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 JAVA 

FACTS AND FANCIES 

BY 

AUGUSTA DE WIT 

WITH j6o ILLUSTRATIONS 

LONDON 
CHAPMAN & HALL, LTD. 

1905 

 11'55 

J 

. ï 

WiiF.N the Lady l)olly van der 
Decken, ¡n answer to questions about 
hev logendary hnsband'swhei^eabonts, 
murmured something vague about 
"Java, Japan, or Jupiter," she had 
Java in her mind as the most " im 
possible" of those impossible places. 
And, indeed, every schoolboy points 
the linger ofunceremonious acquaint 
ance at Jupiter; and Japan liestrans- 
|iarent on the egg-shell porcelain of many an elegant tea-table. 
Hut Java'.' Wliat far forlorn shore may it be tliatownsthestrange- 
soniiding name; and ¡n what sailless seas may this other Ultima 
Thule be fancied to lloat? Time was when I never saw a globe— 
all spun about with the net of parallels and degrees, as with some 
vast spider's web—without a little sliock. of surprise at finding 
"Java" hanging in the meshes. How could4jiere be latitude and 
longitude to such a thing of dreams and fancies? An attempt at 

 determining the acreage of the rainbow, or the geological strata of 
a Fata Morgana, would hardly have seemed less absurd. I would 
have none of such vain exactitude ; but still chose to think of Java 
as situate in the same region as the Island of Avalon ; the Land 
of the Lotos-Eaters, palm-shaded Bohemia by the sea, and the Forest 
of Broceliand, Merlin's melodious grave. And it seemed to me that 
the very seas which girt those magic shores—still keeping their 
golden sands undefiled from the gross clay of the outer world— 
must be unlike all other water—tranquil ever, crystalline, with a 
seven-tinted glow of strange sea-flowers, and the flashing of jewel- 
like fishes gleaming from unsounded deeps. And higher than else 
where, surely, the skies, blessed with the sign of the Southern 
Cross, must rise above the woods where the birds of paradise nestle. 
Where is it now, the glory and the dream? The soil of Java is 
hot under my feet. I know—to my cost—that, if the surrounding 
seas be different from any other body of water, they are chiefly so 
in being more subject to tempest, turmoil, and sudden squalls. I 
find the benign influences ofthe Southern Cross—not a very brilliant 

constellation by the way—utterly undone by the fiery fury ofthe rlRST GLIMPSES 
noonday-sun; and have learnt to appreciate the fine irony of the 
inherited style and title, as compared with the present habitat, of 
the said Birds of Paradise. And yet—all disappointing experience not 
withstanding, and in spite of the deadly dullness of so many days, the 
fever of so many sultry nights, and the homesickness of all hours— 
I have still some of the old love for this country left; and I begin 
to understand something of the fascination by which it holds the 
Northerner who has breathed its odour-laden air for to long a time ; 
so that, forgetting his home, his friends, and his kindred in the gray 
North, he is content to live on dreamely by sorne lotos-starred lake ; 
and, dying, to be buried under the palm-trees. 

AUGUSTA DE WlT. 

 \ 

'akJ 
i 

'A "brownie" of that enchanted garden 
that men call Java." 

Mv iirst impression of Java was not that of effulgent 
light and overpowering magnificence of colour, generally 
experienced at the lirst sightofatropical country; hut, 
on the contrary, of something unspeakably tender, 
ethereal, and soft, lt was in the beginning of the 
rainy season. Under a sky filmy with diaphanous fleecy 
texture, in which a tinge of the hidden blue was felt 
rather than seen, the sea had a pearly sheen, with 
here and there changefully flickering white lights, and 
wind-ruflled streaks of a pale violet. The slight hazi 
ness in the air somewhat dulled the green ofinnumerable 
islets and thickly-wooded reefs, scattered all over the 
sea; and, blurring their outlines, seemed to lift them 
until they grew vague and airy as the little clouds of 
a mackerel sky, wafted hither and thither by the 
• faintest wind. In the distance the block of square 
i' white buildings on the landing-place—pointed out as 
'o the railway station and the custom houses—stood softly 
outlined against a hackground of whitish-grey sky and 
mist-blurred trees. 

Slowly the steamer glided on. And, as we now 
approached the roadstead of Batavia, there came swim 
ming towards the ship numbers of native boats, darting 

<S^^s 

 4 FIRST GLIMPSES 

out from between the islets, and diving up out of the 
shadows along the wooded shore, like so many water 
fowl. Swiftest of all were the "praos'" very slight 
hulls, almost disappearing under their one immense 
whitish-brown sail, shaped like a bird's wing, and 
thrown back with just the same impatient fling—ready - 
for a swoop and rake—so exactly resembling sea-gulls 
skimming along, as to render the comparison almost a 
description. On they came, drawing purplish furrows 
through the pearly greys and whites of the sea. And, 
in their wake, darting hither and thither with the jerky 
movements of water-spiders, quite a swarm of little 
black canoes—hollowed-out tree-trunks, kept in balance 
by bamboo outriggers, which spread on either side like 
sprawling, scurrying legs. As they approached, we saw 
that the boats were piled with many-tinted fruit, above 
which the naked bodies of the oarsmen rose, brown 
and shiny, and the wet paddle gleamed in its leisurely- 
seeming dip and rise, which yet sent the small skiff 
bounding onward. They were along-side soon, and the 
natives clambered on board, laden with fragrant wares. 
They did not take the trouble of hawking them about, 
agile as they had proved themselves, but calmly squatted 
down amid their piled-up baskets of yellow, scarlet, 
crimson, and orange fruit—a medley of colours almost 
barbaric in its magnificence, notwithstanding the soberer 
tints of blackening purple, and cool, reposeful green ; 
and calmly awaited customers. Under the gaudy ker 
chiefs picturesquely framing the dark brows, their 
brown eyes had that look of thoughtful—or is it all 
thoughtless?—content, which we of the North know 
only in the eyes of babies, crooning in their mother's 
lap. And, as they answered our questions, their speech 
had something childlike too, with its soft consonants 

 ft,. ,• 

.. ^ 

•_ ^l^_*, ' ( , -,r 

t i '4- f. " ' sí 

* " ~*nM| 

(l i*fH' ' «' ' * '4' P 
<~L' .>iwi jN~ ,., '-*in í '*T • ti <\ . •. 

"Fishing-praos, their diminutive hulls almost disappearing under the one tall whitish-brown sail, shaped like a bird's wing and 

flung back, as if ready for a swoop and rake." 

\ 

'The ship lay still, and we trod the quay of Tandjong Priok." 

 FIRST GLIMPSES 9 

and clear vowels, long-drawn-out on a musical modula 
tion, that glided all up and down the gamut. They 
had a great charm for me, their flatness of features and 
meagreness of limbs notwithstanding; and I thought, 
that, if not quite the fairies, they might well be the 
" brownies " of that enchanted garden that men call Java. 

But alas! for day-dreaming—the gruff authoritative 
voice of the quartermaster was heard on deck ; and— 
after the manner of goblins at the approach of the 
Philistine—all the little brownies vanished. They were 
gone in an instant; and, in their pretty stead, came 
porters, cabin-stewards with trunks, and passengers in 
very new clothes. For we werefastapproacliing; and, 
presently, with a big sigh of relief, the steamer lay 
still, and we trod the quay of Tanjong Priok. 

It would seem as if the first half hour of arrival 
must be the same everywhere, all the world over; but 
here, even in the initial scramble for the train, one 
notices a diuerence. There is a crowd ; and there is no 
noise. No scuffling and stamping, no cries, no shouting, 
no grulT-voiced altercations. All but inaudibly the bare 
footed coolies trot on, big steamer-trunks on their 
shoulders; they do not hustle, each patiently awaiting 
his turn at the office and on the platform; and, as they 
stand aside for some hurrying, pushing European, their 
else impassible faces assume a look of almost contempt 
uous amazement. Why should the "orang blanda"* 
thus discourteously jostle them? Are there not many 
hours in a day, and many days to come after this? 
And do they not know that "Haste cometh ofthe evil?" 

The train has started at last, and is hurrying through 
a wild, dreary country, half jungle, half marshland. 
From the rank undergrowth of brushwood and bulrushes 

* " People from Holland " the -name for Europeans generally. 

 10 

FIRST GLIMPSES 

rise clumps of cocoanut palms, their dark shaggy crowns 
strangely massive above the meagre stems through which 
the distant horizon gleams palely. In open spaces young 
trees stand out here and there, half strangled in the 
festoons of a purple-blossomed liana that trails its ten- 
drilled length all over the lower shrub-wood. Thickets 
ot' bamboo bend and sway in the evening wind. 

To the right stretches a long straight canal, dull as 
lead under the lustreless sky; the breeze, in passing, 
blackens the motionless water, and a shiver runs through 
the dense vegetation along the edge—broad-leaved ba 
nanas, the spreading fronds of the palmetto, and mimosas 
of feathery leafage, above which the silver-grey tufts 
of bulrushes rise. After a while the jungle diminishes 
and ceases ; and a vast reach of marshy country stretches 
away to the horizon. We neared it as the sun was 
setting. Though it had not broken through the clouds, 
the fiery globe had suffused their whiteness with a 
deep, dull purple as of smouldering flames. A tremulous 
splendour suddenly shot over the rush-beds and rank 
waving grasses of the marshy land ; the shining reed- 
pricked sheets of water crimsoned ; and along the canal 
moving like an incandescent lava stream, the broadly 
curving banana leaves seemed fountains of purple light, 
and the palrnetto and delicate mimosa f'ronds grew 
transparent in the all-pervading rosiness—almost im 
material. Even after the burning edge of the sun, 
perceived for a brief moment, had sunk away, these 
marvellous colours did not fade ; softly shining on they 
seemed to be the natural tint of this wonderful land— 
independent of suns and seasons. Then, all at once, 
they were extinguished by the rapidly-fallen dusk, as 
a fire might be under a shower of ashes; and, a few 
minutes after, it was night. 

FIRST GLIMPSES 

11 

At the lamplit station of Batavia I hailed one of the 
vehicles waiting outside—a curious little two-wheeled 
conveyance, which, with its enormous lanterns, airily 
supported roof, and long shafts between which a 
diminutive pony trotted, looked like a fiery-eyed cock 
chafer that darts about, moving its long antennae. I 
hoisted myself on to the sloping seat, and, for some 
time was driven through an avenue, the trees on either 
side of which made a cloudy darkness against the pale 
strip of sky overhead. There was an incessant high- 
pitched twittering of birds among the leaves; and, every 
now and then, a fragrance of invisible flowers came 
floating out on the windless air. We passed ,a tall 
building, shimmering white through the darkness—the 
Governor-General's palace I was told. Then the horse's 
hoofs clattered over a bridge, and, past the turn ofthe 
road, a long row of brilliant windows flashed up, with 
a white blaze of electric light in the distance. 

Past the resplendent shop-windows on the left side 
of the street—the other remaining dark, featureless—a 
leisurely crowd moved; open carriages, bearing ladies 
to some evening entertainment, bowled along; a many- 
windowed club-building blazed out ; a canal shone with 
a hundred slender spears ofrefiected light—I had reached 
my destination, the suburb of Rijswijk. 

 A BATAVIA HOTEL 

 ^. , 

- '^.*^ '».?=* S- «atí'^' y^^-?^w,_r^*v' ?" 

lF, in this commonplace-loving age, there be one thing 
more commonplace and utterly devoid of character than 
another, it is a hotel. Hotels ! where are railroads there 
are they. The locomotive scatters them along its shining 
path together with cinders, thistleseeds. and tourists. 
They are everywhere; and everywhere they are the same. 
The proverbial peas are not so indistinguishably alike. 
Surely, a whimsical imagination may be pardoned for 
fancying a difference between the pods "shairpening" 
in some Scotch kailyard, the petits-pois coquettishly 
arranged in Chevet's shop-window, and the Zuckererbsen 
mashed down to a green pulse in some strong-jawed 
Prussian's plate—a difference, the far and faint and 
fanciful analogy to the more obvious one between the 
gudeman, the French chef, and the Königlich Preussischer 
Douiinen Beamten Gehilfe who own the said peas. But 
a hotel, on whatever part of Europe it may open its 
dull window-eyes, has not even a name native of the 
country, and declaring its citizenship. The genius 
of speech despairs of making a difference in the 
name, where there is none in the thing; and thus, from 
Orenburg to Valentia, and from Hammerfest to Messina, 
a hôtel is still called a hôtel, and the traveller still 
expects and linds the same Swiss portier and the same 

 16 

A BATAVIA HOTEL 

red velvet portières, the same indescribable smell of 
sherry, stewed-meat, and cigars in the passages, the 
same funereally-clad waiters round the table d'hôte, and 
the same dishes upon it. Thus I thought in my old 
European days. But, since, I have come to Java, and 
I have seen a Batavia hotel—a rumah makan. Ah! 
that was a surprise, a shock, a revelation—1 would say 
" un frisson nouveau " if Batavia and' shivering were 
compatible terms. "Un étouffement nouveau" better 
expressed my sensations, as it flashed upon me in full 
noon-day glory. Noon is its own time, its hour of 
hours, the instant when those opposing elements of 
Batavia street-life—the native population most conspicu 
ous of a morning, and the European contingent pre 
ponderant in the evening—attain that exact equipoise 
which gives the place its particular character ; and when 
the conditions of sky, air, and earth are attuned to truest 
harmony with it. 

The great, strong, full noon-day sun beats on the 
stuccoed buildings, heating their whiteness to an intoler 
able incandescence. It has set the garden ablaze, burning 
up the long grey shadows of early morning to round 
patches of a charred black, that cling to the foot of the 
trees; and making the air to quiver visibly above the 
scorched yellow grass-plots. Among their dark leafage, 
the hibiscus flowers flare like living flame ; and the red- 
and-orange blossoms, dropping from the branches of the 
Flame of the Forest, seem to lie on the path like 
smouldering embers. Through this blaze of light and 
colour, move groups of gaudily-draped natives—water- 
carriers, flower-sellers, fruit-vendors, pedlars selling silk 
and precious stones—their heads protected from the sun 
by enormous mushroom-shaped hats of plaited straw, 
and their shining shoulders bending under a bamboo yoke, 

A BATAVIA HOTEL 

17 

from the ends of which dangle baskets of merchandise. 
Small, brown, chubby children, a necklet their one article 
of wear, are gathering the tiny, yellow-white blossoms 
that bespangle the grass under the tanjong trees. 
Grave-faced Arabs stride past. Chinamen trudge along— 
lean, agile figures—chattering and gesticulating as they go. 

.*r 

-*• - 

•fc- - 

'A seller of fruit and vegetables his baskets^dangling from the ends 
of a bamboo yoke." 

But, among the crowd of orientals, no Europeans are 
seen, save such as rapidly pass in vehicles of every 
description, from the jolting dos-à-dos onwards—with 
its diminutive pony almost disappearing between the 
shafts—to the elegant victoria drawn by a pair of big 
Australian horses. But, even when driving, the noon- 

 18 

A BATAVIA TTOTEL 

day heat is dangerous to the Westerner ; and the Euro 
pean immates of the hotel are all in the dark cool 
verandahs, enjoying a dolce far niente enlivened by 
chafí'ering \vith the natives and drinking iced lemonades, 
the ladies—here is another surprise for the ne\vcomer! 
—all attired in what seems to be the native drcss of 
sarong and kabaya! A kabaya is a sort of dressing- 
jacket of profusely-embroidered white batiste, fastened 
down the front with ornamental pins and little gold 
chains; and under it is worn the sarong, a gaudily- 
coloured skirt falling down straight and narrow, with 
one single deep fold in front, and kept in place by a 
silk scarf wound several times round the waist, its ends 
dangling loose. With this costume, little high-heeled 
slippers are worn on the bare feet ; and the hair is done 
in native style, simply drawn back from the forehead, 
and twisted into a knot at the back of the head. Al 
together, this style of attire is original rather than 
becoming. 

And, if this must be confessed of the ladies' costume, 
what must be said of the garb some rnen have the 
courage to appear in ? A kabaya, and —may Mrs. Grundy 
graciously forgive me for saying it! for how shall I 
describe the indescribable, save by calling it by its own 
by me never-to-be-pronounced name?—A kabaya and 
trousers of thin sarong-stufí' gaily sprinkled with blue 
and yellow uowers, butterflies, and dragons! 

But all this is only an induction into that supreme 
mystery, celebrated at noon, the rice-table. Here is 
indeed, " un étouífement nouveau." All things pertaining 
to it work together for bewilderment. To begin with; 
it is served up, not in any ordinary dining-room, but 
in the " back gallery," a place which is a sight in itself, 
a long and lofty hall, supported on a colonuade, between 

A BATAVIA HOTEL 

19 

the white pillars of which glimpses are caught of the 
briIliantly-11owering shrubs and dark-lcaved trees in the 

A ' 

e~ 

J~^%jji 

"l'iue-api>les and inangostccn, velvetry rambuotan and smooti^skinued dookou," 

garden without. In the second place, it is handed round 
by native servants, inaudibly moving to and fro upon 
bare feet, arrayed in clothes of a semi-European cut, 

 20 

A BATAVIA HOTEL 

incongruously combined with the Javanese sarong and 
head-kerchief. And, last not least, the meal itself is 
such as never was tasted on sea or land before. The 
principal dish is rice and chicken, which sounds simple 
enough. But on this as a basis an entire system of 
things inedible has been constructed : besides iish, flesh, 
and fricassees, all manner of curries, sauces, pickles, 
preserved fruit, salt eggs, fried bananas, "sambals" of 
fowl's liver, fish-roe, young palm-shoots, and the gods 
of Javanese cookery alone know what more, all strongly 
spiced, and sprinkled with cayenne. There is nothing 
under the sun but it may be made into a sambal; 
and a conscientious cook would count that a lost 
day on which he had not sent in at the very least 
twenty of such nondescript dishes to the table of 
his master, for whose digestion let all gentle souls 
pray! And, when to all this I have added that these 
many and strange things must be eaten with a spoon 
in the right hand and a fork in the left, the reader 
will be able to judge how very complicated an affair 
the rice-table is, and how easily the uninitiated may 
come to grief over it. For myself, I shall never forget 
my first experience of the thing. I had just come in 
from a ride through the town, and I suppose the glaring 
sunlight, the strangely-accoutred crowd, the novel sights 
and sounds of the city must have slightly gone to my 
head (there are plenty of intoxicants besides "gin" 
vide the Autocrat of the Breakfast Table). Anyhow, I 
entered the "back gallery" with a sort of "here-the- 
conquering-hero-comes" feeling; looked at the long 
table groaning under its dozens of rice-bowls, scores of 
dishes offowls and fish, and hundrcdsofsambal-saucers, 
arrayed between pyramids of bananas, mangosteens, and 
pine-apples, as if I could have eatcn it all by wav of 

*>" 

'The big kalougs hanging from.the topmost branches in a sleep from which 
thp snnset will presently awakcn them." 

 A BATAVIA HOTEL 23 

"apéritif;" sat me down; heaped my plate up with 
everything that, came my way; and fell to. What 
followed I have no words to express. Suffice it to say, 
that in less time than I now take to relate it, I was 
reduced to the most abject misery—my lips smarting 
with the fiery touch of the sambal ; my throat the more 
sorely scorched for the hasty draught of water with 
which, in my ignorance, I had tried to allay the intol 
erable heat; and my eyes full of tears, which it was 
all I could do to prevent from openly gushing down 
my cheeks, in streams of utter misery. A charitable 
person advised me to put a little salt on my tonguo, 
(as children are told to do on the tail of the bird they 
want to catch). I did so ; and, after a minute of thc 
most excruciating torture, the agony subsided. I gasped, 
and found I was still alive. But there and then I 
vowed to myself I would never so much as look at a 
rice-table again. 

I have broken that vow : I say it proudly. It is but 
a dull mind which cannot reverse a first opinion, or 
go back upon a hasty resolve. And now I know how 
to eat rice, I love it. Still, that first meal was a shock. 
It suddenly brought home to the senses what up to 
that minute had been noted by the understanding only : 
the fact of my being in a new country. The glare of 
the garden without, the Malay sing-song of those dark 
bare-footed servants, the nondescript clothes of the other 
guests, united with the tingling and burning in my 
throat to make me realise the stupendous change that 
had come over my universe, the antipodal attitude of 
things in Europe and things in Java. I had the almost 
bodily sensation of the intervening leagues upon leagues, 
of the dividing chasm on the unknown side of which 
I had just landed. And it fairly dizzied me. 

 24 A BATAVIA HOTEL 

Now, the natural reaction following upon a shock of 
this kind throws one back upon the previous state of 
things—in the case the ways and manners of the old 
country—and one stubbornly resolves to adhere to them. 
But, though this may be natural, it is not wise. I, at 
least, soon discovered for myself the truth of the old 
sage's saw : " Vérité en deçà des Pyrénées, erreur en 
delà," as applied to the affairs of everyday life; the 
more so, as oceans and broad continents, the space of 
thousands of Pyrenean ranges, separate those hither 
and thither sides, Holland and Java. The home-marked 
standard of fit and unfit must be laid aside. The soul 
must doff her close-clinging habits of prejudiced thought. 
And the wise man must be content to begin life over 
again, becoming even as a babe and suckling, and 
opening cherub lips only to drink in the light, the leisure, 
and the luxuriant beauty of this new country as a rich 
mother's milk—the blameless food on which to grow 
up to (colonial) manhood. 

But to return to that first "rice-table." After the 
rice, curries, etc. had been disposed of, beef and salad 
appeared, and, to my infinite astonishment, were disposed 
of in their turn, to be followed by the dessert—pine 
apples, mangosteens, velvety " rambootans," arid an ex 
ceedingly picturesque and prettily-shaped fruit—spheres 
of a pale gold containing colourless pellucid flesh—which 
I heard called "dookoo." Then the guests began to 
leave the table, and I was told it was time for the 
siesta—another Javanese institution, not a whit less 
important, it would appear, than the famous rice-table 
—and vastly more popular with newcomers. Perhaps, 
the preceding meal possesses somniferous virtue; or, 
perhaps, the heat and glare of the morning predispose 
one to sleep; or, perhaps—after so manyyearsofcom- 

A BATAVIA HOTEL 

25 

plaining about "being waked too soon"-the sluggard 
in us rejoices at being bidden in the name of the natural 
fitness of things, to "go and slumber again." I will 
not attempt to decide which of those three possible 
causes is the true one; but so much is certain: even 
those who kick most vigorously at the rice-table, lay 
them down with lamb-like meekness to the siesta. I 
confess I was vcry glad myself to escape into the cool 
ness and quiet of my room. Plain enough it was, with 
its bare, white-washed walls and ceiling, its red-tiled 
floor and piece of coarse matting in the centre, its 
cane-bottomed chairs. But how I delighted in the 
absence of carpets and wall-papers, when T found the 
stone floor so deliciously cool to the feet, and the bare 
walls distilling a freshness as of lily-leaves ! The siesta 
lasted till about four. Then people began to hurry past 
my window, with flying towels and beating slippers, 
marching to the bath-rooms. And, at five, tea was 
brought into the verandah. 

Then began the first moderately-cool hour of the day. 
A slight breeze sprang up and wandered about in the 
garden, stirring the dense foliage of the waringin-tree, 
and making its hundreds of pendulous air-roots to gently 
sway to and fro. A shower of white blossom fluttered 
down from the tanjong-branches, spreading fragrance 
as it fell. And, by and by, a faint rosiness began to 
soften the crude white of the stuccoed walls and colon 
nades, and to kindle the feathery little cirrus-clouds 
floating high overhead, in the deep blue sky where the 
great "kalongs" were already beginning to circle. 

At six it was almost dark. 

The loungers in the verandah rose from their tea, and 
went in. And, some half-hour later, I saw the ladies 
issue forth in Paris-made dresses, the men in the garb 

 26 A BATAVIA IlOTEL 

of society accompanying them on their calls, for which 
I was told this was the hour. The "front gallery" of 
the hotel, a spacious hall supported on pillars, was 
brillantly lit, A girl sat at the piano, accompanying her 
self to one of those woird, thrilling songs such a Grieg 
and Jensen compose. And when I went in to the eight- 
o'clock dinner, the menu for which might have been 
written in any European hotel, I had some trouble in 
identifying the scene with that which, earlier in the day, 
had so rudely shocked my European ideas. I half be 
lieved the rice-table, the sarongs and kabayas. and the 
Javanese "boys" must have been a drcam, untilI was 
convinced of the contrary by the sight of a lean brown 
hand thrust out to change my plate of fish for a helping 
of asparagus. 

* -Vv 

'C^<8 

THE TOWN 

 - i___, 

H1, 

lT is only for want of a better word that one uses 
this term of "town" to designate that picturesque 
ensemble of villa-studded parks and avenues, Batavia. 
There is, it is true, an older Batavia, grey, grim and 
stony as any war-scarred city of Europe—the strong 
hold which the steel-clad colonists of 1620 built on the 
ruins of burnt-down Jacatra. But, long since abandoned 
by soldiers and peaceful citizens alike, and its once stately 
mansions degraded to offices and warehouses, it has sunk 
into a mere suburb—the business quarter of Batavia— 
alive during a few hours of the day only, and sinking 
back into a death-like stillness, as soon as the rumble 
of the last down-train has died away among its echoing 
streets. And the real Batavia—in contradistinction to 
which this ancient quarter is called "the town"—is 
as unlike it as if it had been built by a different order 
of beings. 

It is best described as a system of parks and avenues, 
linked by many a pleasant byway and shadowy path, 
with here and there a glimpse of the Kali Batawi gliding 
along between the bamboo groves on its banks, and 
everywhere the whiteness of low, pillared houses, standing 
well back from the road, each in its own leafy garden. 

 30 THE TOWN 

' i 

Instead of walls, a row of low stone pillars, not much ' 
higher than milestones, separates private from public 
grounds, so that from a distance one cannot see where 

the park ends and the street begins. The shadow of : 
the tall trees in the avenue keeps the garden cool, and 
the white dust of the road is sprinkled with the flowers 

that lie scattered over the smooth grass-plots and shell- .J 
strewn paths of the villa. 

