are concerned only with those Hindu Javanese works which are properly entitled to be classed as "literature." They are written in the Kavi or literary language. The term "Kavi" means the language of poetry, and this dialect is composed, to a great extent, of words of Sanscrit origin. Although the knowledge of Kavi was gradually lost after the Hindu supremacy was overthrown by the Mohammedans, modern Javanese contains but few Arabic words, especially differing in this respect from Malay. Two forms of modern Javanese are employed in everyday speech. First, the language of ceremony, called Krama; and, secondly, the common speech, or Ngoko (meaning literally the thou-ing speech). The Krama contains a considerable number of words derived from Sanscrit and introduced through the Kavi, and an admixture of Malay. It is used by the peasants and artisans in addressing the native princes. The Ngoko is spoken by the common people among themselves, and by the native princes in communication with their inferiors. The existence of this double language explains the fact (of which I have already spoken) that the Dutch have established Malay, and not Javanese or Sundanese, as the medium of communication between Europeans and natives.

The modified Hinduism which existed at the epoch of the Mohammedan conquest (1400-1500, A.D.) retreated very gradually in an easterly direction before the new religion. At the end of the eighteenth century there were still Hindus in Java, and to-day the ancient religion lingers in Bali, a small island off the south-eastern coast. In Bali, therefore, it is natural that we should find the fullest remains of such parts of the Kavi literature as are most closely identified with that of Continental India. Only fragments of the two great Indian epics, the Mahabharata, or "Great War of the Sons of King Bharata," and the Ramayana, or "Adventures of Rama," are found in Java; but in Bali Kavi versions of both appear. Neither of these versions, however; bears the Indian title of the original work. The Mahabharata, which, with its 220,000 lines, is the longest epic in the world, and which Sir Monier Williams calls "a vast cyclopaedia of Hindu mythology," is known as "the Parvas." Of the eighteen parvans, or divisions, of the original, eight only are in existence in the Kavi version. Of these the first, Adiparva, is the best preserved, says Dr. Van der Tuuk; "but this also," he adds, "abounds in blunders, and especially the proper names have been so altered from their Indian originals as to be hardly recognizable."[23] As the name "War of the Bharatas" is applicable, strictly speaking, to only one-fifth part of the whole poem, it is probable that the great epic was not yet known under this title at the time when it was transported from India to Java.

[Footnote 23: In the Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, xiii. N.S. 1881.]

The Ramayana appears in a slightly changed form in the Kavi version. The original Indian epic is divided into seven Kandas, or volumes, which are again subdivided into chapters. The Kavi version, entitled "the Kandas," contains the narrative of the first six Kandas. The seventh, the Uttara-Kanda, or supplementary volume, which gives an account of the descendants of Rama after his death, appears in the Kavi as an entirely separate work. It would appear, therefore, that neither of the two Indian epics had reached their final form when they were carried by Hindu colonists to Java. That part of the Mahabharata which afterwards gave the poem its distinctive title had not yet been written, or at least added to the central myth; and the Ramayana then contained only the history of Rama. Both poems appear, however, to have acquired a reputation for unusual sanctity. In Java and Bali both "the Kandas" and "the Parvas" are used as synonymous terms, and mean "the Sacred Books."

The difference between the Kavi and Indian versions of these epics seems to afford additional evidence—if any such were needed—that neither the Mahabharata nor the Ramayana is the work of a single mind, but that both are a collection or compilation of myths.

It is noticeable also that, in spite of the love of dramatic representation manifested so universally among the Javanese, the Indian dramas were not transplanted to Java. Dr. Friederich[24] offers an explanation of this. "Most of the Indian dramas," he says, "are of late times, and perhaps, at the time the Brahmans came to Java, were exclusively found at the courts of the princes."

[Footnote 24: In the Journal of R. A. S. vii. N.S.]