Among the squares of Batavia, the largest and most 

remarkable by far is the famous Koningsplein. It is , 1 
not so much a square as simply a field, vast enough 
to build a city on, dotted from place to place by 
pasturing cattle, and bordered on the four sides of its 
irregular quadrangle by a triple row of branching 
tamarinds. From the southern distance two aerial 
mountain-tops overlook it. The brown bare expanse 
of meadowy ground, lying thus broadly open to the 
sky, with nothing but clouds and cloudlike hill-tops 
rising above its distant rampart of trees, seems like a 
tract of untamed wilderness, strangely set in the midst 
of a city, and all the more savage and lonely for these 
smooth surroundings. Between the stems of the delicate- 
leaved tamarinds, glimpses are caught of gateways and 
pillared houses; the eastern side of the quadrangle is 
disfigured by a glaring railway-station; and, notwith 
standing, it remains a rugged solitary spot, a waste, 
irreclaimably barren, which, by the sheer strength 
of its unconquered wildness, subdues its environment 
to its own mood. The houses, glinting between the 
trees, seem mere accidents of the landscape, simply 
heaps of stones ; the glaring railway-station itself sinks 
into an indistinct whiteness, dissociated from any idea 
of human thought and enterprise. 

Now and then a native traverses the field, slowly 

 J ' 

"A triple row of branching tamarinds." 

vT?ir 

í,- :-' 

'The idyllic Duke's pack, very shadowy, fragrant, and green." 

 THE TOWN 35 

moving along an invisible track. He does not disturb 
the loneliness. He is indigenous to the place, its natural 
product, almost as much as the cicadas trilling among 
the grass blades, the snakes darting in and out among 
the crevices of the sun-baked soil, and the lean cattle, 
upon whose backs the crows perch. There is but one 
abiding power and presence here—the broad brown 
field under the broad blue sky, shifting shades and 
splendours over it, and that horizon of sombre trees 
all around. 

This vast sweep of sky gives the Plein a tone and 
atmosphere of its own. The changes in the hour and 
the season that are but guessed at from somc occasional 
glimpse in the street, are here fully revealed. The light 
may have been glaring enough among the whitewashed 
houses of Ryswyk and Molenvliet—it is on the Plein 
only that tropical sunshine manifests itself in the plen 
itude of its power. The great sun stands flaming in the 
dizzy heights; from the scorched field to the incandescent 
zenith the air is one immense blaze, a motionless name 
in which the tall tamarinds stand sere and grey, the 
grass shrivels up to a tawny hay, and the bare soil 
stiffens and cracks.—The intolerable day is past. People, 
returning home from the town, see a roseate sheen 
playing over roofs and walls, a long crimson cloud 
sailing high overhead. Those walking on the Plein 
behold an apocalyptic heaven and a transfigured earth, 
a firmamental conflagration, eruptions of scarlet flame 
through incarnadined cloud, runnels of fire darting 
across the rnelting gold and translucent green of the 
horizon; hill-tops changed into craters and tall trees 
into fountains of purple light. And many are the nights, 
when, becoming aware of a dimness in the moonlit air, 
I have hastened to the Koningsplein, and found it whitely 

 , i*' -, 

36 

THE TOWN 

THE TOWN 

37 

waving with mist, a very lake of vapour, iitfully heaving 
and sinking in the uncertain moonlight, and rolling airy 
waves against a shore of darkness. 

The seasons, too—how they triumph in this bit of 
open country ! When, after the devouring heat of the 
East monsoon, the good gift of the rains is poured down 
from the heavens, and the town knows of nothing but 

4 

. - .. ..fr_ 

' 

"The Business^juarter of Batavia." 

impracticable streets, flooded houses, and crumbling 
walls, it is a time of resurrection and vernal glory for 
the Plein The tamarinds, gaunt gray skeletons a few 
days ago, burst into full-leaved greenness; the hard, 
white, cracked soil is suddenly covered with tender grass, 
fresh as the herbage of an April meadow under western 
skies. In the early morning, the broad young blades 
are white with dew. There is a thin silvery haze in 

the air, which dissolves into a pink and golden radiance, 
as the first slanting sunbeams pierce it. And the tree 
tops, far ofl' and indistinct, seem to rise airily over 
hollows of blue shade. 

Not far from the Koningsplein there is another square. 

*• 

HV 

1-. 

"A footsore Klontong trudging wearily along." 

its very opposite in aspect and character—the idyllic 
Duke's Park very shadowy, fragrant, and green. One 
walks in it as in a poet's dream. All around there is 
the multitudinous budding and biossoming of many- 
coloured flowers, a play of transparent bamboo-shadows 
that flit and shift over smooth grassplot and shell-strewn 

 38 

THE TOWN 

path, a ceaseless alternation of glooms and glories. Set 
amidst tall dark trees, whose topmost branches break 
out into a flame of blossom, there stands a white pillared 
building, palace-like in the severe grace ofits architecture. 
Is it the Renaissance style of those gleaming columns 
and marble steps, or that name of " the Duke's Park," 
or both, that stir up the lancy to thoughts of some six 
teenth-century Italian pleasaunce, such as 'Shakspeare 
loved as a setting for his love-stories? A Duke as gentle 
as his prince of Tllyria, Olivia's sighing lover, rnight have 
walked these glades, listening to disguised Viola as, all 
unsuspectedly, she wooed him from his forlorn alle 

giance. 

The irony of facts has willed it otherwise. 

A duke it was, sure enough, who stood sponsor to 
the spot. But as (according to French authorities) there 
are fagots and fagots, even so there are Dukes and 
Dukes—and vastly more points of difference than of 
resemblance between Viola's gentle prince, and the 
thunderous old Lord of Saxen-Weimar, to whose rum 
bling Kreuzdonnerwetters and Himmel-Sakraments this 
abode of romance re-echoed some fifty years ago. A 
distant relative to the King of the Netherlands, he was 
indebted to his Royal kinsman's sense of family duty 
for these snug quarters, a very considerable income 
(from the National Treasury) and the post of an Army 
Commander, which upheld the prince in the pensioner. 
His tastes were few and simple, and saving the one 
delight of his soul, a penurious youth, and the hardships 
of the Napoleonic supremacy having so thoroughly 
taught him the habit, that it had become a second 
nature to him ; and would not be ousted now by the 
mere fact of his having become rich. He was proud 
of his parsimony too, prouder even than of his swearing, 

THE TOWN 

39 

remarkable as it was; and, amidst the pomp and cir 
cumstance he had so late in life attained to, neglected 
not the humble talents which had solaced his less 
affluent days. So that, looking upon the many goodly 
acres around his palace, lying barren of all save grass, 
flowers, blossoming trees, and such like useless stuff, 
he at once saw what an unique opportunity it would 

r--;—rr v- <- vt *f 

< - ; , ^ .,. - -'4 " 

V. 

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' 

1 -Mks* 
" 

sa«*« 

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The Chinese quarter. 

afford him for the exercise of his favourite virtue. And, 
setting about the matter in his own thorough-going 
way, he cut down the trees, ploughed up the grassplots, 
and had the grounds neatly laid out in onion-beds, and 
plantations of the sirih, which the Javanese loves. Here 
one might meet the Duke of a morning—a portly, bald- 
pated, red-faced old warrior with a prodigious " meer 
schaum" protruding from his bristling white beard, 

 40 THE TOWN 

stars, crosses^ and goldlace all over his general's uniform, 
and a pair of list slippers on his rheumatic old toes. 
An orderly walked behind him, holding a gold-edged 
sunshade over his shining pate. And, every now and 
then, the Duke would stop to look earnestly at his 
crops; and, stooping with a groaning of his flesh, and 

:_.,f 

- % , AÍ • " ' ^"i-i*- 

^;v:,".*-.41';.;: 

A 

" The \Vest monsoon has set in, flooding the town." 

a creaking of his tight tunic, straighten some trailing 
plant, or flick an insect off the sirih leaves. 

" The Duke was in his kitchen-garden, 
A counting of his money," 

as one might vary the nursery rhyme. 

For money it was he counted, when he gazed so 
long and earnestly at his vegetables—the alchemy of 
his thrifty imagination turning every young stalk and 
sprouting leaflet into a bit of metal, adorned with his 
Royal kinsman's effigy. And when the green pennies- 

THE TOWN 

41 

to-be were plentiful, well content was the gardener; 
and if not—"Mountains and vales and floods, heard Ye 
those oaths?" Tradition has kept an echo of them. 
They were something quite out ofthe common order, and 
with a style and sound so emphatically their own as to 

"The Kali Batawi on its way ftrough the Chinese quarter." 

baffle imitation, and render description a hopeless task. 
Nor did this originality wear off as, in the course of 
time, the worthy Duke began to forget the language of 
the Fatherland. For, losing his German, he found not 
his Dutch, and the expressions he composed out of such 
odds and ends of the two languages, as he could lay 

 1' -• 

42 

THE TOWN 

THE TOWN 

43 

tongue to, would have astonished the builders of Babel 
Tower. Fortunately, however, his anger was as short 
lived as it was violent, and, when the last thunderclap 
of Kreuzmillionen Himmels Donnerwetter had gradually 
died away in an indistinct grumbling, he would summon 
his attendant for a light to rekindle his pipe with a 
"come now, thou black pigdog" that sounded quite 
friendly. A kind-hearted old blusterer at bottom, he 
treated his dependents well and never sent away a 
beggar pennyless. " Doitless " I should have written, for 
his donations never exceeded that amount. 

There is a tale of an A. D. C., his appointed almoner 
for the time, having one day come to him with a sub 
scription-list on which the customary doit figured as 
His Serene Highness the Duke of Saxen Weimar's con 
tribution; and hinting at what he considered the dis 
proportion between the exiguity of the gift, and the 
wealth and worldly station of the giver. He must have 
been a very rash A. D. C. The Duke turned upon him 
like a savage bull. And, after a volley of oaths : " Too 
little ! " he roared : " Too little ! " and again, " Too little ! 
I would have you know, younker ! that a doit is a great 
deal when one has nothing at all!" 

It was a cry de profundis—laughable and half con 
temptible as it sounded, the echo from unforgotten 
depths of misery. 

He had known what it meant "to have nothing at 
all." Wherefore, and for those winged words in which 
he uttered the knowledge, let his onion-beds be forgiven 
him. Of the outrage he committed, only the memory 
is left—the effects have long since been obliterated: 
bountiful tropical nature having again showered her 
treasures of leaf and flower over the beggared garden, 
and re-erected in their places the green towersofhertrees. 

Kijswijk, Noordwijk, and Molenvliet, the commercial 
quarters of Butavia, are more European in aspect than 
the KoniiigspIein; the houses—shops for the most part 
—are buiIt in straight rows ; a pavement borders the 
streets, and a noisy little stearn-car pants and rattles 

' T~~*ilA 

I, 

Eulranre to a ricli Chinaman's Iluuse. 

past from morning till night. But, with these European 
traits, Javanese characteristics mingle, and the resulting 
effect is a most curious one, somewhat bewildering 
withal to the new-comer in its mixture of the unknown 
with the familiar. Absolutely commonplace shops are 

 44 

THE TOWN 

approached through gardens, the pavement is strewn 
with flowers of the flame-of-the-forest: and, at the street- 
corners, instead of cahs, one linds the nondescript sadoo, 
its driver, gay in a llowered muslin vest and a gaudy 
headkerchief, sqaatting cross-legged on the back seat. 
Noordwijk is unique, an Amsterdam "gracht" in a 
tropical setting, Imagine a long straight canal, a gleam 
of green-brown water between walls of reddish masonry 
—spanned from place to place by a bridge, and shaded 
by the softly-tinted leafage of tamarinds ; on either side 
a wide, dusty road, arid gardens, sweltering in the sun, 
and glaring white bungalows; the fiery blue of the 
tropical sky over it all. Gaudily-painted''praos" glide 
down the dark canal ; native women pass up and down 
the night of stone steps that climbs from the water's 
edge to the street, a llower stuck into their gleaming 
hair, still wet from the bath; the tribe of fruitvendors 
and sellers of sweet drinks and cakes have established 
themselves along the parapet, in the shade of the 
tamarinds; and the native crowd, corning and going all 
day long, makes a kaleidoscopic play of colours along 
the still dark water. 

From the little station at the corner of Noordwijk 
and Molenvliet, a steam-car runs along the canal down 
to the suburbs ; every quarter of an hour it comes past, 
puffing and rattling; and every time the third-class 
compartment is choking full of natives. The fever and 
the fret of F,uropean life have seized upon these leisurely 
Orientals too. They have abandoned their sirih-chewing 
and day-dreaming upon the square of matting in the 
cool corner of the house, the dusty path along which 
they used to trudge in Indian file, when there was an 
urgent necessity for going to market ; and behold them 
all perched upon this " devil's engine," where they cannot 

,\ 1 

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•.-.V *K . 

-^~- _ -,_*/. 

"<k. 

^„Ifs. 

-:\, 

| 

"fl 

/ 

_s 

'S 

 THE TOWN 

47 

even sit down in the way they were taught to, " hurkl- 
ing on their hunkers." 

The skippers and raftsmen are more conservative in 
their ways—owing, perhaps, to their constant commu 
nion with the deliberate stream, which saunters along 
on its way from the hills to the sea, at its own pace. 
They take life easily; paddling along over the shifting 
shallows and mud-banks of the Kali (river) in the same 
leisurely way their forbears did; conveying red tiles, 
bricks, and earthenware in flat-bottomed boats; or 
pushing along rafts of bamboo-stems, which they have 
felled in the wood up-stream. As they come floating 
down the canal, these rafts of green bamboo, with the 
thin tips curving upwards like tails and stings of ven 
omous insects, have a fantastical appearance of living, 
writhing creatures, which the native raftsman seems to 
be for ever lighting with his long pole. After dark, when 
the torch at the prow blazes out like the single baleful 
eye of the monstrous thing, the day-dream deepens into 
a nightmare. And, shuddering, one remembers ghastly 
legends of river-dragons and serpents that haunt the sea, 
swimming up-stream to ravish some wretched mortal. 

The native boats appeal to merrier thoughts. With 
the staring white-and-black goggle eyes painted upon 
the prow, and the rows of red, yellow, and green 
lozenges arranged like scales along the sides, they 
remind one irresistibly of grotesque fishes for those 
big children, the Javanese, to play with—at house 
keeping. For keep house they do in their boats. 
They eat, drink, sleep, and live in the prao. A roof of 
plaited bamboo leaves helps to make the stern into the 
semblance of a hut ; and here, whilst the owner pushes 
along the floating home by means of a long pole and 
a deal of apparent exertion, his wife sits cooking the 

 48 

THE TOWN 

rice for the family meal over a brasier full of live 
coals; and the children tumble about in happy naked 
ness. Javanese babies, by the way, always seem happy. 
What do they amuse themselves with, one wonders ? They 
do not seem to know any games, and playthings they have 
none, except the tanjong-flowers they make necklaces 
of, and perchance some luckless cockroach, round whose 
hindmost leg they tie a thread to make him walk the 
way he should. Their parents, Mohammedan orthodoxy 
debars them from the society of their natural compa 
nions—dogs; and, as for cats, that last resource ofun- 
amused childhood in Europe, they hold them sacred, 
and would not dare to lay a playful hand upon one of 
them. Yet, there they are—plaything-less, naked, and 
supremely happy. 

Their parents, for the matter of that, are exactly the 
same; they seem perfectly happy without any visible 
and adequate cause for such content. As long as they 
are not dying—and one sometimes doubts if Javanese 
die at all—all is well with them. The race has a special 
genius for happiness, the free gift of those same inscrut 
able powers who have inflicted industry, moral sense, 
and the overpowering desire for clothes upon the unfor 
tunate nations of the North. 

Following the left-ward bend of the canal, past the 
sluice, and the Post Office,—the most hideous structure 
by the bye that ever disfigured a decent street—one 
comes to the bridge of Kampong Bahru; and, crossing 
it, suddenly finds oneself in what seems another quarter 
of the globe. Tall narrow houses, quaintly decorated 
and crowned with red-tiled roofs, that flame out against 
the contrasting azure of the sky, stand in close built 
rows; the wide street is full of jostling cartsand vans, 
fairly humming with traffic ; and the people move with 

 V 

**'% - 

Procession at the funerul of a rich Chinaman. 

--<r 

v 

f' 

' * 
'.•^ -* 

-V « 

' '4; 

. 

Funeral Procession on its way to the Chinese Uimetcry. 

 l- !» " 

THE TOWN 

53 

an energy and briskness never seen among Javanese. 
This is the Chinese quarter. There are three or four 

Burning of symbolical fignres at a Chinese funeral. 

such in the town, in!iabited by Chinese exclusively. 
This habit of hording together—though now a matter 
of choice with the Celestials—is thesurvival of a time 

 54 THE TOWN 

when Batavia had its "camp" as medieeval Italiancities 
had their Ghetto: a period no further back than the 
beginning of the last century. 

At that time, when Chinese immigration threatened 
to become a danger to the colony, the then Governor- 
General, Valckenier, took some measures against the 
admittance of destitute Chinese, which, however well- 
designed, were so clumsily executed as to'spread the 
rumour that the Government intended to deport even 
the Chinese residents of Batavia. A panic broke out 
among them, and then a revolt, in which they were soon 
joined by their countrymen from all over the island. 
After a desperate struggle, atrocities innumerable both 
suffered and inflicted, a siege sustained, and an attack 
of fifty and odd thousand beaten back by their two 
thousand men, the Hollanders succeeded in putting down 
the rebellion, and the enemy fled to the woods and 
swamps of the lowlands around Batavia. A few months 
later, however, a general amnesty having been granted, 
such of them as had escaped from famine and jungle- 
fever returned, and a special quarter was assigned to 
them, where it would be easy both to protect and to 
control them. There they have since continued to live. 

The houses of some rich Chinamen in the Kampong 
Bahru neighbourhood are truly splendid ; the most modest 
ones still have an air of comfort. According to the ideas 
of the inhabitants, there are none absolutely squalid. 
All these houses are, at the same time, shops. They 
are, in a way, wonderful people, these sons of the 
Celestial Empire, merchants, in one way or other, all of 
them. There is, of course, a difference. There is the 
foot-sore "kIontong" trudging troughthewearystreets 
all day, and shaking his rattle as he goes, to advertise 
the reels of cotton and the cakes of soap in his wallet ; 

.*.i 
¡Î 

'tl 

_o 

'n 

 îfe- 

THE TOWN 

57 

and, again, there is the portly millionaire, who entertains 
army officers and civil servants in his own profusely- 
decorated mansion ; but the difference is one in degree 
only, not in kind. Amid the pomp and circumstance of 
the one condition, and the squalor of the other, the 
individualities are the sarne. the attitude of mind and 
the habits of though identical, the sum and substance 
of a Chinaman's life in Java being expressed in "the 
making of bargains " 1 ie could as soon leave ofi" breath 
ing as leave of buying and selling; trading seems to be 
his natural function. And this, one fancies, is the great 
difference between his race and ours ; and the true secret 
of their superiority as money-rnakers. A Caucasian, if 
he is a merchant, is so with a certain part of his being 
only—during certain hours of the day, in his own office. 
A Chinaman is a merchant with his whole heart, his 
whole soul, and his whole understanding, a merchant 
always and everywhere, from his cradle to his grave, 
at table, at play, over his opium-pipe, in his temple. 
Trade is the element in which he lives, moves, and has 
his being. His thoughts might be noted in figures. The 
world is to hirn one vast opportunity for making money, 
and all things in it are articles of trade ; which, in 
Chinese, means gain to him, and loss to everybody else. 
He has few wants, infinite resources, and the faith (in 
himself) that removeth trading towns. Small wonder 
if he succeeds. 

I fancy it would be quite a practical education in 
the principles of business, to watch the career of one 
of these Chinamen, from the hour of his arrival at 
Tanjong Priok onward. At first, you see him trudging 
along with a wallet, containing soap, sewing cotton, 
combs, and matches. After a few months, you find 
him in your compound surrounded by the whole of 

 58 

THE TOWN 

your domestic staff, to whom he is selling sarong cloth 
and thin silks. When a year has gone by, a coolie 
trudges at his heels panting under a load of wares, the 
samples of which he subjects to your approval with 
the most correct of bows. Have but patience, and you 
will find him in a diminutive shop, where somehow he 
finds place for a settee in the corner, a mirror on the 
wall, and all around such a collection of articles as 
might fitly be termed an epitorne of material civilization. 
Nor does he stop in that tiny shop. A few years later, 
he will be taking his ease behind the counter of a 
spick-and-span establishment in the camp; and, if, by 
chance, you get a glimpse of his wife, you will be 
astonished at the size of the diamonds in her shiny 
coil of hair. Our friend is on the high road to prosperity 
now, which leads to a big house separate from the shop. 
Before he is fairly fifty, he has built it, high and spacious, 
with an altar to the gods and to the spirits of his 
ancestors set in the midst of it, and a profusion of 
fine carving and gilding, of embroidered hangings and 
lacquered woodwork all around. IIe will invite you forthe 
New Year's festivi1ies now, and, ifyour wife accompanies 
you, introduce you to his spouse, resplendent as the 
rainbow in many-tinted brocades, and more thickly 
covered with diamonds than the untrodden meadow 
with the dews of a midsummer night. He talks about 
the funeral of his honoured father, which cost him 
upward of three thousand pounds sterling ; and he will 
ask your advice, over the pine-apples and the champagne, 
about sending his son to Europe in one of his own 
ships, that the youth may see something of the world, 
and, if he so list, he entered as a student at the famous 
university of Leijden. 

A COLONIAL HOME 

 "lT is the North which has introduced tight-fitting 
clothes and high houses." Thus Taine, as, in the streets 
of Pompeii, he gazed at nobly-planned peristyle and 
graceful arch, at godlike flgures shining from frescoed 
walls, and, with the vision of that fair, free, large life 
of antiquity, contrasted the Paris apartment from which 
he was but newly escaped, and the dress-coat which 
he had worn at the last social function. And a similar 
reflection crosses the Northerner's mind when the looks 
upon a house in Batavia. 

I am aware that Pompeii and Batavia, pronounced 
in one breath, make a shrieking discord, and that, be 
tween a homely white-washed bungalow, and those 
radiant mansions which the ancients built of white 
marble and blue sky, the comparison must seem pre 
posterous. And, yet, no one can see the two, and fail 
to make it. The resemblance is too striking. The flat 
roof, the pillared entrance, the gleam of the marble- 
paved hall, whose central arch opens on the reposeful 
shadow of the inner chambers, all these features of a 

 62 

A COLONIAL HOME 

classic dwelling are recognized in a Batavia house. 
Evidently, too, this resemblance is not the result of 
mere mechanical imitation. There are a consistency 
and thoroughness in the architecture of these houses, a 
harmony with the surrounding landscape, which stamp 
it as an indigenous growth, the necessary result of the 
climate, and the mode of life in Java, just as classic 
architecture was the necessary result of the climate and 
the mode of life in Greece and Italy. If the two styles 
are similar, it is because the ideas which inspired them 
are not so vastly different. After all, in a sunny country, 
whether it be Europe or Asia, the great affair of 
physical life is to keep cool, and the main idea of the 
architect, in consequence, will be to provide that cool 
ness. It is this which constitutes a resemblance between 
countries in all other respects so utterly unlike as Greece 
and Java, and the difference between these and Northern 
Europe. In the North, the human habitation is a for 
tress against the cold ; in the South and the East, it is 
a shelter from the heat. 

There is no need here of thick walls, solid doors, 
casements of impermeable material, all the barricades 
which the Northerner throws up against the besieging 
elements. In Italy, as in Greece, Nature is not inimical. 
The powers of sun, wind, and rain are gracious to 
living things, and under their benign rule man lives as 
simply and confidingly as his lesser brethren, the beasts 
of the fields and forests and the birds of the air. He 
has no more need than they to hedge in his individual 
existence from the vast life that encompasses it. His 
clothes, when he wears them, are an ornament rather 
than a protection, and his house a place, not of refuge, 
but of enjoytnent, a cool and shadow spot, as open to 
the breeze as the forest, whose flat spreading branches, 

'.V 

,<ffl 

-4 

.*1 -.- 

¿a 

• 4 "• 

t y 

 A COLONIAL HOME 

65 

supported on stalwart stems, seem to have been the 
model for its column-borne roof. 

The Batavia house, then, is built on the classic plan. 
Its entrance is formed by a spacious loggia, raised a 
few steps above the level ground, and supported on 
colums. Thence, a door, which stands open all day 
long, leads into a smaller inner hall, on either side of 
which are bedrooms, and behind this is another loggia 
—even more spacious than the one forming the entrance 
of the house—where meals are taken and the hot hours 
of the day are spent. Generally, a verandah runs around 
the whole building, to beat off both the iierce sunshine 
of the hot, and the cataracts of rain of the wet, season. 
Behind the house is a garden, enclosed on three sides 
by the buildings containing the servants' quarters, the 
kitchen and store rooms, the bath-rooms, and stables. 
And, at some distance from the main building and 
connected with it by a portico, stands a pavilion, for the 
accommodation of guests ;—for the average Netherland- 
Indian is the rnost hospitable of mortals, and seldom 
without visitors, whether relatives, friends, or even 
utter strangers, who have come with an introduction 
from a common acquaintance in I lolland. 

It takes some time, 1 find, to get quite accustomed to 
this arrangement of a house. In the beginning of my stay 
here, I had an impression of always being out of doors 
and of dining in the public street, especially at night, 
when in the midst of a blaze of light one felt oneself an 
object of attention and criticism to every chance passer 
by in the darkness without. It was as bad as at the 
ceremonious meals of the Kings of France, who had their 
table laid out in public, that their faithful subjects might 
behold them at the banquet, and, one supposes, satisfy 
their own hunger by the Sovereign's vicarious dining. 

 • I 

66 

A COLONIAL HOME 

A COLONIAL HOME 

67 

ln time, however, as the strangeness of the situation 
wears off, one realises the advantage of these spacious 
galleries to walled-in rooms, and very gladly sacrifices 
the sentiment of privacy to the sensation of coolness. 

For to be cool, or not to be cool, that is the great 
question, and all things are arranged with a view to 
solving it in the most satisfactory manner possible. 
For the sake of coolness, one has marble floors or 
Javanese matting instead of carpets, cane-bottomed 
chairs and settees in lieu of velvet-covered furniture, 
gauze hangings for draperies of silks and brocade. The 
inner hall of almost every house, it is true, is furnished in 
European style—exiles love to surround themselves with 
remembrances of their far-away home. But, though 
very pretty, this room is generally empty of inhabitants, 
except, perhaps, for an hour now and then, during the 
rainy season. For, in this climate, to sit in a velvet 
chair is to realize the sensations of Saint Laurence, 
without the sustaining consciousness of martyrdom.— 
For the sake of coolness again, one gets up at half-past 
five, or six, at the very latest, keeps indoors till sunset, 
sleeps away the hot hours of the afternoon on a bed 
which it requires experience and a delicate sense of 
touch to distinguish from a deal board, and spends the 
better part of one's waking existence in the bath room. 

Now, a bath in Java is a very different thing from the 
dabbling among dishes in a bedroom, which Europeans 
call by that name, even iftheir dishes attain the dimensions 
of a tub. Ablutions such as these are performed as a 
matter of duty ; a man gets into his tub as he gets into his 
clothes, because to omit doing so would be indecent. But 
bathing in the tropics is a pure delight, a luxury for 
body and soul—a dip into the Fountaine de Jouvence, 
almost the "cheerful solemnity and semi-pagan act of 

worship," which the donkey-driving Traveller through 
the Cevennes performed in the clear Tarn. A special 

II 

I 

TLe servants' l<itehcn.. 

place is set apart for it, a spacious, cool, airy room 
in the outbuildings, a "chamber deaf to noise, and all 
but blind to light." Through the gratings over the door, 

 ;in, 

68 

A COLONIAL HOME 

a glimpse of sky and waving branches is caught. The 
marble iloor and whitewashed walls breathe freshness, 
the water in the stone reservoir is limpid and cold as 
that of a pool that gleams in rocky hollows. And, as 
the bather dips in his bucket, and send the frigid 
stream pouring over him, he washes away, not heat 
and dust alone, but weariness and vexatious thought 
in a purification of both body and soul, and he under 
stands why all Eastern creeds have exalted the bath 
into a religious observance. 

Like the often-repeated bath, the rice table is a Java 
nese institution, and its apologists claim equal honours 
for it as an antidote to climatic influences. I confess 
I do not hold so high an opinion of its virtues, but I 
have fallen a victim to its charms. I love it but too 
well. And there lies the danger, everybody likes it far 
too much, and, especially, likes far too much ofit. It 
is, humanly speaking, impossible to partake of the rice 
table, and not to grossly overeat oneself. There is some 
thing insidious about its composition, a cunning arrange 
ment of its countless details into a whole so perfectly 
harmonious that it seems impossible to leave out a single 
one. If you have partaken of one dish, you must partake 
of the rest, unless you would spoil all. Fowl calls to 
fowl, and fish answers fish, and all the green things 
that are on the table, a,ye, and the red and the yellow 
likewise, have their appointed places upon your platc. 
You may try to escape consequences by taking infini 
tesimal pinches of each, but many a mickle makes a 
rnuckIe, and your added teaspoonfuls soon swell to a 
heaped-up plate, such as well might stagger the stoutest 
appetite. Yet, even before you have recovered from 
your surprise, you find you have finished it all. I do 
not prétend to explain, I rnerely state the fact. 

A COLONIAL HOME 69 

Records have survived of those Pantagruelic feasts 
with which the great ones of the mediaeval world 
delighted to celebrate the auspicious events of their lives, 
and the chronicler never fails to sum up the almost 
interminable list of the spices and essences with which 
the cook, on the advice of learned physicians, seasoned 
the viands, in order that, whilst the grosser meats satis 
fied the animal cravings of the stomac,h, those ethereal 
aromatics might stimulate the finer fluids, whose ebb 
and flow controls the soul, and the well-tlavoured dishes 
might not only be hot on men's tongues but eke " prick 
them in their courages." They pricked to some purpose, 
it seems. And, if the spice-sated Netherlands-Indian ¡s 
a comparatively law-abiding man, it must be because 
battening rice counteracts maddening curry. But for 
this providential arrangement, 1 fully believe he would 
think no more of battle, murder, and sudden death than 
of an indigestion, and consider a good dinner as an 
ample explanation of both. 

Now, as to what they clothe themselves withal. Taiue's 
opinion concerning tight fitting clothes has been mention 
ed—viz: that they are an invention of the North. A 
fortnight in Batavia will explain and prove the theory 
better than many books by many philosophers; and, 
moreover, cause the most sartorially-minded individual 
to consign the " invention " to a place hotter than even 
Java. Like the habitations, the habits of European 
civilization are irksome in the tropics; and,forindoor- 
wear at least, they have suffered a sun-change into 
something cool and strange- -into native costume modified 
in fact. Now, the outward apparel of the Javanese 
consists of a long straight narrow skirt "the sarong" 
with a loose fitting kind of jacket over it,—short for 
the men, who call it " badjoo," and longer for the women 

 70 

A COLONIALHOME 

who wear it as "kabaya": which garments have been 
adopted by the Hollanders, with the one modification 
of the sarong into a "divided skirt" for the men, and 
the substitution of white batiste and embroidery for the 
coloured stuffs of which native women make their 
kabayas, in the case of the ladies. On the Javanese, a 
small, spare, slightly-made race, the garb sits not un 
gracefully ; narrow and straight as it is, it goes well with 
contours so attenuated. But on the sturdier Hollander 
the effect is something appalling. An adequate descrip 
tion of the men's appearance in it would read like a 
caricature; and though, with the help of harmonious 
colours and jewellery, the women look better when 
thus attired, the dress is not becoming to them either, 
at least in non-colonial eyes. The sesthetic sense shies 
and kicks out at the sight of those straight, hard, un 
natural lines. Modern male costume has been held up 
to ridicule as a "systemofcylinders". Thesarongand 
kabaya combine to form one single cylinder, which 
obliterates all the natural lines and curves of the feminine 
form divine, and changes a woman into a parti-coloured 
pillar, for an analogy to which one's thoughts revert to 
Lot's wife. But, though utterly condemned from an 
artistic point of view, from a practical one it must be 
acquitted, and even commended. In a country where 
the temperature ranges between 85° and 95° Fahrenheit 
in the shade, cool clothes which can be changed several 
times a day, are a condition not merely of comfort, but 
of absolute cleanliness and decency, not to mention 
hygiene. For it is a noteworthy fact that the women, 
who wear colonial dress up to six in the evening, stand 
the climate better than the men, who, in the course of 
things, wear it during an hour or an hour and a half 
at most, in the day. And it must be admitted that both 

A 

v. 

.,:v^ 

/ 
•>• 

42 

ff 

rf 

'T 

II 

 A COLONIAL HOME 73 

men and women enjoy better health in Java, under this 
colonial regime of dressing than in the British possessions, 
where they cling to the fashions of Europe. 

As for the children, they are clad even more lightly 
than their elders, in what the Malay calls " monkey- 
trousers", chelana monjet, a single garment, which, only 
just covering the body, leaves the neck, arms, and legs 
bare. It is hideous, and they love it. In German pic 
ture-books one sees babes similarly accoutred riding on 
the stork, that brings them to their expectant parents. 
Perhaps, after all, monkey-trousers are the paradisiacal 
garment of babes ; and it is a Wordsworthian recollection 
of this fact, that makes them cling to the costume so 
tenaciously. 

One cannot speak of ari "Indian" child, and forget 
the "babu," the native nursc. who is its ministering 
spirit, its dusky guardian angel, almost its Providence. 
All day long, she carries her little charge in her long 
"slendang," the wide scarf, which deftly slung about 
her shoulders, makes a sort of a hammock for the baby. 
She does not like even the mother to take it away from 
her; feeds it, bathes it, dresses it prettily, takes it out 
for a walk, ready, at the least sign, to lift it up again 
into its safe nest close to her heart. She plays with 
it, not as a matter of duty, but as a matter of pleasure, 
throwing herself into the game with enjoyment and 
zest, like the child she is at heart ; so that the two may 
be seen quarrelling sometimes, the baby stamping its 
feet and the babu protesting with the native cluck of 
indignant remonstrance, and an angry -'Terlalu!" "it 
is too bad!" And, at night, when she has croonedthe 
little one to sleep, with one of those plaintive monoton 
ous melodies in a minor key, which seem to go on for 
ever, like a rustling of reeds and forest leaves whilst 

 74 A COLONIAL HOME 

the crickets are trilling their evensong, she spreads her 
piece of matting on the floor, and lies down in front 
of the little bed, like a faithful dog guarding its master's 

slumbers. 

As for the other servants, their name is Legion. A 
colonial household requires a very numerous domestic 
staff. Even families with modest incomes employ six 
or seven servants, and ten is by no means an exceptional 
number. The reason for this apparent extravagance is, 
that, though the Javanese is not lazy—as he often and 
unjustly is accused of being—yet he is so slow, that the 

result practically is the same' and one needs two.or 
even three native servants, for work which one Caucasian 

would despatch in the same time. 

All these have their own quarters in the " compound " 
and their own families in those quarters ; they go " into 
the house" as a man would go to his office; coming 
home for meals, and entertaining their friends in the 
evening, on their own square of matting, and with their 
own saffron-tinted rice, and syrup-sweetened coffee. 

Such then, is the setting ofevery-day existence in Java. 

As for the central fact, it is less interesting than its 
circumstances, in so far as it is more familiar. The 
three or four great conceptions which determine the 
home-life of a people—its ideas social, ethical, and 
religious concerning the relations between parent and 
child, and between men and women—are too deeply 
ingrained into its mental substance to be affected by 
any merely outward circumstances. Therefore, home- 
life among the Hollanders in Java, is essentially the 
same as among Hollanders in their own country. Still 
there is difference, that it has more physical comfort, 
and less intellectual interest. The climate, it seems to 
me, is in a high degree responsible for both these facts. 

A COLONIAL HOME 

75 

A continual temperature of about 90 degrees is not 
favourable to the growth of the finer faculties, in 
Northerner's brains at least. The little band of eminent 
rnen who have gone up from Java to shine in Dutch 

• !V 

- • 

i,. 

4 

~ v 

\_ > 
V 't ! 

Native gardener. 

Universities must be regarded as a signal exception 
to a very general rule. Besides, the heat is so grave 
an addition to the already heavy burden of the day, 
that one requires all one's energies, both of body and 
soul, to conscientiously discharge one'sordinaryduties; 

 76 

A COLONIAL HOME 

and there is no surplus left to devote to literary, artistio, 
or scientific pursuits. There are no theatres, no operas, 
no concerts, no lectures, no really good newspapers, 
even, in Java. There could not be, where there is so 
little active public life. So that a man's one relaxation 
after a hard day's work—unless he looks at dances and 
dinners in that light—must be found in his own house. 

One continually hears the phrase in the East, 
"our house is our life." Naturally, therefore, the 
house is made as pleasant as possible, and as com 
fortable, not to say luxurious. Incomes are proportio 
nately very much higher in Java than in Holland— 
without financial advantage as an incentive nobody 
would accept life under tropical conditions—and the 
better part of the money is spent on good living in the 
majority of cases. Even families of comparatively 
moderate means have a roomy house,asufficientdomiestic 
staff, and keep a carriage and a good table. 

And as to the heat, which assuredly is a discomfort, 
and no trifling one, the accepted mode oflife does much 
to palliate it, not only by the regime of housing, feed 
ing, and dressing, but almost as much by the way the 
day is divided. Work is begun early, so as to get as 
much as possible done in the cool hours ; between nine 
and five everybody keeps indoors; and those who can 
snatch an hour of leisure after the one o'clock rice- 
table, spend it in a siesta. Only in the early morning, 
and in the evening does one see Europeans about., Not 
even the greatest enthusiast for cricket and tennis dare 
begin games earlier than half-past four. 

Formerly this was different. 

On old engravings, one may see the tall sombre 
houses which the first colonists built on those " grachts " 
now long since demolished. One may mark them 

A COLONIAL HOME 

77 

walking home from a three hours' sermon in broadcloth 
mantles, and velvet robes,givingsolemnentertainrnents 
in their trim gardens along the canal, with the sun in 
noon-day glory over-head, and generally ignoring the 

1 et 

?" 

Native footboy. 

trifling differences between Amsterdam and Batavia. 
They fought very valiantly for their ancestral customs ; 
butvery few returned to tell of the fight. 

Since, people have reflected that a live Netherland- 
Indian is better then a dead Hollander. And, giving 

 78 

A COLONIAL HOME 

up a fight, in which defeat was all but certain, and 
success worse than useless, they have effected a com 
promise with the clirnate. In Java they do as Java 
does, from sunrise to sunset. But, with the congenial 
cool of the evening, they resume their national existence, 
the garb, the manners and the customs of Holland. At 
seven there is a general "va et vient" ofopen carriages 
bearing women in light dresses, and men in correct 
black-and-white to a " reception " in some brilliantly- 
lighted house; and for a few hours, the life of Home 
is lived again. 

Outside is the black tropical night, heavy with the 
scent of invisible blossoms, pricked here and there by 
the yellow spark of some trudging fruitvendor's oilwick. 
The small fragment of Europe with that tall-colonnaded 
marble-paved loggia, with its gliding figures of men 
and women, is, stands an Island of Light among the 
waveless seas of darkness. 

Sacred gun near the Amsterdam gate, Batavia. 

SOCIAL LIFE 

 THE social life of Batavia has a physiognomy of its 
own ; curious enough in some of its features. But it is 
not this which strikes the new-comermostforcibly. In 
certain Byzantine mosaics, the figure represented is 
entirely eclipsed by the magniiicence of the background : 
the eye must grow accustomed to the splendour of the 
gold and precious stones surrounding it, before it can 
take in the lines of the face. In a similar manner, no 
surmise can be formed as to the character of Batavia 
social life before the charm has, at least in part, passed 
oiF, which its setting casts over the critical faculties. It 
moves in romance ; it is surrounded by beauty ; its con 
ditions and circumstances are in themselves a source of 
delight. It would seem almost enough for a feast, in 
the cool of the evening, to sit under the verandah, 
marking on the gleaming marble floor half-reflections 
as in tranquil waters under a tranquil sky seen from 
afar ; and the rich strange green, relieved against black- 
nebs, of the plants on the steps outside, their every leaf 
and shoot shone upon by the lamplight, standing out 
sparkling against the ebon wall of night. From without, 
there comes the chirping of crickets, and the deep- 
breathed fragance of fl.owers—tuberose, gardenia and 

 82 

SOCIAL LIFE 

datura, nocturnal blossoms. Framed between pillars 
and architrave, great rectangles of sky are seen, inter 
stellar azure, and the countless scintillation of stars. 
Environings such as these shed a grace and dignity even 
over the actions of daily life. When the scene is in 
itself fair, it is transfigured into what seems the visiori 
of a poet. 

Shortly after my arrival, I was invited to a ball at 
the palace. I was at the time staying with friends in 
the Salemba quarter ; and we had a drive of nearly an 
hour through avenues of tall waringin trees. There 
was no wind, not the faintest breath of air; all that 
world of leaves stood unstirred ; summits broad as hill 
tops, and cascades of massive foliage, making a blackness 
against skies all limpid with diffused starlight. Between 
the vaguely-discerned stems, the little lights, which fruit 
vendors keep twinkling all the night through, would 
now and then flare up, and a reddish arm be revealed, 
the portion of a face, and some fruits in a basket. 
Once, too, we saw the shining of a fire with some native 
watchmen crouching around it, their faces strangely 
distorted in the ever-writhing and shifting light. One of 
them shouted out a hoarse " who goes there ? " That was 
the only sound I heard all the time. Silence and night 
all around ; and overhead, like some pale river winding 
along between shores of darkness, the gleaming course 
of the sky between the dark waringin-tops. We might 
have been in the heart of a woodland, miles away from 
the populous city, when suddenly the horses turned a 
corner, and there burst upon us the great white blaze 
of the palace, shining beyond intervening darknesses. It 
seemed like a low-hanging lightning-cloud, with myriads 
of little flames, like sparks of Saint-Elmo's fire hovering 
around, above, and underneath. Those aloft hung im- 

SOCIAL LIFE 

83 

movable: the steadfast stars; lower down, immovable 
too, a wide-swung circle of seemingly larger luminaries 
defining a tract of darkness; within that flame-bound 
space, trembling hither and thither, fitful will-o'-the 
wisps; and, without the shining boundary, rushing lights 
that darted by and suddenly stood, and then with jerks 
and stops drew ever nearer to the great effulgent cloud. 
The lights of stars, lanterns, oil-wicks, and carriage- 
lamps seemed all to have been scattered from that central 
glow. As we drew nearer, its cloudlike aspect changed 
to the semblance of an alabaster grotto, the fire in its 
white core streaked with lines of black ; and these lines 
broadened and lengthened until they grew into solid 
shafts; when the columns of the loggia stood revealed, 
rising from the height of a marble terrace. 

I ascended the white steps. I was in the very heart 
of the light. The pillars, the floor, the walls, and the 
ceiling seemed to be made of light. And, suddenly. I 
had a sense of home-coming. Why. I knew all this 
very well ! I had known it for years, for ever so long, 
ever since the time when I listened to fairy tales, and 
in the beautifully-bound book—I must not touch it, and 
I kept my hands behind my back to withstand the 
ternptation—was shown the picture of the castle where 
the Sleeping Beauty lived. At night, lying wide awake 
up to quite nine o'clock, I saw it as plain as could be, 
growing up around the lamp, with the groundglass shade 
for a cupola. Later on, when I could read myself, 
and also climb trees as the boys in the village had 
taught me, sitting all through the drowsy summer 
afternoons in the forked branch of an old, crooked 
pear-tree, with Hans Andersen's tales on my knees, I 
rebuilt the Castle on a bolder scale for the Little 
Merniaiden. Alas! she was never tolivethere! Until, 

.J" 

 84 

SOCIAL LIFE 

at last, when Romeo crossed the threshold, and Juliet 
turned and stood at gaze, a burst of music flooded the 
widening halls, entwined couples moved like flowers 
that sway iii the evening wind, and, between the tall 
columns, I caught a glimpse of thc sky and "all the 
little stars." Now, 1 had entered the palace myself. 
The great La France roses, and the Maréchal Niel that 
fell in showers of gold over the edge of the marble 
urns, had budded in my dream-garden. The music 
played; and in the vast hall 1 knew so well, the polo 
naise began to unwind its slow coils, with a flash of 
goldlace and of diamonds, a gleaming of bare shoulders, 
and a wavy movement of silken trains, whose hues 
enriched the pale marble underfoot. ... " VVe should 
move into this place, I think," said my partner. 

Since then, 1 have been to many entertainments, lt is 
but honest to say that at some I have enjoyed myself 
exceedingly, pouving rains, and the croaking of frogs, 
almost in the house, nothwilhstanding; and that at 
others I have felt my eyes burning with tears of sup 
pressed ya\vning. It is true this has not happened 
often ; but, when it has, not all the stars in their courses, 
nor all the constellations in their fixed places, could 
inspirit me; and the perfume of the tuberoses gave me 
a headache. I look at these things by gas-light now ; 
and some of them I lind curious and not altogether 
beautiful. One especially : the official character of social 
life in the best circles. It seems as ifdiscipline regulated 
matters of pleasure as strictly as matters of business. 
A man will go to his chief's party as he would 
to his office of a morning, never dreaming ofstaying 
away; and imposing old ladies resent thc presence 
of the wrong partner at a whist table, as if it were 
an obstacle in their husband's career, lt is as if they 

SOCIAL LIFE 

85 

could not, even for one evening, forget thc struggle 
for existence, and as if they regarded a dinner or a 
dance as an engagement with the enemy ; a brisk assault 
to carry by storm some place that has long stood a 
regular siege — a lively skirmish in which everything 
that comes to hand is a weapon for either attack or 
self-defence. One cannot be too well equipped, in this 
great battle of official life. Intellect is an excellent 
weapon, but it is not the only one ; and though zeal 
is indispensable, it is not enough. There are too many 
intelligent and conscientious men jostling each other 
already. To pass them by, the ambitious man must 
be more than merely intelligent and conscientious. He 
must choose some special talent — any talent provided 
it be special. Where merits are equal, the supererogatory 
decides the contest. For a man at all well born and 
well bred, accomplishments of the social order are the 
easiest to acquire; besides, these seemingly futile things 
are in reality most important. It is the men of the 
world who get the good places; while stay-at-home 
drudges may after ten years still stay at home and 
drudge. Accordingly, social accomplishments are what 
a wise rnan will strive to acquire. And. before any 
thing else, let him see that he plays a good game of 
cards. All elderly gentlemen like cards; all chiefs of 
departments are elderly gentlemen ; therefore, all chiefs 
of departments like cards. Hence these many and long- 
drawn-out parties, where one sits at little green tables 
until, dear God ! those very tables seem asleep, and the 
faint heart is all but lying still. And hence the patience 
and the stoical courage, with which arnbitious men 
endure the trial. Though, to thc superlicial observer, 
they are only taking their pleasures laboriously, they 
take better things than their pleasure: a chance of 

 86 

SOCIAL LIFE 

preferment. They have heard ballads being sung and 
said about the man who stormed the high places with 
his chair for a steed and a pack of cards for shield 
and spear, and utterly defeated and drove out the 
garrison of quill-armed men. These things have been. 
And once upon a time, there was a Head of Depart 
ment, who held the official virtues to be statistics, 
discipline, and cards: but the greatest of these was 
cards. By his play, he judged a man. A woman he 
did not judge at all, conceiving her to be a non-card- 
playing being. And a woman sitting down to agame, 
notwithstanding her declared and organic inability, was 
to him the abomination of desolation. But let young 
civil servants come to him! And happy that young 
civil servant who could, and would, and did stand up 
to him, and even defeat him utterly, to the greater 
glory of cards! For this man was a truly great soul; 
and he preferred the honour of the game very far indeed 
to his own as a player. 

Still, as all roads lead to Rome, so a good many lead 
to preferment. If one great man loves cards, another 
is partial to a good dinner, and most affable over pate 
de foie gras and a bottle of Burgundy. And a third— 
this one, presumably, the proud father of pretty daugh 
ters—has a predilection for dances. So that a man may 
choose his own path upwards ; and, if he will not play, 
why, he may dance. 

And dance they do in Batavia, with fervour and 
assiduity. On east-monsoon nights, when the very 
crickets judge it too hot for the exertion of chirping, 
snatches of Strausz waltzes may be caught floating out 
on the heavy air; and luminousshapesbeseentwirling 
in some brilliantly-lighted front-gallery. Out of every 
ten persons you meet, nine are enthusiastic waltzers ; 

SOCIAL LIFE 

87 

and the fieriest fanatic of them all is sure to be a young 
civil servant thus "with victory and with melody" 
pursuing his upward path to the heights of official 
honours. Nothing arrests him in his career. The 
gallery too narrow for his evolutions does not exist. 
One exhausted partner after another he has led back 
to her mamma and the restorative champagne-cup, and 
his ardour is not a whit abated, though his hair seems 
to be sprinkled with diamond-dust, and its cheeks have 
sunk to the pallor of that wilted lily, his collar—the 
last of the posy gathered at home, and thrown away 
drooping into a corner of the dressingroom, off the 
verandah. This is sublime courage, indeed. As one 
looks at him, one is reminded of Indian braves, who, 
at the first outburst of the war-hoop, put on their very 
best paint and shiniest mocassins, and hurry to the 
gathering of the chiefs, there to dance the war-dance ; 
not inelegantly, nor without hidden meaning: each 
prance and twirl a prophecy ofscalp-wreathed triumphs. 
But dancing—like virtue—may be argued to be its 
own reward. And, as such, it but partially fits into 
the system of amusements considered as a means to 
preferment. For the triumph of the principle, commend 
me to a reception. Each great man's day—for it is 
his, observe, and not his wife's—is announced before 
hand in the newspapers, or printed, one in a long list, 
on a separate slip of paper, which you must stick up 
in the corner of your mirror, so that there shall be no 
pretext for ignorance. To make assurance doubly sure, 
you put a pencil mark against the name and "day" 
of your own particular great man. On the appointed 
date, as the clock strikes seven, you go. From afar 
you see the blaze of his front gallery ; the drive shines 
with multitudinous carriage-lamps, and every now and 

 88 

SOCIAL LtFE 

SOCIAL LTFE 

89 

then, as another vehicle draws up, the master of the 
house is seen descending the verandah-steps, to help 
some lady to alight from her carriage, with grave court 
esy offering her his arrn to conduct her towards the 
hostess. She rises, extends a welcoming hand, begs her 
newly-arrived guest to be seated, and resumes a languid 
conversation with the great lady at her right. Unless, 
indeed, the new arrival be a greater lady, in which case 
the former occupant will cede to her the place ofhonour. 
and content herself with the next. Soon, around the 
big marble-topped table, the circle is drawn, one-half 
of it shining like the rainbowed sky ; the other black 
as innermost darkness; one semi-circle of women; an 
other of men ; as strictly separated as we are taught 
that the sheep and goats shall be, on a certain day. I 
cannot but think that the men must be conscious of 
the fact, and its dire symbolism. For, as often as not, 
they get up, and stand unhappily together in the farthest 
corner of the verandah, and, with cigars and cigarettes, 
make little clouds to hide themselves from the children 
of the light shining afar off, and drink sherry out 
of little glasses, in deep meditation. Until, suddenly, 
the booming of the eight o'clock gun breaks the spell. 
Every watch is taken out of every waistcoat-pocket, 
and set aright. Every countenance brightens, and the 
greatest man of all—"not Lancelot, nor another," 
tbr his life!—catching a look from his lady,- sitting 
mournful in her place, steps forward, and boldly claims 
her for his own again. Then the others follow, the 
host still conducting each fair one back to her carriage; 
and in another moment the verandah is left desolate, 
and that reception is a thing of the past. 