We come now to the consideration of what may be called, by contradistinction to the direct versions of the Indian epics, the native Kavi works. The character of these poems—for all the Kavi literature is alike written in metre—is in the main mythological and romantic; but there are also to be found among them certain ethical and religious works. Although the subjects, the heroes, and even the metre in many cases, are still Indian, these subjects and heroes have been so completely identified with the local life that the poems are essentially Javanese.

Of the native Kavi works the "Arjuna Vivaya," which gives an account of the ascent of Arjuna to Indra, and of his love for the nymph Urvasi, deserves to stand first from the purity of the dialect in which it is composed. The Indian hero Arjuna, the son of Pandu, who is called by Sir Monier Williams, "the real hero of the Mahabharata," was adopted by the Javanese, and his name was given to one of their mountains. The metre of the poem is Indian in form, and not Javanese, and the date of its composition is fixed by Professor Kern in his "Kawistudien" as the first half of the eleventh century of our era. The fact that it contains but slight traces of Buddhistic thought is important as giving some hint of the date at which Buddhism was introduced in the island. In this respect it differs from the "Arjuna Vijaya," a later poem celebrating the triumph of the same hero over Ravan, the demon king of Ceylon.

The "Bharata Yuddha," or war of the Bharatas, is so closely connected with the sacred Parvas, that it is generally placed by the Javanese at the head of the native Kavi works. It is esteemed the greatest work in the Javanese literature, but it yields in point of antiquity to the "Arjuna Vivaya." Its language also is less pure, and contains a certain admixture of ordinary high Javanese or Krama. A definite date (1195, A.D.) is assigned to it, and the name of its author is said to be Hempu, or M'pu, S'dah. The subject of the poem is identical with that of four of the parvans of the Mahabharata, but the scene is changed from India to Java. It contains an account of the struggle between the Pandavas, or five sons of Pandu, and the Kauravas, or hundred sons of Dhritavashtra, in which the latter are ultimately defeated in their attempt to obtain the kingdom of Ngastina. The scene is laid in the plains around the city Ngastina, or in the city itself. The poem opens with the following lines:—[25]

"In war 'tis the prayer of the brave to annihilate the foe; To see the braids of fallen chiefs scattered like flowers before the wind; To rend their garments, and burn alike their altars and their palaces; Boldly to strike off their heads while seated in their chariots, and thus to obtain renown."

The episode of King Salya, one of the Kaurava princes, and Satiavati, his queen, is singularly romantic, and reveals a high ideal of wifely devotion. The poem relates how Salya steals away from his wife, and sacrifices himself on the field of battle. Then Satiavati wanders over this same field of battle by night in quest of his corpse. A flash of lightning is sent to direct her steps, and when she has found the body of her husband, she addresses the corpse in a speech in which she declares her intention of following his spirit.

"But earth has lost its fleeting charms for me And, happy spirit, I will follow thee."

She continues—

"Though widadaris[26] should obey thy call Reserve for me a place above them all,"

and finally stabs herself.

To her faithful maid Sagandika she says—

"Tell them to think of Satiavati's fate, And oft the story of her love relate."

But Sagandika also kills herself.

"Then did their happy spirits wing their way To the fair regions of eternal day."

I conclude the episode by a quotation from the prose rendering given by Raffles, which keeps more exactly to the original, and gives a characteristically Eastern picture of heaven.

"The astonished spirit of Prince Salya quickly said—

"'Uneasy and impatient have I waited for thee among the clouds, with many widadaris, panditas, and diwas.'

"Having taken the princess in his arms, he returns with her by the road which leads to heaven.

"There arrived, they find it extremely beautiful.

"Of silk were the houses, and brilliant were the precious stones.

"Amusing herself, the princess was delighted with the abundance of food which was there.

"Great being the bounty of the Almighty to mankind. And there was no difference susceptible in the ages of those that were there."

[Footnote 25: I am indebted for this and the subsequent versions in the text to Raffles' "History of Java."]

[Footnote 26: Angels.]