Not more than two or three of the guests have 
interchanged a word with either host or hostess beyond 

the conventional phrases of welcome and good bye ; and 
unless some members of the same coterie have been 
sitting together,-Batavia society is as full of coteries 
as a pine-apple is of seeds—they have not had much 
conversation among themselves either. Of pleasure5 
there has been nothing, of profit so much as may be 
derived from seeing and being seen. It is ahnost as it 
was at the Court of Louis XIV. Acte de présence has 
been made: and that isall; but, asitseerns,itisenough. 
This is, indeed, a triumph of the bureaucratie principle. 
In "Java"—as the Batavians call the rest of the 
island, in curious contradistinction to the capital—this 
principle rules with even greater despotism : it assumes 
the importance of an article of faith. Batavia, after 
all, that " suburb of the Hague," is too much influenced 
by the manners and opinions of the Mother Country to 
be accounted a colonial town. And, among the colonial 
ideas it is gradually discarding, is that one of the 
extreme importance and supereminence of office. Tn 
Holland, society metes with a different measure. And 
the knowledge, perpetually forced on him, that the 
Honourable of Batavia must sink into plain Mr. Jansen 
or Smit of the Hague, is sobering enough to keep the 
vanity of even the most arrogant oflicial within decent 
limits. Not to mention the fact that, arnong his fellow- 
citizens, there is a large proportion of non-officials, not 
at all eager to acknowledge even his temporary super 
iority. But in ".lava," where communication with the 
civilized world is much less frequent and much more 
difficult, old colonial notions have retained their pristine 
vigour. The " Resident " of a little Java station is still 
very much what his predecessor, the "Merchant," was 
in the days of the East-India Company : a veritable little 
king. The gilt "payong" held over hisheadonofficial 

 90 

SOCIAL LIFE 

occasions seems a royal canopy, and his gold-laced 
uniform-cap a kingly crown in the eyes ofhis temporary 
subjects. The native chiefs revere him as their " elder 
brother." His own subordinates naturally look up to 
him. The planters, who, in their transactions with the 
native population—bad keepers of contracts, on the 
whole—are dependent upon his decision, need to be, 
and to continue on good terms with him. And when 
it is further taken into consideration that the social life 
of the station must be exactly what he chooses to make 
it, it will be evident why even absolutely independent 
persons should seek to be in his good graces. Thus the 
man lives in an atmosphere of adulation. If there be 
a lack of humour or an abundance of vanity in his 
composition, he will take his pseudo-royalty seriously, 
and strictly exact homage. But, in the opposite case, 
and even when he is averse to it, it will be still pressed 
upon him. An anecdote illustrating this was told me, 
the other day, by an official, himself the object, or, as 
he put it, the victim, of this particular kind of hero- 
worship. 

He was driving at a rapid pace, down a precipitous 
road, when the horse stumbled and fell, his light dog 
cart was upset, and he himself flung out of the seat. 
He had barely recovered from the stunning fall, when 
he caught sight of his secretary—who had been follow 
ing in his own carriage—coming bounding down the 
steep road like a big india-rubber ball, rolling over and 
over in the dust. " Hullo, Jansen ! have you been upset, 
too?"—"No, Resident," sputters the fat little man, 
scrambling to his feet again, "but I thought, the R- 
Resident 1-l-leaps, I leap, too!" 

And here is the pendent: 

In the latest cholera-scare, an old lady, the widow 

SOCIAL LIFE 

91 

of a comptroller, had beën left thé sole European resident 
of her station, all the others having left for the hills. 
The Resident, surmising inability to meet the expenses 
of travel to be the reason of her staying on, offered to 
convey her to a bungalow in the hills, which his own 
family was then occupying. The old lady came to 
thank him for the proposal. But she could not, she 
said, accept it. She judged her hour had come; and 
she was not afraid of death. Only one favour she would 
beg from the Resident. It should be remembered that 
her husband had been a comptroller, and that, as his 
widow, she was in rank superior to all the European 
inhabitants of the station, coming second after the Resi 
dent himself. Now her request was this; would the 
Resident be so good as to leave written instructions, in 
case they both should die, to the effect that her grave 
should be dug next to his? 

One would expect such an excess of bureaucratic 
etiquette to breed dullness and constraint unspeakable. 
And it certainly somewhat galls the new-comer. But 
it is all an affair of custom, and, after a while, these 
ceremonious manners come to seem as natural and 
necessary as the ordinary courtesies of life, and not a 
whit more detrimental to the pleasantness of social 
intercourse. Indeed, one sometimes sees positions revers 
ed, and Netherland-Indians accusing Hollanders of 
stiffness. And it must be owned that the new-comer 
in Batavia Society, is struck by a certain grace and 
easiness of manner that contrasts forcibly with the some 
what frigid reserve of the typical Hollander : as forcibly 
as a seventeenth-century family mansion on the Heeren- 
gracht, solid, imposing, and gloomy as a fortress, contrasts 
with an airy Batavia bungalow, where birds build their 
nests on the capitals of the columms, and the whiteness 

7 

 92 

SOCIAL LIFE 

of the floor is tinged with slanting sunbeams and reflec 
tions of tall-leaved plants. And, analogous contasts meet 
one at every step. Life here has less dignity than it 
has in the mother country; but it has more grace. Of 
its—real or seeming—necessaries, not a few are lacking. 
But what was that saying about the wisdom of striving 
for the superfluities, and caring naught for the necessa 
ries of life? Existence in Netherland-India is based 
upon this principle. The superfluous is striven for— 
the richness and the romance of things : and everyday- 
life is the more acceptable for it. The comparatively 
poor in the colony fare better than the comparatively 
rich at home. Thy have more leisure, greater comforts, 
and better opportunities for amusement. Hence, the 
prevalence of " mondain " manners. 

Hospitality is another characteristic of the average 
Netherland-Indian. In the mother country, a man's 
house is his castle; but in Java it is the castle of his 
guest. And his guest is practically, whoever likes, a 
relation, a friend, a mere acquintance, an utter stranger, 
his name not so much as heard of before, who comes 
" to bring the greetings of a friend "—as the pretty, old 
fashioned phrase has it: and he will meet with the 
most cordial of welcomes. People are not content with 
simply receiving a guest : they feast him. And, when 
hospitality is offered, it is meant, not for days, but for 
weeks. To stay for two or three months at a friend's 
house is nothing out of the common; and this not for 
a single person merely, but for a whole family—parents, 
servants, and all. I know I am speaking within the 
mark : having myself been one of nine guests, four of 
whom had been staying for sonie weeks already at a 
hospitable house in Batavia. And in " Java "— where 
hotels are bad and railways few and far between, it is 

SOCIAL LIFE 

93 

by no means rare to find an even more numerous com 
pany foregathered at the house of the Resident, who 
thus "does the honours" of an entire district; or at 
the bungalows of rich planters, jealously competing with 
the ofíicial for what they consider the privilege rather 
than the duty of hospitality. They exercise it in a 
truly princely way. A well-known tea-planter, some 
time ago, celebrating his silver wedding, commemorated 
the event by an entertainment, which lasted for three 
days, and to which a hundred and fifty guests were 
invited. Bamboo huts had been erected for those who 
could not be accommodated in the house; barns were 
converted into ball-rooms and dining-halls; and the 
native population of half the district came and was 
welcomed to its share of the feast. 

This, of course, is a signal instance ; but the tendency 
which it illustrates is a very general one, so much so, 
in fact, that it has influenced domestic architecture, and 
rendered the pavilion (the colonial equivalent for our 
" spare room ") as indispensable a part of the house as 
the bath-room and the kitchen.—Sometimes indeed the 
pavilion is let. But generally it remains dedicated to 
the uses of hospitality, and still awaits the "Coming 
and going man," as the Dutch phrase has it. At its 
door welcome for ever smiles, and farewell goes out 
weeping. 

Welcome. Farewell. Here, in Batavia, the short 
significant words ever and again fall upon the ear, 
recurrent in conversations as the deep, dominant bass- 
note that sends a repeated vibration through all the 
changes and modulations of a melody; far olF and 
distinct, as the moan of circling seas, heard in the 
central dells of an island where the clear-throated 
thrushes sing. The sensation of the temporary, the 

 94 

SOCIAL LIFE 

transitory, and the uncertain that thrills the atmosphere 
of a sea-port is in the air of this seemingly-quiet inland 
town. It is a common saying here, that one should not 
make plans for more than a month beforehand. But 
even a month seems almost too bold a reaching into 
futurity, when every day is full of chances and changes, 
and the aspect of things alters over-night. A promo 
tion, an attack of fever, a fluctuation in the sugar or 
tobacco-market, a letter from Holland—and friends are 
separated, homes broken up, and careers changed. 

The effects of this living on short notice, if I may so 
call it, are perceptible in everything pertaining to colo 
nial customs, ideas, and society. I entered, the other 
day, one of those ancient mansions long ago degraded 
to offices of "the old city." The armorial bearings of 
the patrician, who built it in the beginning of the 
century, still ornament the entrance. There are stucco 
mouldings over the doors that lead into the great, half- 
dark chambers. A trace of gold and bright colours is 
still discernible on the blinds of the tall lattice windows, 
the glass of which shines with the iridescent colours 
that so many days of sunshine and of rain have wrought 
into it ; and the great staircase has an oaken balustrade 
richly sculptured in the style of the 17th century. The 
paint might be gone, the mouldings choked with dust 
and cobwebs, the sculptured ornaments of the balustrade 
defaced; but there was not a stone loose in those 
rnassive old walls nor a plank rotten in the floor. Yet, 
it had been abandoned. And so has the conception of 
life, of which it was the visible and tangible expression. 
Much hard-and-fastness of tradition and convention has 
been done away with. Where circumstances change so 
frequently opinions must likewise change. As a result 
a certain liberality of thought has come to be a char- 

SOCIAL LIFE 

95 

acteristic of colonial society. There is something generous 
and truly humane in the opinions one hears currently 
professed, and the courage to act up to these convictions 
is not wanting. But on the other hand delicacy, chivalry, 
and what one might call the decorum of the heart, are 
on the whole sadly wanting. The general tone is some 
what " robustious " ; this is perhaps an effect of the 
climate and soil. On the whole, and to give a general idea 
of Batavia society, I fancy one might compare it to that 
of some rich provincial town. There is the same eager 
ness for precedence, the same intimacy and tattle and 
neighbourly kindness, the same high living and plain 
thinking. But, in the little provincial town, there is not 
such freedom from narrowness and prejudice, nor is there 
so much hard work donc under such unfavourable 
circumstances, nor so much home sickness and anxiety 
and lonely sorrow so bravely borne, as in Batavia. 

 .f> ;-• 

GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

 i • V'-:' 

» *=**~~* "' 

A .iusT appreciation of sentiments and motives repu 
gnant to our own is among the most difficult of in 
tellectual feats. The Germans express their sense of 
this truth by a concise and vigorous, if not altogether 
elegant saying: "No man can get out of his ownskin, 
and into his neighbour's." A difference of colour be 
tween the said skins, it may be added, withholds even 
adventurous souls from attempting the temporary trans 
migration. And the wisdom of nations, brown and 
white, sanctions this diffidence. Tn Java Occidentals and 
Orientals have been dwelling together for about three 
centuries. They have become conversant with each 
other's language, opinions, and affairs ; they are brought 
into a certain mutual dependence, and into daily and 
hourly contact; there is no arrogance or contempt on 
the one side, no abject fear or hatred on the other; no 
wilful prejudice, it would seem, on either. But the 
Hollanders do not understand the Javanese, nor do the 
Javanese understand the Hollanders, in any true sense 
of the word. So that it seems the part of wisdom to 
acknowledge this at the outset, merely stating that the 
notions of nice and nasty, fair and foul, right and 
wrong, such as they obtain among the two nations are 

 100 

GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIKE 

antagonistic. Anyway, on the part of a casual observer, 
such as the present writer, any further criticisms would 
be presumptuous and almost inevitably unjust; there 
fore, they will be refrained from. 

But, whereas I freely confess that the inner life of 
the Javanese has remained hidden from me, their out 
ward existence has become familiar enough. The Java 
nese practically live out-of-doors. They take their bath 
in the river ; perform their toilet under some spreading 
warigin tree, hanging a mirror as big as the hand on 
the rugged stem ; and squat down to their meal by the 
roadside. After nightfall, dark figures may be discerned 
around the stalls of fruit-vendors, fantastically lit up 
by the uncertain name of an oil-wick. And, in the dry 
season, they often sleep on the moonlit sward of some 
garden, or on the steps of an untenanted house. 

This life seems strange to us Northerners, self-con 
stituted prisoners of roofs and walls. But we have only 
to look at a Malay, and the intuitive conviction flashes 
on us, that it is eminently right and proper for him to 
live in this manner. He is a creature of the field. His 
supple, sinewy frame, his dark skin, the far-away look 
in his eyes, the very shape of his feet, with the short, 
strong toes, well separated from one another—his whole 
appearance—immediately suggest a background of trees 
and brushwood, runningwater,sunlit, wind-swept spaces, 
and the bare brown earth. And the scenery of Java 
with its strange colouring, at once violent and dull, its 
luxuriant vegetation, and its abrupt changes in the midst 
of apparent monotony, lacks the final, completing touch 
in the absence of dusky figures moving through it. 
Landscape and people are each other's natural comple 
ment and explanation. Hence, the picturesque and 
poetic charm of the Javanese out-of-doors. 

GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

101 

One of the most fascinating scenes is that of the bath 
in the river, soon after sunrise : at Batavia, I have 
frequently watched it from the Tanah Alang embank 
ment. The early sunlight,—a clear yellow, with a 
sparkle as of topazes in it—makes the dewy grass to 
glisten, and brightens the subdued green ofthe tamarind- 

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The River-Bath. 

trees along the river; between the oblique bars of 
shadow the brownish water gleams golden. On the 
bank, scores of natives are stripping for thc bath. The 
men run down, leap into the stream, and dive under; 
as they come up again, their bare bodies shine like so 
many bronze statues. The women descend the slope 
with a slower step; they have pulled up their sarong 

 •lü'2 

GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

over the bosom, leaving their shapely shoulders bare to 
the sun. At the edge of the water they pause for an 
instant, lifting both arms to twist their hair into a knot 
on the summit of the head; then, entering, they bend 
down, and wet their face and breast. Young mothers 
are there, leading their little ones by the hand, and 
coaxing them step by step further into the shallow stream. 
Crowds of small boys and girls have taken noisy poss 
ession of the river, plunging' and splashing and calling 
out to each other, as they swim about, kicking up the 
water at every stroke of their sturdy little feet. 
Half hidden in a clump of tall-leaved reeds by the 
margin, young girls are disporting themselves, making 
believe to bathe, as they empty little buckets, made of 
a palmleaf, over each other's head and shoulders, until 
their black hair shines, and the running water draws 
their garments into flowing, clinging folds, that mould 
their lithe little figures from bosom to ankle. Then, 
perhaps, all of a sudden, a bamboo raft will appear 
round the bend of the river ; or a native boat, its inmates 
sitting at their morning meal under the awning; and 
some friendly talk is exchanged between them and the 
bathers, as the craft makes its way through the slowly- 
dividing groups. One day I saw a broad, brick-laden 
barge, that had thus come lumbering down the stream, 
run aground on the shallows; the men jumped out, and 
began pulling and shoving to get it afloat again. The 
water dripped from their tucked-up sarongs, and their 
backs gleamed in the sunshine, as, almost bent double, 
they urged the ponderous thing forward, But still, the 
bright red heap remained stationary. Suddenly, a young 
boy, who had just stripped for the bath came down the 
embankment with a running leap, and giving the boat 
a sudden sharp push, sent it darting forward. Then 

GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

103 

he stood up, laughing, and shook back the shock of 
black hair which had fallen over his eyes. He looked 
like a dusky young river god, who out of his kindness 
had come to assist his votaries. 

The flower-market too is a scene of idyllic grace, 
when, after their early bath in the river, the women 

A laundry in the river. 

come trooping thither, and stand bargaining, their hands 
full of red and pink roses, creamy jessamine, and tube 
roses whiter than snow. The Javanese have a great 
love of flowers, though, apparently, they take no trouble 
to raise them in their gardens. In Batavia, at least, I 
never saw anygrowingneartheircottagesinthekampong; 
save perhaps the sturdy hibiscus in hedges, and that large 

 104 

GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

white, odoriferous convolvulus which the wind sows along 
roadsides and hedgerows—the " beauty-of-the-night." 
And they do not seem to care for a handful of flowers 
in a vase, to brighten the semi-darkness of their little 
pàgar huts. 

But the women are hardly ever seen without a rosebud 
or tuberose-blossom twined into their hair, and the men 
not unfrequently have one stuck behind the ear, or 
between the folds of their head-kerchief. As for the 

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Native lacTy travelKng in her litter. 

children ; their bare brown little bodies are hung with 
tandjong wreaths. The plucked-out petals ofall manner 
of fragrant flowers are used to scent the water which 
the women pour over their long black hair, after washing 
it with a decoction of charred leaves and stalks; and, 
together with ambergris, and a sweet smelling root, called 
"akhar wanggi," dried flowers are strewn between the 
folds of their holiday-attire. Like all Orientals, the 
Javanese are excessively fond of perfumes, which, no 
doubt, partially explains their profuse use of strongly- 

GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

105 

scented flowers. But that, apart from the merely sensual 
enjoyment of the smell, they prize flowers for the pleasure 
afforded to the eye by their tints and shapes, is proved 
by the frequency with which floral designs occur on 
their clothes and ornaments. The full globes of the 
lotos-buds, the disc of the unfolded flower with leaves 
radiating, its curiously-configurated pistil, are recognized 
again and again on the scabbards and handles of the 
men's poniards and on the girdle-clasps and the large 

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silver kabaya-brooches of the women. The fine cloth 
for sarongs is decorated with fanciful delineations of the 
flowers that blow in every field and meadow, their calixes 
and curly tendrils sprouting amidst figures of wide- 
mouthed dragons, fanged and clawed. Moreover, for 
their hidden virtues, and the sacred meanings of which 
they are the symbol, flowers are by the natives associat 
ed with all the principal acts and circumstances oftheir 
lives—with joy and sorrow and ceremony, and the service 

 III Klíl 

10ß 

GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

of the gods. When the village folk, donning their holiday- 
attire, go forth to the festive planting of the rice, or the 
gathering, stalk by stalk, of the ripe ears, they wear 
wreaths of flowers twined in their hair. At the feast 
of his circumcision, the boy is crowned with them. They 
are the chief ornarnent of lovers on their marriage day— 
gleaming in the elaborate head dress of the bride, and 
dangUng down as a long fringe from the groom's golden 
diadem ; wreathing the scabbard of his poniard ; and 
girdling his naked waist, all yellow with boreh powder. 
They are brought in solemn offering to the dead, when, 
on the third, the seventh, the fortieth, the hundredth, 
and the thousandth day, the kinsmen visit the grave of 
the departed one, to pray for the welfare of his soul, 
and in return implore his protection, and that of all the 
ancestors up to Adam and Eve, the parents of mankind. 
And lastly, flowers are thought the most acceptable 
offering to the gods, the ancient gods whom no violence 
of Buddhist or Mohammedan invader has suceeded in 
ousting from that safe sanctuary, thc people's heart, 
which they share now, in mutual good-will and toler 
ance, with the Toewan Allah, "besides whom there is 
no God." Under some huge waringin tree, at the gate ofa 
town or village, an altar is erected to the tutelary genius 
the "Danhjang Dessa," who has his abode in the 
thick-leaved branches. And the pious people, whenever 
they have any important business to transact, come to 
it, and bring a tribute of frankincense and flowers, to 
propitiate the god, and implore his protection and 
assistance, that the matter they have taken in hand 
may prosper. On the way from Batavia to Meester 
Cornelis, there stands such a tree by the road-side, an 
immense old waringin, in itself a forest. And the rude 
altar in its shade, fenced off from the public road by 

GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

107 

a wooden railing, from sunrise to sunset is fragrant 
with floral offerings. 

There are several flower-markets in Batavia. But 
I have taken a particular fancy to the one held at 
Tanah Abang. Its site is a somewhat singularly chosen 
one for the purpose, near the entrance to the cemetery, 

The Market at Malang. 

and in the shadow of the huge old gateway, the super 
scription on which dedicates the place to the repose of 
the dead, and their pious memory. In its deep, dark 
arch, as in a black frame, is set a vista of dazzling 
whiteness, plastered tombstones, pillars, and obelisks 
huddled into irregular groups, with here and there a 

8 

 108 

GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LiFE 

figure hewn in fair white marble soaring on out 
stretched wings, and everywhere a scintillation as of 
molten metal—the colourJess, intolerable glare, to which 
the fierce sunlight fires the corrugated zinc of the roofs 
protecting the monuments. 

But on the other side of the gateway there are restful 
shadows and coolness. Some ancient gravestones pave 
the ground, as if it were the floor of an old village 
church—bluish-grey slabs emblazoned with crests and 
coats-of-arms in worn away bas-relief. Heraldic shapes 
are still faintly discernible on some; and long Latin 
epitaphs, engraved in the curving characters of the 
seventeenth century, may be spelt out, recording names 
which echo down the long corridors of time in the 
history of the colony ; and. oddly latinized, the style and 
title bestowed on the deceased by the Lords Seventeen, 
rulers of the Honourable East India Company—the Com 
pany of Far Lands, as in the olden time it was called. 

Hither, before the sun is fairly risen, come a score 
of native flower-sellers, shivering in the morning air, 
who spread squares of matting on the soil, and, squatting 
down, proceed to arrange the contents of their heaped- 
up baskets. The bluish-grey gravestones, with the coats 
of arms and long inscriptions, are covered with heaps 
of flowers: creamy Melati as delicate and sharply- 
defined in outline as if they had been carved out of 
ivory ; pink and red Roses with transparent leaves, that 
cling to the touch ; Tjempakah-telor, great smooth globes 
of pearly whiteness; the long calixes ofthe Cambodja- 
blossom, in which tints of yellow and pink and purple 
are mixed as in an evening sky; the tall sceptre of 
the Tuberose, flower-crowned; and "pachar china," 
which seems to be made out of grains of pure gold. 

Some who know the tastes of the "orang blandah" 

GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

109 

have brought flowering plants to market, mostly Mal- 
maison Roses and tiny Japanese Lilies, just dug up, the 
earth still clinging to their delicate roots; or they sit 
binding wax-white Gardenias, violet Seabiosa, and leaves 
as downy and grey as the wings of moths, into stiff 
clumsy wreaths; for they have learnt that the white 
folks choose flowers of these dull tints to lay upon the 
tombs of their dead. And there is one old man, brown, 
shrunken, and wrinkled, as if he had been made out 
of the parched earth of the cemetery, who sells hand- 
fuls of plucked-out petals, stirring up now and then, 
with his long finger, the soft, fragant heap in his 
basket—thousands of brilliantly-coloured leaflets. 

About seven o'clock, the customers, almost exclusively 
women, arrive, fresh from their bath in the neigh 
bouring river. They form picturesque groups on the 
sunny road, those slender figures in their brigh-hued 
garments, pink, and red, and green, their round brown 
faces and black hair, still wet and shining, framed in 
the yellow aureole of the payong * which they hold 
spread out behind their head. And the quiet spot in 
the shadow of the cemetery gate is alive with their 
high-pitched twittering voices, as they go about from 
one flower-seller to another, bargaining for Jessamines, 
Orange-blossoms, and tiny pink Roses, which, with deft 
fingers, they twist into the glossy coil of their " kondeh." 

Javanese women are most pardonably proud oftheir 
hair. It is somewhat coarse, but very long and thick 
and of a brilliant black, with bluish gleams in it ; and 
it prettily frames their broad forehead with regular, 
well-defined curves and points. They take great care 
of it, too. favourably contrasting, in this respect, with 
European women of the lower classes, though some of 

* The payong is an umbrella, quite flat when spread out, ofyellow oiled paper. 

 GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

their methods, it must be owned, are repugnant to 
European notions of decency. As they bathe, and sleep, 
and eat in public, so, in public, they cleanse each 
other's hair. A woman will squat down iu some shady 
spot by the roadside, and, shaking loose her coiled-up 
hair, submit to the manipulations of a friend, who parts 
the strands with her spread-out fingers, and removes. . . . 

Street-Dancers. 

superfluities, with quick monkey-like gestures. What 
would you have ? " The country's manner, the country's 
honour," as the Dutch proverb hath it. This particular 
way of cleansing the hair is a national institution among 
the Javanese, And, as such, it is celebrated in the 
legends of the race, and in the tales of the olden time, 
which are still repeated, of an evening, among friends. 
The scholar of the party, by the light of an oil-wick, 

GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

'M1 

reads from a greasy manuscript which he has hired 
for the evening at the price of one "pitji." * It is the 
story of the beautiful beggarmaid, who wanders from 
village. She does not know her own name or who 
were her parents, having, in infancy, been stolen by 
robbers. One day, she cornes begging to the gates of 
the palace. The Rajah orders the guards to admit the 
suppliant, and his Raden-Ajoe t causes a repast to be 
prepared for her. They are kind towards those in 

Musicians. ' 

affliction, having known great sorrow themselves: for 
their only child a daughter, mysteriously disappeared 
years and years ago; and now they are old andchild- 
less. The Rajah, gazing upon the stranger, frequently 
sighs : his daughter would have grown up to be a 
maiden as fair, if she had lived. And the Raden- 
Ajoe, taking her by the hand, bids her sit down, and 
unloose those glossy locks, worthy to be wreathed with 

* Ahout twopeuce. f Chief wife. 

 112 

GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

the fragant blossom of the asana. She herself will 
cleanse them. Then, as she parts the long braids, ah! 
there upon the crown, behold the cicatrice which her 
little daughter had! The long-lost one is found again. 

The native cithara and violin. 

In Javanese fairy tales the long locks of nymphs and 
goddesses are treasured as talismans by the hero who 
has been fortunate enough to obtain one. There is 
great virtue for instance, in the long hair of the Pon- 
tianak, the cruel sprite that haunts the waringin tree. 

H|' 

x 

« 

Clasp for fastening a kabnya in front. 

 GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

115 

Have you never seen her glide by, white in the silver 
moonlight? Have you never heard her Iaugh, loud 
and long, when all was still? She is the soul of a 
dead virgin, whom no lover ever kissed. And now she 
cannot rest, because she never knew love; and she 
would fain win it yet; though not in kindness no\v, 
but in spite and deadly malice. She sits in the branches 

4r- 

Ä 

a*_. 

-V 

A Native Kestaurant in its most compendious shape. 

of trees, softly singing to herself as she combs her long 
hair. And when a young man, hearing her song, pauses 
to listen, she meets him, in the semblance of a maid 
fairer than the bride of the Love-god, and raises soft 
eyes to him and smiling lips. But, when he would 
embrace her, he feels the gaping wound in her back, 
which she had concealed under her long hair. And, 
as he stands speechless with horror, she breaks away 

 il If 

116 

GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LWE 

117 

from him with a long loud laugh, and cries : " Thou 
hast kissed the Pontianak, thou must die ! " And, ere 
the moon is full again, his kinsmen will have brought 
flowers to his grave. But, if he be quick-witted and 
courageous, he will seize the evil spirit by her flying 
locks; and. if he succeeds but in plucking out one 
single hair, hc will not die, but live to a great age, 
rich, honoured, and happy, the husband of a Rajah's 
daughter and the father of Princes. 

Some men are fortunate, however, frorn their birth, 
and do not need the Pontianak's long hair; that is 
because their own grows in a peculiar manner, from 
two circular spots near the crown. To the owner of 
such a " double crown," nothing adverse can ever happen. 
All his wishes will be fulfilled, and he will prosper in 
whatever matter he sets his hand to. 

Again, it is not men alone who are thus visibly 
marked by fate. In the crinklings of the hair on a 
horse's neck, the wise read plain signs of good or bad 
fortune by which it is made manifest whether the horse 
will be lucky and carry his rider to honour and happi 
ness, or unlucky and maim or even kill him. That is 
the great point about a horse : the way in which the 
hair on his neck grows. If therefore you should find 
the auspicious sign on him, buy the animal, whatever 
may be the price and however old, ugly, or weak he 
may seem to the ignorant. But. if you find the sign 
of ill-luck, send him away at once, and cause the 
marks of his hoofs to be carefully obliterated from the 
path that leads to your door; for if you neglect this 
precaution, great disaster may be brought upon you and 
all your house. Reflect upon this, and the true signifi 
cance of the history of Darnocles will be revealed to you. 
In truth, all fortune, good or bad, hangs by a single hair, 

After the bath, the Javanese proceeds to take his 
morning meal ; and this, again is a public performance. 
The noon repast—the only solid one in the day—is 
prepared and eaten at home. But, for the morning 
and evening meals, the open air and the cuisine of the 

i '.! 

* 
s'' 

>/Jjsn- 

For the morning and evening meal hc prefers lhe open air and the cnisine of the warong. 

warong are preferred. The warong is the native restau 
rant. There are many kinds and varieties of it : from 
its most simple and compendious shape—two wooden 
cases, the one containing food, prepared and raw, the 
other, a chafing-dish full of live coals, and a supply 
of crockery- -to its fully-developed form, the atap- 

 lll 

118 

GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

covered hut. There, a dozen, and more customers hold 
their symposia presided over by the owner, who sits 
cross-legged on the counter amid heaps of fruit, vege 
tables, and confectionery. All manner of men meet 
here : drivers of sadoos or hack carriages, small merchants, 
artizans, Government clerks, policemen, water-carriers, 
servants, hadjis, * not to mention the " corresponding " 
womankind. They talk, they talk ! and they laugh ! 
The affairs of all Batavia are discussed here—matters 
of business, intrigue, love, money, office, everything, 
material to make a Javanese Decamerone of, if a 
Boccaccio would but come and put it into shape. 
There are several of these warongs about Tanah-Abang 
and the Koningsplein, and, of course, in the native 
quarters. But the smaller, portable ones are found 
everywhere : by the river-side, at the railway stations, 
at the sadoo-stands, along the canals, at the corners 
of the streets; and they seem to do a thriving business. 
Each of these itinerant cooks has his own place on 
the pavement or in the avenue, recognised as such by 
the tacit consent of the others. Hither he comes trudg 
ing, in the early morning, carefully balancing his cases 
at the end of the long bamboo yoke, so as not to break 
any of the dozens of cups, glasses, and bottles on his 
tray; then, having disposed his commodities in the 
most appetizing manner, he stirs up the charcoal in 
the chafing-dish, and begins culinary operations. One 
of these is the preparation of the coffee, which consists 
of pouring boiling water upon the leaves, instead of 
the berries, of the coffee tree, after the manner of 
some Arab tribes. Sometimes, however, the berries 
also are used, and the infusion is sweetened with lumps 
of the dark-brown, faintly flavoured sugar that is won 

* Title given to those who have performed the pilgrimage to Mecca. 

GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

111» 

from the areng-palm. Then the rice—the principal 
dish of this, as of any other meal—is boiled in a con 
ical bag of plaited palm fibre; and, when ready, is 
made up into heaped-up portions, with, perhaps, a bit 
of dried fish and some shreds of scarlet lombok * stuck 
on the top. This is for the solid part of the repast; 
the dessert is next thought of. It is ready in the port 
able cupboard—the thrifty wife of the vendor having 
risen long before dawn to prepare it—and is now set 
forth, on strips of torn-up banana-leaf, as on plates 
and saucers; green and white balls ofrice-meal, powdered 
over with rasped cocoa-nut, orange cakes of Indian 
corn, shaking pink jellies, and slices of some tough 
dark-brown stuff. The cool freshgreenofthebanana- 
leaf makes the prettiest contrast imaginable to all these 
colours, its silky surface and faint fragrance giving, at 
the same time, an impression of dainty cleanliness such 
as could never be achieved by even the most spotless 
linen and china of a European dining-table. 

The Javanese are very frugal eaters. A handful of 
rice with a pinch of salt, and, perhaps, a small dried 
fish being sufficient for a day's ration. Of course, we, 
Europeans, confessedly, eat too much. But how grossly 
we over-eat ourselves, can only be realized on seeing 
a Javanese subsisting on about a tenth part of our 
own daily allowance, and doing hard work on that— 
labouring in the field, travelling on foot for days to 
gether, and carrying heavy loads without apparent 
over-exertion. 

However, though so abstemious in the matter of 
solid food, they are excessively fond of sweetmeats. I 
have often watched a party of grown tnen and women, 
seated on the low bench in front of a warong, and 

* The seed-capsules of the red pepper-plant. 

 120 

GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LlEE 

eating kwee-kwee * with perfectly childish relish, or 
bending over a stall, gravely comparing the respective 
charms of white, pink, and yellow cakes; hesitating, 
consulting the confectioner, and at last solving the 
difiiculty by eating a little of everything. Whatever 

-:- 

"*V\ 

A Mtchen. 

ready money they may chance to have, is spent either 
on personal adornment or on sweetmeats; and on festive 
occasions, they will pawn their furniture rather than 
deny them selves the enjoyment of more cakes, jellies, 

* Malay for "oakes." 

GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

121 

fruit and syrups than they can partake of without 
making themselves sick and sorry. 

Nor do they show more discretion in the matter pf 
the dieting of their children. Though left, in almost 
all other respects, to chance and the guidance of its 
own insticts, a native child is not trusted to eat alone. 
The mother's idea seems to be that, if left to itself, 
her child would never eat at all, and that it is her 
plain duty to correct this mistake in nature's plan. 

A native restaurant in its simplest and most compendious shape, 

Wherefore, having prepared a mess of rice and banana, 
she lays the little thing flat on its back, upon her 
knees, takes some of the food between the tips of her 
fingers, kneading it into a little lump, and pushes this 
into the baby's mouth, cramming it down the throat 
with her thumb, when the baby, willy nilly, must 
swallow it. Thus she goes on, the baby alternately 
screaming and choking, until she judges it has had 
enough—is full to the brim, so to speak, and incapable 

 122 

GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

of holding another grain of rice. Then she will set 
it on its feet again, dry the tears off itsround cheeks, 
and rock it to sleep against,her breast, closefolded in 
the long "slendang." 

A similar principle obtains in education. To watch 
the native schoolmaster drilling the Koran into his 
pupils, is to be reminded of the rice-balls and the maternal 
thumb. I witnessed the scene, the other day, at a little 
school—if a framework of four bamboo-posts and an 
"atap" roof deserves that name—in a native "kampong" 
at Meester Cornelis. * I had come upon this school 
quite accidentally, in the course of a ramble along the 
river-side. As I was making my way through a plantation 
of slim young trees, all festooned with dangling lianas, 
I had been conscious for some minutes of a droning and 
buzzing sound, somewhere near me, and fancied it to be 
the humming of bees, hovering over the lantana-blossoms 
that covered the steep bank of the river with flames of 
red and orange, and filled the air with their pungent 
scent. But, suddenly, I caught the word " Allah : " and, 
the next moment, I was standing in an open space in 
the midst of some ten or twelve bamboo huts. One 
of these, evidently, was a school ; and the droning noise 
I had heard proceeded from an old spectacled school 
master, who was reading aloud—or, rather, chanting— 
from a book held in his hand. A little boy stood in 
front of him, listening very attentively, and, every time 
the old schoolmaster had completed a phrase, the child 
repeated it in exactly the same sing-song, closing his 
eyes the while, and rocking his little body to and fro. 
After he had finished, another came up ; there were some 
twelve or thirteen seated on a sort of bench, awaiting 
their turn; and all of them went through the same 

* A suburb of Batavia. 

GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

123 

course of listening and repeating, the master, now and 
then, correcting the intonation of some phrase. It was 
the Koran which they were thus reciting in the Arabic 
language. In all probability, the master did not under 
stand a single word of Arabic; assuredly none of the 
boys did. But what of that? They know it by heart, 
from its very first word to its very last. They learn to 
mis-pronounce the Confession of the Unity of God ; and 

Nalive restaurant. 

they are taught to consider themselves Mohammedans. 
That is enough. 

After the early morning meal, the Javanese begin the 
business of the day. In towns, where they are de 
barred their natural occupation, agriculture, and where, 
moreover, the Chinese artisans and shopkeepers have 
almost entirely ousted them from trade and commerce, 
the majority of the natives, men and women, are employed 

 124 

GLIMPSES OF NATJVE LIFE 

as domestic servants in the houses of European residents. 
Hence, but little is seen of them during the greater part 
of the day. Towards four o'clock, they reappear, and 
again repair to the kali or the canal for a plunge into 
the tepid water. Cigarettes arc lit, sirih-leaves cut up 
and neatly rolled into a quid and some friendly conversa 
tion is indulged in. In tine weather games are played. 

The behaviour of Javanese at play is one of the things 
which strike most strongly upon the Northerner's ob 
servation. There is nothing here of that vociferous 
enthusiasm which characterises our young barbarians 
at play—no shouts of exultation or defiance, no applause, 
no derision, no cries, no quarrelling or noisy contest. 
From beginning to end of the game, a sedate silence 
prevails. This is not, as might be imagined, due to 
apathy and indifference—the Javanese are keen sports 
men, and often stake comparatively important sums on 
the issue of a game—but the effect of an etiquette which 
condemns demonstrativeness as vulgar. Outward plac 
idity must be maintained, whatever the stress of the 
emotions, and whether circumstances be important or 
trivial. Hence the apparent calm of Javanese at play, 
even when engaged in games that most excite their 
naturally fierce passions of ambition and envy. The 
winner does not seem elated, the loser is not spiteful. 
They are in the full sense of the word " beaux joueurs." 

During the East monsoon, when high south-easterly 
winds rnay be counted upon, flying kites is a favorite 
game; and not only with boys, but with grown men. 
Groups of them rnay often be seen in the squares and 
parks of Batavia or in the fields near the town, lloating 
large kites, shaped like birds and winged dragons, which, 
in ascending, emit a whistling sound, clear and plaintive 
as that of a wind-harp. They sometimes remain soaring 

L " - -, 

ll< 

 GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

127 

for days together, and strains of that aerial music, attuned 
in sad " minore," float out upon every passing breath 
of air. Passers-by in the street look up, shading their 
eyes from the sun, at the bright things soaring and 
singing in the sky, and dispute rnuch about the melodious 
merits of each. 

The paper singing-birds, called "swangan," are very 
popular with the masses. But the true amateurs of 
the sport prefer another kind, the "palembang" and 
"koenchier" kites, which do not sing but fight, or, at 
least, in skilful hands, can be made to fight. These are 
made of Chinese paper, and decorated with the image 
of some god or hero of Javanese mythology. The cord 
twisted out of strong rameh fibre is coated with a paste 
of pounded glass or earthenware, mixed with starch. 
This renders it strong and cutting as steel wire. The 
aim of each player is to make the cord of his kite, 
when up in the air, cross his opponent's cord, and 
then, with a swift downward pull, cut it in two: a 
manœuvre which requires considerable dexterity. The 
game is played according to strict rules and with 
some degree of ceremony and etiquette, as prescribed by 
the "adat"—the immemorial law of courtesy which, 
in Java, regulates all things, from matters of life and 
death down to the arrangement of a girl's scarf and 
the games which children play. When all the kites are 
well up in the air, tugging on the strained cords, each 
player chooses his antagonist, lle advances to within 
a few paces, makes his kite approach the other's, all 
but touch it, swerve, and come back; having thus 
preferred his challenge, he retires to the place first 
occupied. Thither, presently, his opponent follows him, 
and, by the exact repetition of his manœuvre, signifies 
his acceptance of the combat, retiring afterwards in the 

 128 

GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

same stately manner. Then the contest begins. The 
agile figures of the players dart hither and thither, 
fitfully, with swift impulse and sudden pause, and abrupt 
swerve, bending this way and that, swaying, with head 
thrown back and right arm Hung up along the straining 
cord. The groups of spectators, standing well aside so 
as not to interfere with the movements of the players, 
gaze upward with bated breath. And, aloft, sparkling 
with purple and gold, their long streamers spread out 
upon the wind, the two kites soar and swoop, swerve, 
plunge a second time, slowly swim upwards again, glide 
a little further, and hang motionless. The thin cords 
are all but invisible; the fantastic shapes high in the 
air seem animated with a life of their own, wilful, 
untiring, eager to pursue, and swift to escape, full of 
feints and ruses. Suddenly, as one again plunges, the 
other, tranquilly sailing aloft, trembles, staggers, tumbles 
over, and leaping up, scuds down the wind and is gone. 
The severed length of cord comes down with a thud ; 
and, as the unlucky owner darts away after the fugitive, 
in the forlorn hope of finding it hanging somewhere 
in the branches of a tree, the victor lets his kite rc- 
ascend and triumphantly hover aloft, straining against 
the wind, and tugging upon the strong shiny cord that 
has come off scathless from the encounter. 

The aboriginal craving for battle and mastery, which, 
philosophers tell us, is at the bottom of all our games, 
is even more strongly devoloped in the Javanese than in 
the Caucasian. But the race is not an athletic one ; 
immemorial traditions of decorum condemn hurry and 
violence of movement; and active games, such as this 
of flying kites, are the exception. Even at play, the 
Javanese loves repose; and, when gratifying his combative 
instincts, he is mostly content to light by proxy. 

GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

129 

Cocks aud crickets are the chosen deputies of the 
town-folk in this matter; and Javanese sportsmen are 
as enthusiastic about them as Spaniards about a toreador, 
a Englismeti about a prize-fighter. 

The Government forbids the cock-and cricket-fights 
on account of the gambling to which they invariably 
give rise. But the police are not omniscient, or ubiquitous. 
Where there is a will, there is a way; and, in hidden 
corners, cocks continue to hack, and crickets to bite 

T F 

Heve they are: without plaything naked, and supremely happy. 

and kick each other to the greater amusement of native 
sporting circles. 

On the training of a game-cock, his owner spends 
much time, care, and forethought. The bird's diet is 
regulated to a nicety : ?o much boiled rice per diem, so 
much water, so much meat, hashed iine and mixed 
with medicinal herbs. One a week, a bath is given 
him, after which he is taken in his coop to a sunny 
place to dry; and he is subjected to a regular course 

 130 

GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

of massage at the hands of his trainer, who, taking the 
bird into his lap, with careful firiger and thumb, " pichits " 
or shampoos the muscles oFneck, wings, and legs, to 
make them supple and strong. Connoisseurs arrive from 

u- ~, ^ ~. 

>•••-. '*~~ 

'i. 

A Chiiicsc carpenter. 

compound and " kampongs " to exchange criticisms. The 
age, strength, and agility of rival birds are discussed 
at length and finally, when there is a sufficient number 
in good condition, a match is arranged. 

The amateurs arrive at the spot, each carrying his 

GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

131 

bird cooped up in a cage of banana-leaves, through 
opposite openings in which the head, shorn of its comb, 

'i 

A Chinese Dyer. 

and the tail protude. A ring is formed, every one 
squatting down, with his cage in front of him ; and 
the birds are taken out, and passed round for general 

 132 

GLIMPSES OF NATTVE LIFE 

inspection. After careful comparison and deliberation, 
two of approximately equal strength are selected as 
antagonists, and the uinpire,* whose office lt is to arrn 
tlie birds with the tronchant steel spurs, further equalizes 
chances by attaching the weapons of the weaker party 
to the spot where they will prove rnost effective : high 
up the leg. The owners then take up each his own 
bird, allow the two to peck at each other once or twice, 
put them down upon the ground again, and, at the 
signal given by the umpire, let go. The cocks fight 
furiously. Generally, one of the two is killed; and, 
almost inevitably, both are cruelly injured by the long, 
two-edged knives attached to their legs in place of the 
cut-off spurs. 

Cricket-fights do not scem quite as brutal : the natural 
weapons of the little combatants, at least, are not 
artificially added to; and victory, itappears,isasoften 
achieved by courage and skill as by mere force. It is 
said that even more patience is required to train a 
game-cock; and the process certainly seems elaborate. 

First, there is the catching of the " changkrik." For 
this, the amateur goes, after nightfall, to some solitary 
spot out in the fields or woods—preferably near the 
grave of some Moslem saint, or royal hero, or in the 
shadow of some sacred tree, the "changkriks" caught 
in these consecrated places being considered much 
superior to those of the ditch and garden as participating 
in the virtne of their habitat. 1 lere, then, the amateur 
builds some stones into a loose heap, hiding in the 
midst of it a decoy "changkrik" in a little barnboo 
cage and retreats. When, a little before dawn, he again 
approaches the spot, treading cautiously, and shading 
the light of his little lantern, hc is sure to surprise 
qnite a company of crickets gathered around the mound 

*_, ^;*i,.ft. *^ 

..v> 

, 

«rS 

<U p^ 

> 

'¿Z C 

s, 

H 

 GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIEE 135 

and crouching under the stones, whither they have 
been lured by the shrill song of the captive insect; 
and, if he is adroit, he may catch a score at a time. 
Only the iinest and strongest of these he retains ; and 
straightway the work of education is begun. 

This is not easy ; for the cricket is among the most 
liberty-loving of animals, and, at first, utterly refuses 
to be tarned. Unless the bamboo, of which his little 
cage is made, be very hard and close-grained, he 
manages-to gnaw his way through it; and, when baulked 
in this attempt, tries to shatter thc walls of his prison 
by battering them with his horny head, never ceasing 
until he has killed or, at any rate, stunned himself. 
In order to tame him, his trainer throws the " changkrik " 
into a basin full of \vater, and there lets him struggle 
and kick until he is half-drowned and quite senseless; 
then, fishing out the little inert body, he puts it in 
the palm of his hand, and. with a tiny piece of cotton 
wool fastened to a "lidi"* begins to stroke and rub 
it, in a kind of lilliputian massage. Then, pulling 
out a long lank hair from the shock hidden under 
his "kain kapala" t he delicately ties it round one of 
the cricket's hind legs, arid hangs him to a nail, in 
some cool draughty place, where the air may revive 
him. After a couple of hours, perhaps, the tiny creature, 
dangling by one leg, begins to stir, lt is then taken 
down, warmed in the hollow of the hand, encouraged 
to stand upon its legs, and crawl a little way, and, 
finally, replaced in its bamboo cage. It does not again 
try to escape. 

When it has thus been brought to the proper frame 
of mind, its real education begins. With a very fine 

* Lidi: — Fibre from the stalk of the palm lcaf. 
t Kain Kapala: — Hcad Kerchicf. 

 130 

GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

GLIMPSES OE NATIVE LIFK 

137 

brush, made of grass-blossoms, the trainer tickles its 
head, side, and back; a mettlesome individual immedi 
ately begins to "crick" angrily, and to snap at the 
teasing brush. After some time, he flies at the brush 
as soon as he sees it, hanging on to it with his strong 
jaws, as to a living thing. This shows he is in good 
condition for fighting. He is now, fbr some days, fed 

beaten ; and great is the glory of the victor. The Javanese 
often stake comparatively important sums on fighting 
crickets. And there is always a chance that the quarrel 
of the tiny champions may be fought out by their owners. 

To all other pleasures, the Javanese prefers that of 
witnessing a performance of the wayang, the native 

Scene iu a VVayaug-Woiig- Place. 

upon rice sprinkled with cayenne-pepper, to " prick him 
in his courage ; " and then taken to the arena. His 
antagonist is there, in his narrow bamboo cage, quiver 
ing with impatience under the touch of his trainer's 
brush of grass-blossoms; thc cages are placed over 
against one another; and as soon as they are opened, 
the two "changkriks" rush at each other. The one 
who is lirst thrown, or who turns tail and llies, is 

'J'he liegeiit of JFalang's Wayang-Woug. 

theatre. He is an artist at heart, loving sweet sounds, 
graceful movements, and harmonies of bright colour; 
and all these he may enjoy at the wayang, where, in 
the pauses of the drama, ballads are sung to the tinkling 
accompaniment of the "garnellan," and splerididly- 
arrayed dancers put forth " the charm of woven paces 
and of waving hands." There are several kinds of 

 138 

GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

"wayang," each having its own range of subjects and 
style of acting; the most ancient as well as the most 
popular, however, isthe "wayangpoerwa," theminiature 
stage on which the lives and adventures ofHindoo heroes, 
queens, and saints are acted over again by puppets of 
gilt and painted leather, moving in the hands of the 
"dalang," who recites the drama. 

The "wayang poerwa" is best described as acombina- 
tion ofa "Punch-and-Jtidy" show and a kind of" Chinese 
shadows"; and—as with the famed shield which was 
silver on one side and gold on the other—its appearance 
depends upon ihe stand-point of the spectator. A puppet 
show to those in front of the screen, where the gaudily- 
painted figures are fixed in a piece of bananastem, it 
is a Chinese lantern to those on the other side, who see 
the shadows projected on the luminous canvas. According 
to ancient custom, the men sit in front and see the 
puppets; the women have their place behind the screen, 
and look on at the play of the shadows. In fully- 
equipped wayangs, as many as two hundred of these 
puppets are found, each with its own particular type 
and garb, characteristic of the person represented. 

Certain conventional features, however, are repeated 
throughout as symbols oftheir moral disposition. Long 
thin noses continuing the line of the sloping forehead, 
narrow, slanting eyes, and delicate mouths, firmly shut, 
indicate wisdom and a gentle disposition; a bulging 
fojehead, short thick nose, round eyes and gaping mouth, 
indicate lawlessness and violence. No difference is made 
between the portraitures of gods and those ofmortals; 
but the Titans are distinguished by the size and un- 
wieldiness of their body, their staring eyes, and huge 
teeth, sometimes resembling tusks. The bodies and faces 
are indifferently black, blue, white, flesh-coloured, or 

I 

l:^ '!'.. f 

' 

& 

hestra whi 

10 

 GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

gilt; the colour of the face, moreover, often being a 
different one from that of the rest of the person. And 
all the figures are taken iri prolile. 

The stage ori which these puppets are shown consists 
of an upright screen of white sarong cloth. A lamp 
hangs from the top; at the bottom, it has atransverse 
piece of banana stem, into the soft substance ofwhich 
the puppets may easily be fixed by means of the long 
sharp point in which their supports terminate. The 
centre of the screen is occupied by the "gunungan," 
the conventionalized representation of a wooded hill, 
which symbolizes the idea of locality in general, and 
stands for a town, a palace, a lake, a well, the gate 
of lleaven, the stronghold of the Titans, in short, for 
any and every place mentioned iu the course of the 
drama. Among the further accessories of the wayang 
are a set of miniature weapons, shields, swords, spears, 
javelins, and '1 krisses," exactly copied after those now 
or formerly in use among Javanese, and often of the 
most exquisite workmanship, destined to be handled by 
the gods and the heroes to whose hands they are very 
ingeniously adapted. Nor should such items as horses 
and chariots be forgotten. To manœuvre this lilliputian 
cornpany of puppets is the difficult task of the "dalang." 

In continuance of the Punch-and-Judy comparison, the 
"dalang" should be called the "showman" ofthe wayang. 
But he is a showman on a grand scale. Not only does 
he make his puppets act their parts of deities, heroes, 
and highborn beauties according to the strict canons 
of Javanese dramatic art, observant at the same time 
of the exigencies of courtly etiquette ; but he must know 
by heart the whole of those endless epics, the recitation 
of which occupies several nights ; sometimes he himself 
dramatizes some popular myth or legend ; and he must 

 142 

GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

always be ready at a moment's notice to imagine new 
and striking episodes, adapt a scene from another play 
to the one he is performing, and improvise dialogues 
in keeping with the character of the dramatis personie. 
He should have an ear for music and a good voice, and 
posess some knowledge of Kawi * to give at all well 
the songs written in that ancient tongue, which announce 
the arrival of the principal characters on the stage. More 
over, he conducts the "gamellan." the native orchestra 
which accompanies every representation ofthe wayang; 
and finally he orders the symbolical dance, which gorge 
ously-attired "talèdèks" execute in the pauses of the 
drama. Manager, actor, musician, singer, reciter, impro 
visator, and all but playwright, he is, in himself, a 
pleiad of artists. 