I have already mentioned that among the Kavi poems are contained various ethical works. Of these the "Paniti Sastra," or Manual of Wisdom, will serve as an example. Raffles, in his account of this work, says that it contains one hundred and twenty-three stanzas, and that it is said to be contemporary with the Bharata Yuddha. Vreede, in his "Catalogue," says in a note,[27] "Winter mentions the 'Niti Sastra Kawi,' and as its author Prabu Vidayaka, in the time of Aji Saka." As Saka was the commencement of all things in Java, to refer the work to the time of Aji Saka, is practically to say that it is of unknown antiquity. It belongs to the second class of Tuturs, or sacred writings, i.e. those which were not kept secret by the priests, but which might be read by other castes beside the Brahmans; and there are several versions and translations of it in modern Javanese. The following lines are taken from the Kavi text of this work:—

"As the suraya flower floats in the water, so does the heart exist in a pure body; but let it not be forgotten that the root of the flower holds to the ground, and that the heart of man depends upon his conduct in life.

"As the moon and the stars shed their light by night, and the sun giveth light by day, so should the sayings of a wise man enlighten all around him.

"Deprive not another of the credit which is due to him, nor lower him in the opinion of the world; for the sun, when he approaches near the moon, in depriving her of her light, adds nothing to his own lustre."

[Footnote 27: Page 262.]

There is a modern Javanese version of the "Niti Sastra," of which the following passages are specimens:—

"A man who is ignorant of the sacred writings, is as one who has lost his speech; for when these become the conversation of other men, he will be under the necessity of remaining silent.

"No man can be called good or bad until his actions prove him so.

"It is well known that a man cannot take the goods of this world with him to the grave, and that man, after this life, is punished with heaven or hell, according to the merits of his actions in this life: a man's duty, therefore, requires him to remember that he must die; and if he has been merciful and liberal in this life to the poor, he will be rewarded hereafter."

One and the same principle governs the composition of the mythological and romantic literature of the Hindu epoch, and that of those somewhat similar works in modern Javanese composed after the Mohammedan conquest. The authors of both alike set one main object before them—to exalt the reigning princes by identifying them with the heroes or princes of an anterior epoch; only in the case of the Kavi poems, this anterior epoch is fixed in the cloud-land of Hindu mythology, while after the Mohammedan conquest it becomes merely the preceding era of the Hindu supremacy in Java, which is used as a ladder by which the Hindu cloud-land may be reached. But the nature of the babads, or chronicles, the medium by which this object was subsequently effected, and the interesting question of their historical value, are subjects which I must reserve for the succeeding chapter.



CHAPTER XIV

WORKS OF THE MOHAMMEDAN PERIOD.

Uncertainty about the history of the Hindu kingdoms given by the chronicles—Character of the babad, or chronicle—Its historical value—Brumund's treatment of the babads—Account of the babad "Mangku Nagara"— Prose works—The Niti Praja—The Surya Ngalam— Romances—The Johar Manikam—Dramatic works—The Panjis—Wayang plays—Arabic works and influence—The theatre—The wayang.

The works of the Mohammedan Javanese period include, in addition to translations and versions of all kinds both from the Kavi literature and the Arabic, romances, dramatic works, and plays, intended both for the theatre and the wayang, ethical and legal compilations, and, lastly, the babads, or chronicles. It will be convenient to consider these latter first; but before doing so it is necessary to revert for a moment to the historical account which I gave in my opening chapter. It will be remembered that in that account the two Hindu kingdoms of Pajajaran and Majapahit, respectively founded in the west and east of the island, were mentioned as being especially celebrated in the native chronicles. These chronicles, it is true, give us the names and dates of various earlier kingdoms, and a variety of information about their respective dynasties; but for all practical purposes the history of the Hindu period, as at present revealed, may be summed up in a sentence of Crawfurd. From the latter part of the twelfth century to the overthrow of Majapahit (1478), "a number of independent states existed in Java, and the religion of the people was a modified Hinduism." Antiquarian research further tells us that this series of Hindu states commenced in the centre of the island, and that it was closed by the western kingdom of Pajajaran, which existed as early as the first half of the eleventh century, and the eastern kingdom of Majapahit, which was itself succeeded by the first Mohammedan empire of Demak. Remains of the capital cities of both these Hindu kingdoms are in existence. Those of Pajajaran, which are to be found forty miles from Batavia, are exceedingly meagre, and appear to be the work of a primitive epoch. Those of Majapahit, close by Soerabaia, are numerous and magnificent.

But the chronicles which make these kingdoms the subject of their narratives were not composed until the Mohammedan period was well advanced; or, at least, if they had a previous existence, they were then remodelled under the direction of the susunans, or emperors. They have, therefore, to be regarded with considerable suspicion. In the case of the chronicles which relate contemporary events, we are on surer ground. But such is the nature of the Javanese, and such the literary character of the babad, that even here we are by no means certain to meet with actual facts.

The babad is a poem composed in a common Javanese measure, which purports to give an account of historical persons and events. Sometimes it relates the fortunes of empires; sometimes it degenerates into a mere genealogical tree. Every Javan "prince" has his "babad," in which the names of his ancestors and their deeds are recounted. Remembering the fertility of the Eastern imagination, and the despotic character of Eastern rulers, it is easy to understand that such babads were more often than not reduced in point of veracity to the standard of an average fairy tale. M. Brumund, whose remarks on this subject are embodied in Leemans' work on the Boro-Boedoer temple, deals very severely with the babads. He cannot away with them, and goes near to denying their claims for credence altogether. But surely a distinction should be made between the family babad, which is altered to suit the whims of a single prince, and those babads which relate events affecting the interests of several competing princes, or in which no single prince is especially interested. The Homeric poems, we are told, were kept reasonably free from interpolations by the jealousy of the various Hellenic communities. May not an influence of the same kind have operated in Java, and have preserved some of these chronicles from corruption?

That the babad is capable of being approached from two different points of view is apparent from the following extracts, in which I have compared M. Brumund's treatment of a babad of only fifty years ago with Mr. Nieman's account of an earlier babad in the possession of the Royal Asiatic Society.

M. Brumund says—

"Let us take, for example, Dhipa Negoro, the chief of the revolt in Java, which lasted until 1830; well, the babad represents him to us as enveloped in the clouds of the supernatural. There he is, surrounded by hundreds of enemies; he is about to be captured, but he calls to his aid the miraculous power which is at his disposal, and this power causes him to pass freely, safe and sound, through the threatening host, who suffer him to pass in their amazement, and who dare not even lift a finger against him. Another day he gives orders to have some cocoa-nut trees felled, and to have them covered with a white flag; he sets himself to pray, the flag is removed, and behold, the cocoa-nut trees are changed into pieces of artillery of the finest casting. He needs counsel; forthwith he is carried through the air to the southern shore and to the great spirit of the south, only to return forthwith after the conference. He wishes to pray at Mecca; scarcely has he formed the wish before his person is found upon the borders of the city, and, as a proof that he has really been there, he carries off a cake from the sacred city, all smoking hot."

Mangku Nagara, who is the subject of the babad discussed by Mr. Nieman, was a Javan prince who played a leading part, first in the Chinese war of 1745, and afterwards in the revolt of the Javan princes against the Dutch and the reigning susunan, known as "the Java war," which lasted from the close of the Chinese war to the year 1758. In the latter he fought for some time in alliance with Mangku Bumi, a younger brother of the susunan. After a time, however, this personage made terms with the Dutch on his own account, and Mangku Nagara, thus deserted, was compelled to submit to the susunan, and accept a modified territory for his administration. It was in this war that the Dutch obtained the deed of abdication mentioned in Chapter I. from the Susunan Pakubuona II., in the year 1849. The conduct of the war cost the company more than four million florins, but at its termination they had secured the virtual control of the island.