But the "dalang's" reward is proportionate to those 
exertions. He and his art are alike held in almost 
superstitious respect. No one dreams of criticizing his 
performances. If he wishes to travel, not a town or 
hamlet but will give him an enthusiastic welcome. And, 
at home, he enjoys that princely prerogative, immunity 
from taxes, his fellow-citizens discharging his obligations 
in requital of the pleasure he procures them by his 
wayang performances. If nothing else were known about 
them, this one trait, it seems to me, would be su!'!icient 
to prove the Javanese to be a people capable of true 
enthusiasm, and a generous conception of life. There 
is something Greek in this notion that holds the artist 
acquitted of all other duties towards the community, 
since he fulfils the supreme one of giving joy. 

At the same time that it is the chief national amuse 
ment, the wayang-show is, in a sense, a religious act, 
performed in honour of the deity, and to invoke the 

* Ancient Javanese. 

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 GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

147 

blessing of the gods and the favour of the "danhjang 
dessa " and all other good spirits upon the giver of the 
entertainment. The baleful influence of the Evil Eye, 
also, is averted by nothing so surely as by a wayang- 
perforinance, wherefore no enterprise of any importance 
should be entered upon without one of these miniature 
dramatical representations being given. Domestic feasts 
such as are held at the birth of a child, or at his 
circumcision, seldom lack this additional grace. And a 
marriage at which Brahrna, lndra, and, aboveall,Ardjuna, 
the beloved of women, had not been present in effigy, 
would be considered ill-omened from the beginning. 

As soon as it becomes known that some well-know 
"dalang" will hold a wayang-performance atsuchand 
such a house, * the village folk from miles around come 
trooping toward the spot, trudging for hours, or even 
days, along the sun-scorched, dust-choked highroads, 
an enormous, mushroom-shaped hat on their head, and 
a handful of boiled rice, neatly folded in a greeri leaf, 
tucked into their girdle. At one ot' the numerous 
warongs or shops temporarily erected near the spot, 
where the wayang is to be performed, they buy some 
bananas and a cup of hot water, flavoured, perhaps, 
with green leaves of the coffee-plant, and sweetened 
with the aromatic areng-sugar. And, provided with 
these simple refreshments, they squat down upon the 
ground—the men on that side of the wayang-screen 
where they will see the puppets, the women on the 
other where the shadows are seen—and prepare to rest- 
fully enjoy the drama. 

Already the last streaks of crimson and gold-shot 
opal have faded in the western skies, and the grey of 
dusk begins to deepen into nocturnal blackness. The 

* The wayang-screen is erected in the open air, in front of the house. 

 1.48 

GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

evening breeze is astir in the tall tree-tops, waking a 
drowsy bird here and there among the branches; it chirps 
sleepily and is still again.. Aloft, a single star is seen 
limpid and tremulous, like a dewdrop about to fall. And 
the garrulous groups around the wayang-screen gradu 
ally cease their talk. 

Now the "dalang" rising, disposes, onanimprovised 
altar, the sacrificial gifts—fruit, arid yellow rice, and 
flowers, and lights the frankincense that keeps off evil 
spirits. Thcn, as the column ofodoriferoussmokeascends, 
sways, and disperses through the thin, cool air, a volley 
of thunderous sound bursts from the "gamellan," and 
the dancers appear. 

Slowly they advance, in hand-linked couples, gliding 
rather than walking, with so gentle a motion that it 
never stirs the folds of their trailing robes, gathered 
at the waist by a silver clasp. Their bare shoulders, 
anointed with boreh, * gleam duskily above the purple 
slendang that drapes the bosom. Their soft round faces 
are set in a multi-coloured coruscation of jewellery, a 
play of green and blue and ruby-red sparks, that chase 
each other along the coiled strands of the necklace and 
the trembling ear-pendants, and shine \vith a steadier 
light in the richly chased tiara. A broad silver band, 
elaborately ornamented, clasps the upper arm ; a narrower 
bracelet encircles the wrist; the lingers are a-glitter 
with rings. 

Arrived in front of the wayang-screen they pause; 
with the tips of their lingers take hold of the long 
embroidered scarfs and stand expectant of the music 
that is to accompany their dancing. The "garnellan" 
intones a plaintive melody: a medley of tinkling, and 
fluting, and bell-like sounds, scanded by the long-drawn 

* A í'ragraní ycllow unguent. 

GLfMlJSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

lVJ 

notes of the "rebab," the Persian viol. Following the 
impulse of its rhythm, the dancers raise their hands 
making the scarf to float along the extended arm, and 
waving about the glittering silk they drape themselves 

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in its folds as in a veil. Then, standing with feet turned 
slightly inwards, and motionless, they begin to turn and 
twist the body, bending this way and that way, with 
the swaying movement of slim young trees that bow 

il 

 150 GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

beneath the passing breeze, tossing their branches. And, 
with arins extended and hands spread out, they mime 
a ballad which some of their companions are singing, 
the prologue to the play. This may be a fragment of 
that ancient Hindoo poem, the Mahâ-Bhârata; or a myth 
of which Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiwa are the heroes, 
such as there are recorded in the Manik Maja; or, again, 
some episode of the Ramayana ; the " wayang poerwa " 
being dedicated to the representation of these three epics. 
A favourite subject, popular with the men on account 
of the many battles occurring in the course of the drama, 
and with the women because Ardjuna, the gentle hero, has 
the leading part, is the rebellion and defeat of the Titans. 

In the first scene the gods appear on either hand ofthe i 
"gunungan"; Indra and Brahma hold anxious counsel ' 
as to what course of action shall be pursued, now that 
the audacious Titans have dared to march against the ||i 
abode of the gods ; for already their armies occupy the 
four quarters of Heaven, and the insolent Raksasa, their * 
king and general, fears not the arms of the gods, 
their deadly swords, and intolerable lances, for, his huge 
body—all but one hidden spot—is invulnerable. And 
none may conquer him, except a mortal hero, pure ,». 
of all passion and sin. Sorrowfully, Brahrna lift his 
hands. "Such a one exists not." But Indra bethinks 
him of Ardjuna, the gentle prince, who, having utterly 
forsworn the glories of warfare, the pride of wordly 
rank and station, and the love of women, has retired 
to a cavern on Mount Indra Kila ; and under the name 
of Sang Parta—assumed instead of the kingly one of 
Ardjuna—leads a life of prayer and penitence, mortifying 
his flesh, and still keeping his constant thought fixed no 
Shiwa, the giver of Victory. " Maybc Sang Parta is the 
hero destined to overcome Niwutakawaka." 

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"Topeng" played by masked actors. 

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"Topeng" actors. 

 GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

155 

And the other gods, divided between hope and fear, 
answer: "Let us put his virtue to the test, that we 
many know surely." Among the heavenly nymphs, 
'1 the widadari," there are seven, the fairest of all, famous 
for many victories over saintly priests and anchorites, 
whom, by a smile, they caused to break the vows they 
had vowed, and forsake the god to whom they had 
dedicated themselves. These now are sent to tempt 

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Slowly they advance gliding rather than walking. 

Ardjuna. lf he withstand them, he will be, indeed, 
victor of the god of Love. 

The nymphs descend on Mount Indra Kila. "The 
wild kine and the deer of the mountain raise their head 
to gaze after them as they frolic over the dew-lit grass. 
The cinnamon trees put forth young shoots, less red than 
the maidens' lips. And the boulders, strewn around Sang 
Parta's cavern, glisten to welcome them, as, one by one, 
they pass the dark entrance." But the hermit, absorbed 
in pious contemplations, never turns his averted head, 

11 

 156 

GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

never looks upon the lovely ones, nor deigns to listen 
to their wooing songs.* And those seven fair queens 
are fain to depart, hiding their face, smarting with the 
pain of unrequited love. 

But the gods, beholding them come back thus shame 
faced and sad, rejoice exeedingly. 

Now, to put Sang Parta's courage to the test. Shiwa, 
the terrible one assumes mortal shape ; and descending 
on Indra Kila, delies the hermit. They fight, and Sang 

Street-dancers. 

Parta is victor. Then Sliiwa, revealing himself, praises 
the anchorite for his piety and his valour; and, for a 
reward, bestows upon him his own never-failing spear. 
After which he returns to the council of the gods, 
bidding them be of good cheer, for now it cannot be 
doubted any longer that Sang Parta is the hero destined 
to conquer the unconquerable Uaksasa. 

He is now summoned to the presence of the gods, 
and receives their command to go forth and slay the 

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 GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

159 

Raksasa. A goddess arms him; and anymphwhispers 
into his ear the secret on which the Titan's life depends : 
his vulnerable spot is the tip of his tongue. Sang 
Parta now resumes his real name ; and, as Ardjuna, 
goes to seek Niwatakawata. After many wanderings 
and perilous adventures, in which Shiwa's miraculous 
spear stands him in good stead, he finally meets his 
destined antagonist, and defies him to single combat. 

A Wayang representation. 

For a long time they fight, each in turn seeming victor 
and vanquished, until, at last, Ardjuna, feigning to 
have received a deadly thrust, sinks down. Then, as 
the Raksasa, skipping about in insolent joy, shouts out 
a defiance to the gods, Ardjuna hurls his spear at the 
monster's wide-opened mouth and pierces his tongue; 
and the blasphemer drops down dead. The other Titans, 
seeing their king fallen, fly, and the gods are saved. 

 160 

GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

But Ardjuna is rewarded for his exploits, the grateful 
gods bestowing upon him seven surpassingly fair " wida- 
dari," a kingdom, and the power of working miracles. 
This drama, called Ardjuna's marrage feast, is a 
comparatively short one, which may be performed in 
the course of one night. The majority of wayang- 
plays, however, require three or four nights, or even 
a whole week, for an adequate representation ; and 

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there are sorne which last for a fortnight. They consist 
of fourteen, fifteen, or even more acts. The number 
of dramatis personse is practically unlimited; new heroes 
and heroines constantly appear upon the scene ; and, 
to render confusion still worse confounded, they again 
and again change their names. Time is annihilated, 
the babe, whose miraculous birth is represented in the 
beginning of au act, having arrived at man's estate 

GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

161 

before the end of it, and one generation succeeding 
another in the course of the play. Generally, too, no 
trace of any regular plan is discoverable. Incident 
follows incident, and intrigue disconnected intrigue ; 
and, at every turn, fresh drarnatic elements are intro- 

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Wayang dancers. 

duced. So that, as the drama ceases- -for it cannot in 
any proper sense be said to finish—characters whose 
very names have not been mentioned before, are making 
love, waging war, and holding desultory counsel about 
events absolutely irrelevant, and bct\veen which and 

 162 GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE 

those represented in the beginning of the drama, it is 
all but impossible to find the slightest connection. 

To a Javanese, these endless plays hardly seem long 
enough. He never wearies of tlie innumerable adven 
tures of these innumerable heroes. Titans, queens, and 
gods, though he has seen them represented ever since 
he was a child, and probably knows them by heart, 
almost as well as the "dalang" himself. He has no 
prejudice in favour of any regular intrigue, with be 
ginning, catastrophe, and end. And, as for improba 
bilities, many strange things happen, day by day. 
And, as for time, was not the Prophet carried 
up to Heaven to sojourn among the blessed for a 
thousand years, whence returning to Mecca, and enter 
ing his chamber, he found the pitcher, which he had 

upset in his heavenward flight, not yet emptied of its ON THE BEACH 
contents? Such considerations cannot spoil his enjoy 
ment of the wayang. Night after night, the Javanese 
sit, listening to the grandiloquent speeches of the heroes 
and their courting of queens and nymphs; discussing 
their opinions and principles, moral and otherwise; and, 
amid bursts of laughter, applauding any witticism, with 
which the "dalang" may enliven his somewhat mono 
tonous text. And as, at last, they regretfully rise in 
the reddening dawn that causes the wayang lights to 
pale, visions of that heroic and beautiful world accom 
pany them on their homeward way. The maideus would 
hardly be amazed to behold Ardjuna slumbering under 
the blossoming citron bush. And the young men think 
of Palosara, who, by his unassisted arm. won a royal 
bride and the kingdom of Ngastina. 

 ~ 

_fcffi=<aMUiftffliL _ _ __ 
sxi^>WÄösfe«s&*Si5»BKa 

THE million-footed crowd of travelling humanity has 
trodden Tandjang Priok out of all beauty and pleasant 
ness. It is nothing now but a heap of dust rendered 
compact by a coating of basalt and bricks, and bearing 
on its flat surface some half-dozen square squat sheds, 
the whitewashed walls of which glare intolerably in 
the sunlight that beats upon the barren place all day 
long. But, a little further down the shore, eastwards 
from the harbour, the natural beauty of the country 
re-asserts itself. There are wide, shallow bays, where 
the water sleeps in the shadow of overhanging trees ; 
sandy points, one projecting beyond the other across 
shimmering intervals of sea; and, alternating with open 
spaces where a few bamboo huts are clustered together 
amidst a plantation of young banana trees, great tracts 
of woodland that come down to the very margin of 
the water. In one place were the narrow beach broadens 
out a little, some halfdozen shanties, one of which might, 
by courtesy, be styled a bathing-lodge, have found 
standing-room between the wood and the water. Some 
homesick exile from France has christened the handful 
of bamboo posts and atap leaves: Petite Trouville._ Tn 

 166 

ON THE BEACH 

the dry season, when Batavia is parched with heat and 
choked with dust, people come hither for a plunge into 
the clear cool waves, and for some hours of blissful 
idleness in the shadow ofthe broad-branched nyamploeng 
trees, which mirror their dark leafage and clusters of 
white wax-like blossoms in the tide. 

The day some friends took me to see the place was 
one of the last in April, when the rains were not yet 
quite over. We had left Batavia at half-past five, when 
the Koningsplein was still white with rolling rnists and 
the stars had but just begun to fade in the greyish sky. 
The train had borne us along some distance on our way 
to Tandjong Priok, ere the sun rose. Rather, ere it 
appeared. There had been no heralding change of 
colour in the eastern sky; only the uncertain light 
that lay over the landscape had gradually strengthened; 
and, all at once, at some height above the horizon a 
triangular splendour burst forth, a great heart of flame 
which was the sun. The pools and tracts of marshy 
ground flooded by the recent rains were ridged with 
long straight parallel lines of red. The dark tufts of palm 
trees here and there shone like burnished bronze. And 
where they grew denser, in groups and little groves, 
the blue mist hanging between the stems was pierced 
by lances of reddish light. 

At Tandjong Priok station, we alighted amidst a crowd 
of natives, dock-labourers and coal-heavers, on their 
way to the ships. They took the road in true native 
style, one marching behind the other, laughing and 
talking as they went. And we followed them, in our 
jolting sadoos, along a sunny avenue, planted with slim 
young trees, as far as to the bend of the road; then 
we left it and entered the wood on the right, which 
we had for some time been skirting. 

ON THE BEACH 

167 

A rough track led through it. Our sadoos jolted 
worse than ever in the ruts left by the broad-wheeled 
carts of the peasantry. We alighted and made our way 
as best we could through the grass-grown clearings of the 
jungle. The sun was but just beginning to warm the 
air. White shreds of mist still hung among the tree- 
stems, and swathed the brushwood. The grass underfoot 
was white with dew, glistening with myriads of brilliant 
little points where the yellow sunlight touched it. The 
broadly curved banana leaves, and the feathery tufts 
of the palm trees overhead began to grow transparent, 
standing out in light green against the shining white 
ness of the sky. There was an inexpressible vitality 
and exhilaration in all things, in the fine pure air, cool 
a well water, in the sparkle of the dew-lit grass, in 
the bushes with large round drops trembling on every 
leaf, in the pungent scent of the lantana that on every 
side displayed its clusters of pink, mauve and orange 
red blossoms. It was good to feel wet through on the 
tramp through the drenched tangle, to feel the blood 
tingling in the finger tips, the lungs full of quickening 
air, and the sunshine right in your eyes. It was good 
to be alive. 

After a while, we came to a little campong, some 
five or six bamboo huts, grouped together in an open 
space of the wood. Some naked children were playing 
around a fire of sticks and dry leaves. Under a shed, 
a woman stood pounding rice in a hollowed-out wooden 
block, whilst another carrying a child in her slendang, 
talked to her. There were no men about, save one old 
fellow, white-haired and decrepid, who sat in his door 
way, mending nets. In that sunny forest clearing, that 
was the one thing suggestive of the neighbouring sea. 

Past the village there are several tanks of brackish 

 1G8 

ON THE BEACH 

water, where fish is bred for Chinese consumption. 
Tangles of green weed lloated on the surface, which, 
in places, seemed to be filmed over with oily colours. 
A man walked along the shore, dredging. Beyond, the 
wood recommenced. But it was less dense there; great 
patches of sunlight lay on the ground, and the sky 
showed everywhere through the stems. As we issued 
out of the dappled shade, we beheld the sea. 

Calm and clear, it lay under the calm clear sky, a 
silvery splendour suffused in places with the faintest 
blue. Not a ripple disturbed the lustrous smoothness. 
Only, out in the open, the water heaved with a scarcely 
perceptible swell, its rise and subsidence revealed by a 
rhythmic pulsation of colour—streaks of pale turquoise 
breaking out upon the pearly monochrome, kindling into 
azure and gradually fainting and fading again. To the 
westward the mole of Tandjong Priok and the two 
bar-iron light-towers, standing seemingly close together, 
had dwindled to a narrow dark line with, at its extreme 
point, two little black filigree figures delicately defined 
against the shimmering white of sea and sky. Near 
the shore, a fishing-prao, its slight hull almost disappear 
ing under the immense white winglike sail, lay still 
above its motionless reflection. In the eastern distance, 
a group of island, ethereal as cloudlets, hung where 
the sheen of the sea and the shimmer of the sky flowed 
together into one tremulous splendour, dazzling and 
colourless. The beach with a nipah-thatched hut on 
the right and a group of spreading njamploeng trees 
on the left framed the radiant vista with sober browns 
and greens. 

The morning was still, without a breath of air; and, 
all around, the foliage hung motionless. Yet, as we 
walked over the fine grey sand, which already felt hot 

ON THE BEACH 

169 

under foot, there came drifting down to us now and 
again, whiffs of a sweet subtle fragrance, as of March 
violets; andtransparentblossoms, flutteringdown,whiten- 
ed the shell-strewd beach. Then jamploengs were in 
flower. 

Looking at that dark-leaved grove on the margin of 
the water, I thought I had seldom seen nobler trees. 
Not very tall ; but round and broad, great hemispheres 
of foliage squarely supported on column-like trunks. In 
their general air and bearing, in the character of the 
oblong leaves and their elegant poise upon the branch, 
they somewhat resemble the walnuts of northern coun 
tries. The colour is even richer, a vigorous bluish green, 
swarthy at a distance ; and. when seen near at hand, as 
full of tender beryl-tints as a field of young oats, with 
watery gleams and glories playing through the depths 
of the foliage. For a crowning grace, the njamploeng 
has its blossoms, fragant, white, and of a wax-like 
transparency—cups of milky light. Standing under an 
ancient tree, that overhung the water with trailing 
branches and a tangle of wave-washed roots, I could 
see the luminous clusters shining in that dome of dusky 
leafage, like stars in an evening sky. And the water in 
the shadow gleamed with pale reflections. 

The sea that morning passed through a succession 
of chromatic changes. The silvery smoothness of an 
hour ago had been broken by a ripple, that came and 
went in dashes of ruffled ultra-marine. Then, here and 
there, purplish patches appeared, which presently began 
to spread until they touched, and flowed together, and 
the sea, all along the shore, seemed turned to muddy 
wine whilst, out in the open, it sparkled in a rich blue- 
green, rippling and flickering. At noon, the purplish 
brown had disappeared, and the emerald-like tints had 

 170 

ON THE BEACH 

faded and changed to an uncertain olive-green. The sky 
as yet retained its morning aspect, cloudless arid shimmer 
ing with a white brilliancy as if all the stars of the 
Milky Way had been dissolved in it. Under that endur 
ing paleness, the fitful colouring and flushing of the sea 
seemed all the stranger. 

As the day advanced, the heat had steadily increased, 
and, at last, it was intolerable. About ten, when we 
swam out into the sea, the water,'even where it grew 
deeper, felt tepid ; a little after noon, it was warm. 
The windless air quivered. And the sand was so hot 
as to scorch our bare feet when we attempted to step 
out of the circular shadow of the njamploengs, where a 
little coolness as yet remained. 

A dead quiet lay on sea and land. There was neither 
wind nor wave, not the thinnest shadow of a sailing 
cloud, to temper for an instant the unbearable glare. 
The foliage overhead was the one spot of colour in a 
white-hot universe. There must be cicadas among the 
leaves: I had heard them trilling, earlier in the day; 
but the heat had reduced them to silence. Even the 
black ants, crawling among the roots, and in the 
fissures of the rough rind of the trees seemed to move 
but listlessly. From where I sat, I could see, framed 
by the circular sweep of the hanging foliage, a stretch 
of beach, with some huts amidst a banana plantation, 
and, further down, a native boat lying keel upwards 
upon the sand. A lean dog crouched in the shadow, 
panting with tongue hanging out. No other living 
creature was to be seen. 

The afternoon was far gone before there came a 
change, imperceptible at first, a gradual sobering of 
colour, and a growing definiteness in the contours of 
trees and bushes. Then, the air began to cool down. 

ON THE BEACH 

171 

The horizon grew distinct ; a curve of rich green against 
sunlit blue; a short ripple roughened the water; and, 
suddenly, the breeze sprang up, driving before it a 
wave that hurried and rose, and broke foaming upon 
the beach. The tide was coming in. 

lt was as if the inspiriting hour, that changed the 
face of land and sea, made itself felt also in the little 
brown huts under the trees, stirring up the folk into 
briskness and activity. Merry voices and the cries of 
children mingled with the sound of hammer strokes, 
reverberating along the wooded beach. Among the 
trees, I could discern the figure of a man bending over 
his boat, tool in hand ; and a woman coming out of 
her door with a bundle of clothes under one arm. 
Where the lengthening shadow of the njamploeng trees 
fell on the sunny water, two young girls were bathing ; 
somewhat further down, a swarm of naked urchins 
waded through the shallows, in search of mother-of- 
pearl. The yellow sunlight shone on their little brown 
bodies, and made the ripples sparkle around them as 
they splashed hither and thither, feeling about with 
their feet for the flat sharp shards which the tide 
leaves buried in the sands. Standing still for an instant, 
when they had found one, they balanced on one foot, 
whilst, with the clenched toes of the other they picked 
up the shiny piece, with a supple, monkey-like move 
ment. Presently, along came an old man, in a straw 
topee broad-rimmed hat and a faded reddish sarong, 
who entered the sea, and waded towards the spot, 
where, that morning,—when it was as yet dry land— 
he had erected his "tero," the piable bamboo palisade, 
which, arranged in the shape of a V, with the opening 
towards the shore, serves as a trap for fish. The hurdle 
was all but overflowed now, only the points of the 

12 

 172 

ON THE BEACH 

ON THE BEACH 

'J78 

bamboo stakes emerging above the rising tide, like the 
rigging of some wrecked and sunken ship. The old 
man gave it a shake, to assure hirnself of having driven 
it deep enough down into the sand, to withstand the 
impact of the waves; and, satisfied upon this point, 
limped away again, with the air of a man who had 
finished his day's work. He might lie down on his 
baleh-baleh now, and peacefully smoke his cigarette. 
Whilst he was taking his ease, lhe sea would provide 
for his daily fish. In a few minutes, the tide would 
have submerged his "tero," and the heedless fish would 
swim across it; and, asthe water ebbed away again, 
they would be driven against the converging sides of 
the lattice-work, and, presently, be left gasping upon 
the bars. Then, the women of the village would come 
with their baskets, and gather the living harvest, as 
they rnight a windfall of ripe fruit ; and his grandson, 
out at sea now, with the other young men, would hang- 
two full baskets to his bending yoke, and with the 
fire-car go to Batavia, there to sell the fish for much 
money, a handful of copper doits. Even, if he had 
caught "kabak" which the orang blandah like, and 
"gabus," of which the rich Chinese are fond, the boy 
might bring him home some silver coins. And his 
grand-daughter would salt and dry in the sun the 
smaller fry, and rnake "ikan kring" for him and all 
the household. 

Happy the man who has dutiful children! Tn his 
old age, when he is able no longer to earn his susten 
ance, he will not want; he need not beg, nor 
borrow from the kampong folk; and he will not be 
tempted to invoke Kjaï Belorong, the wicked goddess 
of wealth, who, in exchange for riches, demands men's 
souls. Do not all in this kampong know ofPah-Sidin, 

and what became of him after he had prayed to the 
evil sprite? Here is the tale, as the old fisherman gave 
it me. 

He was a poor man, Pah-Sidin, unlucky in whatever 
he undertook, and so utterly ignorant as not to know 
one single "ilmu."* So that, though his wife worked 
from morning till night, weaving and batikking sarongs, 
and tending the garden and the field, and selling fruit 
and flowers, things went from bad to worse with hirn. 
And at last, there was not a grain of rice left in the 
house, and the green crop in the field was the property 
of the usurer. His wife, weeping, said : " 0 Pah-Sidin ! 
how now shall we feed and clothe our little ones, Sidin, 
and all the others?" But he, vexed with her impor 
tunities, and weary of fasting and going about in faded 
clothes, without a penny to buy sirih or pay his place 
at a cock-fight, said : " Be silent ! for I know where to 
find great wealth." Then he went away, and walked 
along the shore for many days, until he came to a 
place where there were great rocks, and caves in which 
the water made a sound as of thunder. Here lives 
the dread goddess, Njai Loro Kidul, the Virgin Queen 
of the Southern Seas, whom the gatherers of edible 
birds' nest invoke, honouring her with sacrifices before 
they set out on their perilous quest. And here, too, 
lives her servant, wicked Kjaï Belorong, the money- 
goddess. 

Pah-Sidin, standing in the entrance of a black and 
thunderous cave, strewed kanangan ilowers, andmelatih, 
and yellow champaka. and burnt costly frankincense, 
and, as the cloud of fragrant smoke ascended, he fell on 
his face, and cried : ''• Kjaï Belorong ! I invoke thee ! I am 
poor and utterly wretched! Do thou give me money, 

* Cliarm to conjure good fortune. 

II 

 III 

174 

ON THE BEACH 

ON THE BEACH 

175 

and I will give thee my soul, 0 Kjaï Belorong ! " Then, 
a voice, which caused the blood to run cold in his veins, 
answered: " I hear thee, Pah-Sidin." He arose, trembling, 
and, as he turned his head, saw that the cave was a 
house, large, and splendid, and full of golden treasure. 
But, as he looked closer, behold ! it was built of human 
bodies; floor, walls, and roof all made of living men, 
who wept and groaned, crying: "Alas, alas! who can 
endure these unendurable pain's!" And the horrible 
voice, speaking for the second time, asked: "Pah-Sidin, 
hast thou courage?" 

Pah-Sidin, at first, seemed as though he would have 
fainted with horror. But soon, reflecting how he was 
young and strong, and the hour of his death far off 
as yet, and hoping, also, that, in the end, he might be 
able to deceive Kjaï Belorong and save his soul, whilst 
in the meanwhile, he would enjoy great honour and 
riches, he answered ; " Kjaï Belorong, I have courage ! " 
And, the voice spoke for the third time : " It is well ! 
Go back to thine own house now; for, soon, I will 
come to thee." 

So, Pah-Sidin returned to his house, and waited for 
Kjaï Belorong, saying nothing of the matter to his wife. 
And, in the night, she came, and sat upon the baleh- 
baleh, and said: "Embrace me, Pah-Sidin, for now I 
am thy love." Pah-Sidin would willingly have kissed 
her, for she seemed as fair as the bride of the love- 
god. But, looking down, he saw that, instead of legs 
and feet, she had a long scaly tail ; then he was afraid, 
and would have fled. But Kjaï Belorong, seizing him 
in her arms, said : " If thou but triest to escape, I will 
kill thee," and she pressed him to her bosom so violently 
that the breath forsook his body, and he lay as one 
dead. Then she loosened her grasp, and disappeared, 

rattling her tail. But when Pah-Sidin returned to 
consciousness, he saw, in the faint light of the dawn, 
the baleh-baleh all strewn with yellow scales, and each 
scale was a piece of the finest gold. 

Pah-Sidin now was as the richest Rajah: he had a 
splendid house, with granaries and stables, fine horses, 
great plantations of palms and jambus and all other 
kinds of fruit, and rich sawahs that stretched as far 
as a man on horseback could see. He abandoned his 
wife, who was no longer young, and was worn out 
with care and labour ; and married the daughter of a 
wealthy Rajah, and three other maidens, as fair as 
bidadaris. And, whenever he wished for more money, 
Kjaï Belorong came to hirn in the night, and embraced 
hirn, and gave him more than he had asked for. Thus 
the years went by in great glory and happiness, until 
the hair of his head began to grow white, and his eyes 
lost their brilliancy, and his black and shining teeth 
fell out. Then, one night, Kjaï Belorong came to his 
couch, unsumrrioned, looked at him, and said : " Pah- 
Sidin ! the hour is come. Follow rne and 1 will make 
thee the threshold of my palace." But Pali-Sidin made 
answer, and said : " Alas ! Kjaï Belorong ! look at me, 
how lean I am ! my ribs almost pierce through the skin 
of my side. Assuredly, thou wilt hurt thy tail in passing 
over me, if thou makest me the threshold of thy house. 
Rather take with thee my plough-boy, who is young, 
and plump, and smooth ! " 

Then Kjaï Belorong took the plough-boy. Arid Pah- 
Sidin married a new wife, and lived merrier than before. 
Thus ten years went by in great glory and happiness. 
But, on the last night of the tenth year, Kjaï Belorong 
again came to his couch, unsummoned, and looked at 
him, and said: "Pah-Sidin! the hour is corne. Follow 

 176 

ON THE BEACH 

me. and I will make thee the pillar of my palace." 
But Pah-Sidin made answer and said: "Alas! Kjaï 
Belorong ! look at me, how weak I am ! my shoulders 
are so bent I can scarcely keep the badju jacket from 
gliding down. Assuredly, thy roof will fall in and crush 
thee, if thou inakest me the pillar of thy house. Rather 
take with thee my youngest brother, who is strong, 
and tall, and broad of shoulders ! " 

Then Kjaï Belorong took the brother. But Pah-Sidin 
married yet another ne\v wife, and lived even merrier 
than hitherto. Thus ten more years went by in great 
glory and happiness. But, on the last night of the tenth 
year, Kjaï Belorong for the third time came to his 
couch, unsummoned, looked at him, andspoke: ^Pah- 
Sidin! the hour is come. Follow me, and I willmake 
thee the hearth-stone of my palace!" And Pah-Sidin 
made answer, and said: "Alas! Kjaï Belorong! look at 
me, how cold I am and covered all over with a clammy 
sweat! Assuredly thy lire will smoulder and go out 
if thou makest me the hearthstone of thy house. Rather 
take with thee my eldest son, Sidin, who is healthy, 
and warrn, and dry!" But the wickeI Kjaï Belorong, 
in a voice which made Pah-Sidin's heart stand still, 
screamed: "I will take none but thee, old man! and, 
since thou art so cold and wet, I will bid my imperish 
able nrc warm and dry thee ! " And with these words 
the demon seized Pah-Sidin by the throat, and carried 
him off to her horrible abode, there to be the stone 
upon which her hearth-fire burns everlastingly." 

At the conclusion of this long tale, the old fisherman 
drew a sigh of relief. "Such is the fate of those who 
let themselves be conquered by greed and the wiles of 
wicked Kjaï Belorong. But I, njonja, need have no fear. 
For my childern are dutiful, and provide for all my 

ON THE BEACH 

177 

wants. Nor need any one else in this dessa fear. For 
we are all pious men, who pray to the Prophet and 
the Toewan Allah. Thus we are safe." 

Tndeed, to judge from the appearance of these good- 
natured, frugal and careless people, I should have fancied 
that the money-goddess could not make many victims 
among them. 

But their safety is threatened by yet another enemy,— 
a much more energetic one than Kjaï Belorong to all 
appearance: to wit "My Lord the Crocodile." The coast 
swarms with these brutes; and according to official 
reports, quite a number of people are annually devoured 
by them. 

They infest especially the marshy country around the 
mouth of the Kali Batawi, where they may sometimes 
be seen, lying half in the water and half upon a mud- 
hank, their wicked little eyes blinking in the sunlight, 
their formidable jaws agape and showing the bright 
yellow of the gullet. There, they wait for the carcases 
of drowned animals and the offal of all kinds floating 
down the river, lrnprudent bathers are often attacked 
by them, and they even swim up the water-courses, 
and venture for considerable distances inland. 

The Government, some years ago. put a premium on 
the capture of crocodiles, a relatively high sum being 
offered for a carcase. But the measure had to be with 
drawn after a while, and this, though, to all appearance, 
it worked excellently well. Numbers of crocodiles were 
caught and killed; not a day went by but natives 
presented themselves at the police stations, exhibiting 
a limp carcase slung on to a bamboo frame, which a 
score of coolies "pikoled"* along. Harassed officials 
began to believe in a universe peopled exclusively by 

* To j>ikol — to carry a load slung on a pole. 

 178 

ON THE BEACH 

Malays and dead or dying crocodiles ; and philanthropists 
rejoiced over an imminent extermination of caymans, 
and the consequent safety for bathers. But there were 
those who understood the nature of both natives and 
crocodiles, and who considered their ways; and they 
smiled a smile of wisdom and ineftable pity, as they 
looked upon the dead saurians, and saw that they were 
young. The philanthropists contended that a little croco 
dile was a crocodile nevertheless, and would, in its own 
bad time, be a big crocodile, arid one which feasted on 
the flesh of men and women and innocent children; 
but those wise men only smiled the more. And, presently 
one of them took a philanthropist by the hand, and led 
him by quiet waters, and showed him how men and 
women sought for the eggs of the crocodile, and gather 
ed them in their bosom, and watched the young come 
out, and reared them even with a father's care and 
loving-kindness, to the end that they might wax fat 
and kick, and be bound with iron chains, and delivered 
over to the schout. * 

The crocodiles now are left to multiply and replenish 
the shores of Java; and nobody molests them, except 
now and then some adventurous sportsman, upon whom 
tigers have palled, and who cares but little for " ban- 
tengs," t and holds the rhinoceros of no account. And, 
generally, too, though he lie in wait for a crocodile, he 
catches only a fever—of a particularly malignant kind, 
it is true. 

The Malays, as a rule, do not readily kill crocodiles. 
They believe that the spirits of the dead are re-incarnated 
in these animals; so that, what seems a repulsive and 
dangerous beast, may. in reality, be an honoured father, 
or a long lamented bride. And they piously prefer the 

* A police official. f Tlle wild buffalo. 

ON THE BEACH 

179 

risk of being devoured to the certainty of becoming 
murderers. Far from injuring, they honour the " cayman" 
by sacrifices of rice, meat, and fruit, which they send 
down the river in little baskets of palm-leaves with a 
light twinkling a-top ; a gift offered whenever a child 
is born, to propitiate the metamorphosed ancestors in 
river and sea, and implore their protection for this, 
their newly born descendant. Human feelings and 
susceptibilities are attributed to them which the Malay 
carefully abstains from wounding. He never speaks but 
of " My Lord the Crocodile." And a wayang-play, such 
as, for instance, Krokosono, the hero of which defeats 
and kills the King of the Crocodiles, no dalang would 
dream of representing in a place where caymans could 
hear or see it. There is one act, however, by which a 
crocodile forfeits all claim to respect : and that is killing 
a human being. From his supposed human nature, it 
evidently follows that this is an act of malice prepense, 
a crime knowingly committed ; and. as such, should be 
punished as it would be were the perpetrator a man 
or a woman—that is, with death. It would seem too 
as if the guilty creature were conscious of his crime, 
and, sometimes, out of sheer remorse, gave himself up 
to justice. At least, a story to this effect is told of a 
certain crocodile, which had devoured a little girl, and 
this, though the child's parents had duly offered rice 
and meat and fruit, at the stated times ; of which gifts 
this crocodile had undoubtedly had hisshare. The parents, 
weeping, sought a hermit who lived not far from the 
"dessa" or village, a wise man who understood the 
language of animals; and implored him to restore at 
least the remains of their daughter's little body to them, 
and to visit with condign punishment her brutal murderer. 
The hermit, moved with pity and indignation, forthwith 

 180 

ON THE BEACH 

left his cave, and repaired to the sea-shore. There, 
standing with his feet in the waves, he pronounced the 
potent spell which all crocodiles must obey. They came, 
hurrying, from far and near: theshore bristled with 
their scaly backs ranged in serried rank and file. When 
all were present, the hermit addressed them in their 
own tongue, declaring that one of them had committed 
the unpardonable crime of murder, murder upon an 
innocent child, whose parents had offered sacrilices for 
her at her birth: rice and fruit and meat, of which 
they all had partaken, in token of amity and good will. 
So abominable a breach of good faith should not be 
suffered to remain unpunished. Wherefore, let him 
who had perpetrated it, stand forth! But all the others, 
let them withdraw into the sea! The crocodiles heard. 
The solid land seemed to heave and break up, as the 
congregated thousands dispersed. But one crocodile 
remained behind on the beach. It crawled nearer and 
lay down at the fcet of the hermit. And the father of 
the little girl, approaching, drew his " kris," and thrust 
it into the creature's eyes, killing it. The holy man 
then took out of the monster's jaws the necklace of blue 
beads, which the little girl had worn, and handed it to 
the father, promising him that, within the year, his 
wife would bear him another daughter, even faircr than 
the lost one. But the carcase of the crocodile was 
devoured by the dogs. 

Something in the landscape near Potite Trouville 
brought back to my memory this tale, heard from a 
village priest some time ago. Jt was a fit scene for 
such events. That brown hut among the bananas might 
have been the abode of the hapless little maid. The 
dense wood, behind, might well shelter an anchorite, 
some old man, wise and humble, content to live on 

ON THE BEACH 

181 

wild fruit and learn from the birds among the branches 
and the fish in the sea; assuredly, he would stand 
upon the little spit of land that has the njamploeng 
on it, and the crocodiles, obedient to his command, 
would raise their formidable heads from the water, and 
with their serried ranks cover the shelving beach...... 

Very peaceful it lay now, in the light of the setting 
sun. The sea shone golden. And already, among the 
blossom-laden branches of the njamploeng, there began 
to rustle the sea breeze, precursor of deepbreathed Night. 

 ÜF BUITENZORG 

 fe 

'' 

THE Javanese Sans-Souci * lies cradled in a fold of 
the undulating country at the base of the Salak, \vhose 
blue top. twin to that of the Gedeh, is seen, in line 
weather, from the Koningsplein, rising aerially, fresh, 
and pure, above the dusty glare of Batavia. The village 
is pretty,—all brown atap houses and gardens full of 
roses, with the wooded hill-side for a background. 
One may wander for hours in the splendid Botanical 
Garden, reputed to be the finest in the world, and a 
goal of pilgrimage for scientists from every part of the 
globe. Whoever visits tlie place in September may 
combine these tranquil pleasures with the gaLety of 
the annual races, and the great ball at the 13uitenzorg 
Club, where "all Java" dances. T went in the last, 
week of the month, glad to escape from the town, 
which, at this time of the year, is unbearable, scorched 
with the heat of the east monsoon and stifled under 

* l?uitenzorg, literally translated, means "away from sorrow or care," 

\\ 

 186 

OF BUITENZORG 

a layer of dust, which makes the grass of the gardens 
crumble away, and turns the "assam" trees along the 
river and in the squares into grey spectres. The country 
through which the first part of my road lay, seemed, 
however scarcely desolate. Nothing but flat monotonous 
fields, some altogether bare and grey, others still covered 
with yellowish stubble, through which the cracks and 
fissures of the parched soil showed. Here and there, 
a patch of green, where some huddled brown roofs and 
a group of thin palm-trees denoted a native hamlet, 
forlorn in the wide arid plain. Then, again, bare brown 
fields, where no living creature was to be seen, except, 
now and then, a herd of dun buffaloes wallowing in 
the ooze of some dried-up pool. 

By and bye, however, the character of the landscape 
began to change. The rich blue-green of the young 
rice-crops, seen first in isolated squares and patches, 
spread all over the gradually-ascending fields. Along 
the course of a rapid rivulet, a bamboo grove sprang 
up, lithe stems bending a little under their cascades 
of waving dull-green foliage. Then the rice-clad un 
dulations of the ground began to rise into little hills, 
green to the very top, and down the sides of which 
the water, that fed the terraced fields trickled in many 
a twisting silvery thread; and suddenly on the left, 
rose the great triangular mass of the Salak, dull-blue 
in the sober evening light. It was almost dark when 
the train stopped at the Buitenzorg station. It stands 
at some distance from the village; and, as I drove 
thither, sights and sounds reached me that denoted the 
hilly country. The wheels of the cab creaked over 
whitish pebbles clean as gravel from the rocky river 
bed. The gardens on each side the road were full of 
flowers, that gleamed palely through the semi-darkness. 

H 

13 

 í 

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'* *v , - 

- * Ji " 

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 i;] 

OF BUITENZORG 

191 

,ï 

The voices of passers-by, the laughter of children at 
play, the tones of a flute sornewhere in the distance, 
sounded clear and far through the thinner air. As I 
entered the village, I noticed that the houses were 
built of bamboo instead of the brick, which is the 
usual material in the clayey lowlands. 

It is said that these bamboo houses, covered with 
atap, withstand the shock of earthquakes, frequent in 
this country, much better than brick buildings with 
tiled roofs. However that may be, their rural aspect 
harmonizes with the landscape : and they are delightful 
to inhabit, cool under the noonday heat, and proof 
against the torrential rains, which, at Buitenzorg, fall 
every day, between two and four in the afternoon. I 
lived for some time in a little pavilion.—wooden floor, 
pagar walls, arid a roof of atap ; a pleasanter abode I 
never knew. It was almost like living in a hermit's 
cell out in the woods. I was never sure whether the 
soft creaking noises heard all night through came from 
the bamboo grove in the garden, or from the bamboo 
in my wall. The crickets seemed to sing in my very 
ears; and a faint, sweet smell pervaded the little room, 
such as breathes from the leafage, dead and living, of 
a forest. Like a cenobite's cell, too, my pavilion was 
not meant for a storehouse of worldly treasures. Even 
if moths and rust did not corrupt, thieves would have 
quite exceptional facilities for breaking through and 
stealing them. "Breaking through" is too energetic 
and vigorous a term; with an ordinary penknife, one 
might cut away enough of the walls to admit a battalion 
of burglars. Reading, one day, a French translation of 
Don Quixote, I rested the ponderous folio, which tired 
my arms, against the wall. It instantly gave way, 
sinking in, as if it had been a canvas awning. I do 

 192 OF BUITENZORG 

not doubt that, with my embroidery scissors, I might 
have cut out an elegant open-work pattern in it. 

The morning after my arrival, I was up betimes and 

on my way to the Botanical Garden. It was early as .j 
yet, a little after sunrise, and the air felt as cool and M 
as pure as well-water. A frost-like dew had whitened 
the grass ; shreds of mist hung between the trees, trailed 
along the hillside, and floated like low white clouds 
in the depths of the ravine, where the river foamed 
past over the boulders of its rocky bed. And, in the 
branches, the birds were twittering and singing their 
little hearts out. I met some natives on the way to 
their morning bath hugging themselves in the folds of 
the " baju," the women among them having the " slen- 
dang" drawn over their heads. They walked at a brisk 
pace, very different from the listless movements of 
pedestrians in the sultry streets of Batavia. The type 
was of another kind, a slightly oval face, with a thin 
nose somewhat aquiline in design, and very brilliant 
eyes ; the complexion of a clear yellowish brown, with 
a touch of red in the lips. They had an elastic gait, 
and the free carriage of the head peculiar to hillfolk. 
Some of the young girls were absolutely pretty. 

I asked my way of an old woman who sat by the 
roadside, complacently smoking a cigarette, and soon 
found myself within the gates of the Botanical Garden, 
and in the celebrated waringin avenue, one of the glories 
of the place. The first impression, I confess, is some 
what disappointing. The avenue is not very long, so 
that it lacks the depths of green darkness, the prospect 
along apparently converging parallels of pillar-like trunks, 
and the bluish shimmer of light afar off, which are the 
characteristic charms of woodland glades. It seems more 
like a square, planted with trees on two sides of the 

 ^m^*$r'-'-^ 

-;%Sfc 'Zg%.jg*\tf? 

.¿v n^^xMk%-. 
'," v %:,:-- -^:JtA^ 

v' ' 

 Vf1 

OF BUITENZURG 197 

quadrangle only, a comparatively narrow space of 
shadow, abutting on the broad fields of sunlight beyond. 
After a while, however, one notices the smallness of the 
figures moving past the trees, men, horses, and bullock- 
carts. By comparison, orie begins to realize the gigantic « 
proportions of it all,—the length and breadth and height 
of the leafy vault overhead, and the hugeness of those 
stupendous growths that support it, each of them a 
grove in itself, congregated hundreds of trees, group by 
group of stately stems crowding round the colossal 
parent hole. Tlien, bye and bye, thesenseofgrandeur 

is succeeded by a curious im 
pression of lifelessness. In their 
\ ^ vast size, their stark immobility, 
and their rigid attitudes, these 
^f".^' ? grey masses resemble granite 
¿r ~' peaks and cliffs rather than trees. 
-<*"•'- The aged trunks, broadbased, are 
if- f' /- riven and fissured like weather- 
,.r//J- ,i beaten rocks, showing gnarled 
y- " ;i protuberances and black clefts 
•""; t from which ferns and rnosses 
droop. Some, rotten to the core— 

nothing left of the trunk but a fragment of grey gnarled 
rind, with the fungus-overgrown mould lying heaped up 
against the base—resemble boulders, covered with earth 
and detritus. One or two, quite decayed, hang in mid-air, 
dependent from a dome of interlacing branches, stems, 
and air-roots, like some gigantic stalactite from the roof 
of a pillared cavern. And, aloft, the dense masses of 
foliage, grey against the sunlit brilliancy of the sky, 
seem like the broken and crumbling vault of this immense 
grotto. This strange resemblance of living vegetable 
matter to inert stone ceases only when, issuing from 

 19« 

OF BUITENZOKÜ 

among the stems, one looks^at the waringins from a 
distance, and sees the grey multitude of boles, trunks, 
and stems disappearing under spreading masses offoliage, 
resplendeut in the sun. 

The garden is worthy of this magnificent entrance. 

\ 

A ïlill-iuau. 

Enthusiastic "savants" have sung its praises in all the 
languages of civilization, and, by common consent, have 
declared it to be the finest botanical garden in the world, 
assigning the second place to famous Kew, and mentioning 
the gardens of Berlin, Paris, and Vienna as third, fourth, 

.>X'. 

II 

 OF BUITENZORG 

201 

and fifth in order of merit. Originally, it was no more 
than the park belonging to the country-house, which 
Governor-General Van Imhoff built here in 1754: a 
house since destroyed by an earth-quake, and on the 
site of which the present lodge was erected. 

In this park, Professor Bernwardt, some eighty years 
ago, arranged a small botanical garden, a "hortus" as 

< f *k*! 

•i,k 

Watch-men. 

the innocent pedantry of the period called it. The idea 
was to gather in this fertile spot specimens of all the 
plants and trees growing in Java, so as to afford men 
of science an opportunity for studying the flora of the 
island. By and bye, however, especially under the 
direction of Teysmann, many plants from othercountries 
were introduced, with a view of acclimatizing them in 

 202 

OF BÜITENZORG 

Java, often with signal success. And, recently, a museum 
and a library have been established, as well as several 
laboratories for chemical, botanical, and pharmaceutical 
research. For the cultivation of such plants as require 
a cool climate, gardens have been laid out on the 
terraced hill-side, in ascending tiers that climb up to 

Prinseiilaan-eorner, Batavia. 

the heights of Tji-Bodas, where in the early morning, 
the temperature is 10° Celsius. These ameliorations, for 
the greater part, are due to the untiring energy of the 
eminent scientist now directing the garden. 

But, that moming, as I wandered through the tall 
avenues of the Buitenzorg Park, the thought of its im- 

|i 

 <"< , v 

The beautiful tall rceils of the snerav eane, their peimon-likc leaves gleaming in the sunshine. 

Avenue of old wariiigin trees, Botanical Garden, Buitcnzorg. 

 OF BUIÏENZORG 

207 

portance as a scientific institution disappeared before 
the perception of its exquisite loveliness. Not a beauty 
of line and colour merely : it has these—the park 
is admirably arranged, in broad effects of light and 
shadow, dark hued groves and avenues contrasting 
with sunny expanses of lawn and copse and mirroring 
lake; but there is something over and above all this, 
an element of beauty as subtle and elusive as the 
transient sparkle of a sun-beam, or the fitful comings 
and goings of the summer wind. Perhaps it was the 
extraordinary brilliancy of the colours, and the shimmer 
in the rain-saturated atmosphere; or perhaps it was 
the profound quietude all around, a stillness so per 
fect that it seemed it must endure for ever. I do 
not know what may have been the elements that made 
up the nameless charm. But I yielded myself up to 
it; and it seemed to me, as if I were walking in a 
dream, amidst objects at once unreal and singularly 
distinct. For a long time I sat by the shore of a little 
lake, that had an islet in the midst of it. all overgrown 
\vith brush\vood, and great tangles of liana, that opened 
hundreds of pale violet flowers to the sunlight; in the 
centre there rose a group of young palms, of the sort 
that has a bright red stem ; and all these colours, the 
many-tinted green and the lilac and the scarlet were 
mirrored so vividly in the clear water as to almost 
make the reflection seem brighter than the reality. . . . 
By and by, following a path that wandered out of 
sunshine into chequered shadow, and out of shadow 
into sunlight again, I came to a vast sweep of mead 
owy ground, where herds of reddish deer were feeding 
as peacefully as in a forest clearing. Presently I found 
myself in a great dim avenue of kenari-trees, through 
\vhose sombre branches the sky showed but faintly ; 

 208 

OF BUITENZORG 

and anon in a bamboo grove where there was a con 
tinual rustling and waving of leaves though not the 

rt^ 

' - *• 

'i*\ '• 

i ; /.r i 

*a 

- *>.---j*\ . 

#Cdfr- 

A cactus in flower. 

slightest breath of wind could be felt to stir the air. 

Here and there through gaps in the trees came a 

sudden glimpse of the distant valley, with the river 

 .in|) i«oiuii(off 'aoj} 

 OF BUITENZORG 213 

shining between the light-green rice fields, and beyond 
the encircling hills. Everywhere, too, the presence of 
living water made itself felt, in the cool damp air, and 
in the delicious smell of moist earth, wet stones, and 
water-plants. And I would suddenly catch the silvery 
gleams, between the bushes, of a brooklet hurrying 
past over its pebbly bed, and foaming in small cascades 
that be-sprinkled the ferns and tall nodding grasses 
upon the bank with scintillating spray. Here and 
there, I heard the murmur and tinkle of a fountain; 
and I passed by quiet ponds and lakelets, dark green 
in the shadow of overhanging trees. One of these 
sheets of water—or rather the streamlet into which it 
narrows at one end—is completely overgrown with 
white lotus flowers ; and a sight more exquisitely beauti 
ful cannot be imagined. It burst upon me suddenly, 
as I came out of a long, dark avenue; and, at first, I 
could not make out what thát white splendour was. 
It seemed to float like a luminous summer cloud, like a 
snowy drift of morning mist. A breath of wind arose, 
and the even splendour trembled and seemed to break 
up into hundreds of white flames and sparks, that for 
an instant all blew one way, and then shot up again, 
and stood steadily shining. As I came nearer, I discerned 
the great, round white flowers, radiant in the sunshine. 
The circular, purplish brown leaves spread all over the 
surface of the water, covering it from bank to bank. 
And, out of these heaps of bronze shields, there rose 
the straight tall stems, like lances, with the white flame 
of the flower breaking out at the top—sparks of 
St. Elmo's fire, such as, on that memorable night, tipped 
the spears of the Roman cohorts, on their march to 
battle and victory. 

This field of radiant lotus blossoms, and the sombre 

 214 

OF BUITENZORG 

and solemn waringin avenue, contrasting glories, seeni 
to me to be the crowning beauties of the Buitenzorg 

., 

* .- 

..-<V ^ J 

•* 

--• £ 

~^^^~- -^>- 

A vviiringiu-trcc. 

garden. The name of Buitenzorg, by the bye, is an 
innovation. Natives still call the town by its ancient 
name of Bogor, which it bore iri the glorious age wheri 

 'l\ 

A path leading from sunshine into dappled shade anil from shade into 
snnshine again. 

A bamboo-grove where was an incessant rustling and waving of foliage though no wind. 

 lHllT 

OF BUITENZORG 

219 

it was the capital of the Hindoo realm ofPadjadjaran. 
A Muslim conqueror, Hassan Udin, son of the Sheik 
Mulana, destroyed it ; and a new town was reared on 
the ruins, but legends of its bygone glory still haant 
the imagination of the country folk. In the tales which 
they repeat to one another of an evening, the splendour 
of the ancient empire, and the wisdom and unconquer 
able valour of its founder are still remembered. Tjioeng 

»I 

, 

v 

Carriers walking by the side of their lnmbering, bnllock-drawn 
pedati, which creaks along the sun-scorched roads. 

Wonara was his name ; and his son and successor, the 
victorious Praboe Wangi, was even greater than he. 
In the craggy hill-tops of the Gedeh range, popular 
tradition sees the ruins of the splendid palace he built 
himself on the heights; the hall where the throne of 
gold and ivory stood ; the temple, where he worshipped 
the gods ; the domes of his harem ; and the battlemented 
towers which his unconquerable warriors kept against 
the world, a thousand years ago. The southern wall 

15 

 220 OF BUITENZORG 

of the Gedeh-crater surrouds, as an impregnable bulwark, 
the palace and temple courts. 

The Hindoo period, however, has left in this neighbour 
hood records more authentic than Praboe Wangi's fancy- 
built palace on the heights. Near a native kampong, 
which derives its name from this proximity, the so-called 
Batu Tulis is found, a field covered with a quantity of 
stone slabs, some lying prone, others still upright, 
adorned with figures in bas-relief and covered with 
inscriptions. The legend on the largest of these memorial 
tablets, traced in ancient Javanese characters, has been 
deciphered; it celebrates the virtues and victories of a 
Hindoo king. And the worn-away superscriptions and 
rude effigies discernible on the other stones probably 
commemorate contemporary princes and warriors. The 
Bogor country-folk greatly venerate these relics of a 
glorious past. 

Carriers walking by the side of their lumbering, 
bullock-drawn " pedati," which creaks so leisurely along 
the sun-scorched roads; labourers on their way to the 
rice fields, the light wooden ploughshare across their 
shoulders, driving the patient yoke of oxen before them ; 
women from the hill-villages around, who come to the 
Bogor market in holiday attire, a chaplet of jessamine 
blossoms twisted into their "kondeh"—all turn aside 
from the road, to murmur a short prayer, and offer a 
handful of flowers, of frankincense and yellow boreh 
unguent, or even Chinese joss-sticks and small paper 
lanterns on the consecrated spot. Whether this be an 
act of homage to those ancient kings and heroes, whose 
rude effigies adorn the stones, and whose spirits are 
believed still to haunt the spot; or simply a fetishistic 
adoration of these blocks of granite and the curious 
signs engraved thereon, it is difficult to decide; the 

 '* 

j> 

Palm trees aud Araucaria. 

A tall gloomy avenue of kenari trees, tne sky but faintly showing through their 

sombre branches. 

 OF BUITENZORG 

225 

worshippers themselves hardly seem to know. When 
asked, they reply that they do as their fathers did before 
them, and so, therefore, must be right; unless, indeed, 
they merely smile, and offer the somewhat irrelevant 
remark that they are true Moslemin. This, indeed, 
every native of Java (save such few as have been 

Submerged rice-fields. 

converted to the Christian religion) professes himself to 
be. And, in a measure, the Javanese are Mohammedans ; 
they recite the Mohammedan prayers and Confession of 
Faith, go to the Messigit—which is Javanese for mosque— 
when it suits thern, keep the Ramadan very strictly; 
also, if they can afford it, they perforrn that most sacred 
duty of the Mohammedan, the Mecca pilgrimage, and, 

 226 

OF BUITENZORG 

returning thence, live for ever on the purses of their 
admiring co-religionists. But for the rest, one may apply 
to them Napoleon's dictum concerning the Russians— 
mutatis mutandis. Scratch the Muslim, and you will 
find the Hindoo ; scratch the Hindoo, and you will find 
the fetish-adoring Pagan. In the same way, too, as they 
confuse religious beliefs, they distort historical facts and 
traditions so as to make them tally with the prevalent 
opinions of the day. This Batu Tulis, for instance; 
though they venerate it as a record of the Hindoo 
empire, they yet, at the same time, honour it as a 
monument of the Mohammedan conquest. According 
to them, these roughly-fashioned stones, of which, they 
say, there are over eight hundred dispersed throughout 
the neighbourhood, are the transformed shapes of 
Siliwangi, last King of Padjadjaran, and his followers, 
who, in this spot, their last refuge on flight from the 
victorious Muslim hosts, were turned into stones by Tuan 
Allah, as a punishment for their persistent refusal to 
embrace El-Islam ; and the superscription celebrating the 
Hindoo prince they make out to be the record of this 
miracle. A touch of romance clings to the grim legend like 
a tender-pettalled flower to a rock. It concerns the impress 
of a foot, visible on one of the slabs, and a fair princess 
who left it there, many centuries ago. Alone of all 
that multitude that fled with Siliwangi. she, the consort of 
valiant Poerwakali, his son, escaped the general doorn, 
through the influence of an Arab priest who had con 
verted her to the true religion. She could not, however 
save her husband, whom, before her very eyes, she 
saw turned into a stone. But, in her faithful heart, 
love could not die, though the loved one was dead. The 
victor, vanquished in his turn by her incomparable 
beauty, implored her in vain. She would not be sep- 

fj. 

••v 

H 

2 

 OF BUITENZORG 

229 

arated from her husband's inanimate shape, and, building 
herself a little hut under the waringin trees, she still, 
day by day, repaired to the stone, which bore Poerwa- 
kali's semblance, with sacrifices and prayers, and tears. 
And, often, in a transport of love and grief, she would 
throw her arms about the inert mass, closely embracing 
it, and, into its deaf ear, murmur soft words, and vows 

*f 

-V.V 

/ 

• ',.-c- 

Bamboo bi-!<lge across tlic Tji-tarooii. 

of eternal loyalty, and bitter-sweet memories of the 
days that were no more. Her tears, still flowing, fell 
on the stone underfoot, day by day, month by month, 
year by year, until at last it became soft and yielding 
as clay, and received and retained the impress of those 
tender feet, which for so long had known no other 
resting place. 

From these memories of an empire overthrown, a 

 230 

OF BUITENZÖRG 

religion smitten with the edge of the sword, and a 
love stronger than death-"old unhappy far off things 
and battles long ago"-suggested by Batu Tulis, to 
the gaiety of the Buitenzorg races is a wide step. But 

Bamboo bridge across thc Tji-tavoon. 

our modern souls have grown accustomed to these sudden 
transitions. In Java, more than in any other country, 
one must be prepared at any moment to pass from 
the fairy lands forlorn of history, to contemporary 
Pliilistia. Let me hasten to add, in justice, that I found 

OF BUITENZORG 

231 

that high festival of Philistinism in Java, the Buitenzorg 
races, both amusing and full of interest. The crowded 
Stands gave one an "impression d'ensemble" ofsociety 
in the colony, such as would be expected in vain on 
any other occasion—formal functionaries and business 
men from the hot towns with their exquisitely dressed, 
palefaced wives and daughters, mingling with sunburnt 
planters from the interior, and rosy-cheeked girls from 
the neighbouring hill-stations, in white muslin frocks, 
brightened up by flowers such as those grown at home. 
And the spectacle of the races, exciting in itself, is 
rendered the more interesting by the changes and 
transformations which an essentially northern sport has 
suffered under the sun of the tropics—by the substitu 
tion of Sandalwood and Battak ponies for horses, of 
native syces, who clutch the stirrup with bare toes, 
for jockeys, and of silent multitudes brightly garbed, 
for the black-coated crowds that shout and huzza at 
Epsom or Longchamps. 

-•?* 

OT 

II 

 IN THE HILL COUNTRY 

 T^3(fc •* 

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AMONG other Western ideas and institutions, the 
Hollanders have imported into Java that of health-resorts. 
Erstwhile lonely hills now bear hotel and "pavilions" 
upon their disforested summits; picnics are held in 
glades where, a few years ago, the timid antelopes fed; 
and Strauss's waltzes have reduced to silence the noisy 
cicadas. In the country south and east of Batavia, in 
the Gedehliills, and in the Preanger district, there are 
several of these hill-stations. There, the air is pure 
and cool, in the months when the hot east monsoon 
scorches the plains. There is Tji-Panas Tji-Bodas, 
Sookaboomi, Sindanglaya, Tjandjoor, the country round 
about Bandong, and, somewhat farther east, Garoot, all 
of which places are easily accessible from Batavia. The 
hotels are generally airy, roomy, and clean, if not 
elegant ; the food is fairly good, and the charges moderate, 
about four dollars a day, the average rate throughoutJava. 

16 

 236 

IN THE HILL COUNTRY 

The Preanger district, in which Garoot, Bandong, and 
Tjandjoor are situated—the " Garden of Java " as it is 
fitly named—in more than one respect reminds the 
traveller of the hillcountry. There is the same clearness 
in the profiles of the mountain-ranges; the same tran 
sparency of the air, which causes distant objects to 
appear quite near, and reveals their contour rather 
than their modelling; the same jewel-like sparkle in 
the colouring of the landscape, in the clear-hued green 
of valley and hillside, in the changeful hues of the 
water, and in the blue, opal, and roseate violet of the 
distances under an azure sky. The thin pure air is 
as wellwater; in the evenings one has to kindle a fire 
in order to keep warm; and walks of several hours 
cause neither heat nor fatigue in this bracing climate- 
which makes even natives quicken their naturally slow 
movements, and which tinges their brown complexions 
with a flush of healthy red. In the fields, corn is seen 
instead of rice, and, in places, golden wheat waves. 
The gardens are fragant with mignonette, heliotropes, 
and carnations; mossroses flourish, velvety pansies, 
geraniums, fuchsias, phlox in all its countless varieties 
of brilliant colours, and the tender forget-me-nots of 
northern brooksides. Strawberries, along with clusters 
of the blue and white grape show between the dense 
foliage of the vines. At certain seasons of the year, 
the hills are purple with the blossoms of the rasamala 
tree,—a magnificent growth which throws out its first 
branches at a height of a hundred feet, and the summit 
of which reaches an altitude of a hundred and eighty. 
The most splendid orchids are found in the woods side 
by side with mushrooms of extraordinary dimensions, 
some of three feet in diameter, and of strange and 
brilliant colours. On all sides, too, there is sparkle 

; I; 

* 

' 

, / 

"¿í 

A village eouple. 

 IN THE HILL COUNTRY 

239 

of living water as lirnpid as the air itself, leaping 
down the rocky hill-sides in innumerable cataracts and 
shining in broad tranquil lakes that mirror the encircl 
ing hill-tops and the clouds sailing overhead. As one 
reaches higher levels, from about four thousand feet 
above thc sea level to six thousand and upwards, the 
changes in the landscape become more and more marked. 
The Flame of the Forest, the kambodja, the champaka, 
and all the countless host of large-flowered trees, 
characteristic of the tropics, disappear. The type of the 
foliage changes: it is less fantastic in shape, less luxuriant, 
and differently tinted from the leafage of the lowland 
forests. To the sombre green of the plains, which under 
the glaring sunlight, assumes tones of an almost blackish 
blue, succeeds a vivid emerald, touched with tender 
yellow. Then come dense forests of "tjemara" a 
coniferous tree, the dim greyish foliage ofwhichresembles 
a drift of autumnal mist ; and, by and bye, trees of the 
oak and chestnut kind appear, and the maple that 
balances its fan-like leaves on bright red stalks. Violets 
open their purple chalices in mossy hollows. On the 
cloudy mountain heights of Tosari, one may gather 
flowers such as grow on the Alps. The scenery here 
is grand beyond description—a landscape of vast hill 
ranges, cataracts, and precipices, and heaving seas of 
cloud. The temperature is almost too low; big fires are 
kept burning all day in the hotel, through the verandahs 
of which the clouds (loat past. The one thing that still 
reminds the traveller of the tropics is the wonderful 
splendour of the orchids that grow here. In the fourth 
zone, at an altitude of from seven thousand to ten 
thousand feet, the orchids, too, disappear. A European 
vegetation covers the summits of the mountains and 
the chill "plateau" ofthe Djeng, where four wounderful 

 240 

IN THE HILL COUNTRY 

lakes of green, and blue, and yellow, and pure white 
water sparkle in the sunlight, and the nights are frosty. 

These wonders of the Javanese hill-country are well 
known, from the descriptions of many able pens, and 
from the enthusiastic reports of travellers. But, here 
and there, in the folds of the lower hills, there are 
pleasant nooks and corners, all but ignored of the 
multitude, and hardly inferior in beauty to these famous 
sites, albeit beauty of a very different character. And, 
among these places, the idyllic grace of which has not 
yet been marred by railroads and hotels, few can surpass 
in loveliness the country round about Tjerimai, where 
it was my good fortune to spend several pleasant days, 
last June. 

Tjerimai, a spur of the lofty Preanger range, is situated 
on the confines of the Preanger Regencies and the 
Cheribon district,, the broad green plains and marshy 
coast of which its finely shaped summit dominates—a 
landmark to sailors. 

From Batavia, the way thither leads through some 
of the loveliest scenery in Java—past Buitenzorg and 
Bandong, straight across the Preanger. Rantja-ekkek, 
a village in the vast plain which begins an hour or so 
east of Bandong, is the last railroad station on the route. 
There, the noise, the hurry, and the bustle of western 
civilization cease, as if arrested by some invisible barrier ; 
and the traveller enters the real Java, the Java of the 
Javanese, the tranquil land of plenty, the inhabitants 
of which lead their leisurely lives without much more 
thought of the morrow than the tall gandasoli liUes of 
their flelds. When we two—the friend whom I ac 
companied to her home among the hills, and myself— 
reached this stage of our journey, the day was still 
young. The summits of the hills, which bound the 

*f ^ 

p 

ê 

 IN THE HILL COUNTRY 

243 

plain on the west, had already assumed their sober day 
colours—greyish brown and dark green. But the distant 
eastern range stood out in violet gleams against a sky 
of crimson and orange; and the intervening plain was 
a lake of whitish, waving mist. The air had a peculiar, 
sweetish taste- -like an insipid fruit—which reminded 
me of early autumn mornings at horne. It was cold, 
too. Our native servants went with hcad and shoulders 
wrapped up : and the breath of the ponies waiting for us 
at the station made little clouds about their heads. We 
were grateful for the plaids which we found in the carriage. 
The road lay straight before us—a long white streak 
through the soft misty green of the plain. As we drove 
along, the pink sheen, which rested on the hazy hillside 
to our left, like a handful of scattered roses, began to 
spread and glide down into the valley, kindling as it 
flowed, until the whole vast vapoury plain was suffused 
with purple. The mist began to dissolve, and float 
upwards in little crimson drifts. Suddenly, the great 
golden sun leaped up from behind the eastern summits, 
and day streamed in upon us. The country-folk had 
already begun the labours of the day. Children met us 
on the road, driving powerful grey buffaloes before 
them ; in a hamlet which we passed, the women were 
pounding rice, breaking the silence of the morning with 
the rhytmic click-clack of the wooden pestles. And, 
here and there, groups of labourers moved through the 
rice iields, weeding. Overhead, larks were soaring and 
singing; it was the first time I had heard their sweet 
shrill notc in Java. After a while, a partridge flew up 
with a whirr of hurrying wings, almost from between 
the hoofs of the horses. They are plentiful in this 
neighbourhood. At certain seasons of the year, large 
parties of sportsmen assemble here to shoot thern. 

1! 
'1 

n 

H 

 244 

IN THE HILL COUNTRY 

On starting from the railway station, I had thought 
that, in half an hour or so, we should have reached 
the hill-range, which bounded the plain iri the north. 
But the clear atmosphere has a perspective of its own, 
confusing to eyes unaccustomed to it. After about two 
hours of rapid driving we were still in the valley—on 
either side of us, immense tracts of soft bluish green, 
full of the thousand lights and shades that form the 
peculiar beauty of these terraced rice-iields ; and, all 
around, the circling summits which seemed no sensibly 
nearer than at first. 

At every turn of the road, I expected to reach the 
base of the hills. And again and again, they appeared 
to recede as we advanced, until the fancy was stirred 
to the idea of some magic wall environing the captive, 
withersoever he might turn ; and the wish to find an 
exit out of this hill-bounded plain grew almost to a 
fever. At length, we reached it—a narrow defile 
between two steep green heights ; and the road began 
to climb. Here, in the deep glens and valleys, the air 
was notably cooler than on the sunlit plain. Where 
the road broadened, it was shaded by tall njamploeng 
trees, which strewed the ground with their white trans 
parent blossoms; and their faint fresh odour, which 
reminded one of the scent of March violets, perfumed 
the breeze. 

Meanwhile, we had changed horses at a " gladak "—a 
nondescript wooden shed—stable, barn, and hostelry 
for native wayfarers in one—with a spacious thorough 
fare leading right through it. And our shaggy ponies 
trotted along with a right good will, until they came 
to a sudden stand at the bottom of a hill. uGladakkers," 
as these ugly little animals are called, are notorious 
for freakishness and perversity, and often, without 

 ffL. 

'A brownie of that enchanted garden that men call Java." 

Girl from the Preangcr Country. 

 IN THE HILL COUNTRY 

249 

any apparent reason, will stand stockstill in the middle 
of the road, and refuse to move another step. But 
this time, as I soon found, they were moved by no 
such perverse whim ; they knew their duty, and that 
the dragging of carriages up this particular hill was in 

Javanese of higLer clasa. 

no way a part of it. When the syce had unharnessed 
them, they turned aside, and began to crop the dewy 
grass by the way-side, as if work were over for that 
day. And, presently, their substitutes, a pair of powerful 
grey buffaloes, appeared goaded on by their owner. 

 250 

IN THE HILL COUNTRY 

Slowly, the majestic brutes descended the hill, bending 
a broad splendidly-horned head and an enormous neck 
under a triangular bamboo yoke, and sending forth the 
breath in clouds from their large nostrils. They drew 
the carriage up hilI without any apparent effort, still 
moving onward with that same slow, strong, steady 
gait, which neither the impatient shouts of our syce, 
nor the goad which their owner plied, could make 
them accelerate one whit. At the summit they halted 
of their own accord ; and, as soon as they felt their 
necks free of the harness, turned and departed. As they 
passed me, the curved horn of the one just grazing my 
shoulder, they seemed to me the personification of 
resistless strength, unconscious of its own power, and 
patiently subservient. Their large beautiful eyes had 
a look of meekness most pathetic in so tremendous a 
creature. 

After this steep hill, the ascent became easy and 
gradual, and the ponies trotted on at a good round 
pace. The road still kept zig-zagging between [steep 
hill-sides, densely overgrown with nipah-palm, banana, 
and dark-leaved brushwood, which shut out the view 
of the landscape. And I remember no noteworthy 
incident, except the passing of a native market, a 
"passar," in a spot where the road broadened a little, 
and where an impetuous brook, that came bounding 
down the hillside, spouted from a sort of primitive 
aqueduct made of bamboo. Half a score of naked 
children were bathing themselves under the icy "douche," 
whilst their parents stood bargaining and chafi'ering at 
the narrow booths that adhered to the steep hillside 
like swallows' nests to a house-wall. As we approached, 
the whole company, men, women, and children, squatted 
down with one accord, as if they had been so many 

Girl from Kadoo. 

17 

 IN THE HILL COUNTRY 

253 

puppets pulled by a string. One very fat baby, his 
fists and his mouth full of sweetmeats, stood staring 
at us in round-eyed surprise; but his mother managed 
to catch him and draw him to his little haunches, just 
in the nick of time ; and the whole company remained 

¡I 

Women pounding rice. 

in this crouching posture until our carriage rounded 
the bend of the road. 

At Batavia, where the manners of the natives have 
suffered a change—a change for the worse, as some 
maintain—by contact with Europeans, I had never wit 
nessed this peculiar mode of salutation. And I confess 
I was painfully impressed by it, the more so as my 
friend warned me that native etiquette forbade my 

 254 

IN THE HILL COUNTRY 

acknowledging the humble greeting by so much as a 
nod. I do not know whether it was the abjectness of 
their semi-prostration, or the seemingly gratuitous in 
solence of our thus ignoring it, that I felt as the more 
acute humiliation to human dignity. But, after all, the 
only way to rightly judge the manners and customs 
of a country is to look at them from the point ofview 

The rapicls of the Tjitaroon. 

of the natives; and, to a Javanese, there is nothing un 
dignified in a salutation which impresses us as slavish. 
He squats down, just as a European rises, in the presence 
of a superior. It is a token of respect; nothing more. 
And the superior's apparent unconsciousness of this 
greeting no more implies rudeness on his part than the 
familiar nod with which in Europe a gentleman might 
answer a labourer's or artisan's raising of his cap. " They 

 ^ k^£S5r3£v 

Pangcran Adipali Mangkoe tíoemi (Djokjakarta). 

4 

- " Í.4F 

va.-.Y" 

Javanese Lady. 

 IN THE HILL COUNTRY 

259 

way of the land, the honour of the land," as the Dutch 
proverb puts it. 

On the point of etiquette, the Javanese, moreover, 
are infinitely more punctilious than any western people 
of our period. I believe they might even be said to 
surpass the Spaniards of the time of Philip II, in the 
elaborateness of their code of manners and in their 
strict adherence to its requirements. Every possible 
circumstance and occurrence in life have been foreseen, 

Waterfalls. 

and the appropriate conduct noted down in the un 
written law of the "adat"; the attitude, the gesture, 
and the set phrase, are all prescribed, down to the 
smallest detail. Nor is it a question of phraseology 
only; the very language is subject to the regulations 
of the adat, which distinguishes three separate and 
altogether different kinds of Javanese, according as a 
man speaks to his superior, his equal, or his inferior. 
For speech to one higher in rank, there is the " Kromo " ; 
commands to a subordinate are given in "Ngoko"; 

II 

i • 

.1 

 260 

IN THE HILL COUNTRY 

friends familiarly converse in a third idiom into which 
elements of the other two enter. The theory of these 
three kinds of Javanese is a science by itself, and one 
not easily acquired by a westerner. At the same time, 

\'* 

<->""'W*.^ ,V' : 

. 

«* -.-.[• 
í 

-* 

The Tji-mahi falls. 

it is imperatively necessary to him, if he would gain 
the esteem of the natives ; for the use of a Ngoko word 
when a Kromo term should have been employed, would 
mark the offender with an indelible brand of vulgarity 
and ill-breeding. When the Bible was being translated 

••••v • 

a 

3 

f 

I 

H 

 I 

IN THE HILL COUNTRY 

263 

into Javanese, this peculiarity of etiquette proved a 
considerable difficulty; and the missionaries had toconsult 
countless authorities and compare a thousand precedents, 
before they could settle the question whether Christ 
should address Pilate in Kromo or in Ngoko, or in the 
third idiom. A solecism would have fatally injured the 
"prestige" of the new religion: and itsministerscould 
not have escaped the accusation of being "koerang 
atjar" which being translated into English means 
"ill-bred." It was in order to avoid this qualification, 
that my friend and I seeing the country folk at the 
"passar" squat down in the dusty road, passed on, 
without so much as looking at them. 

Towards eleven o'clock, we reached the highest point 
of our journey—a ledge upon the mountain-side called 
Njadas Pangeran. Here, the hills on our right suddenly 
fell away, and the broad green plains of Cheribon lay 
disclosed, dazzling with sunlight and living water. At 
our feet, away far below, lay a brown hamlet in the 
midst of sawahs, like a lark's nest in a field of clover ; 
and the hills through which we had threaded our way, 
since dawn, hung in the western distance like massy 
clouds, tinted with brown and violet, and an exquisite, 
pale, half-transparent blue. We paused here for some 
minutes, to rest the horses, whilst we gathered armsful 
of a splendid orchid which grew in profusion on the 
hillside—great shiny snow-flakes of blossoms, with a 
touch of carmine on the curling petals; and then resumed 
the journey along a road which steadily sloped to the 
bottom of the valley. A muddy river runs through it, 
which we crossed on a primitive kind of ferry—the 
carriage, horses, and all standing on a raft, which a 
score of natives dragged and pushed across the shallow 
water. On the other bank, the road began to ascend 

 264 

IN THE HILL COUNTRY 

again ; we had reached the base of Tjerimai, and a drive 
of some two or three hours more, along a smooth road 
that passed by prosperous sugarcane plantations waving 
in the breeze with thousands of glossy green streamers, 
brought us at length to our destination—the little 
bamboo cottage upon the hillside, whither my friends 
repaired for a spell of coolness and a breath of 
mountainair, when the heat rendered the sojourn on 
their estate in the plains unendurable. It was about 
four in the afternoon when we entered the garden gates, 
and the air was as fresh as in the early morning. The 
breeze rustled through the tall flower-laden njamploeng- 
trees on the roadside ; there was a smell of water and 
moist stones in the air ; I heard the murmur of a brook 
over its rocky bed. This was the country of which hot, 
dust-stifled Batavia was the capital. The thing seemed 
scarcely credible. 

IN THE DESSA 

\.i 

 -. ;^ 

'* 

OuR bungalaw on the Tjerimai hillside was situated 
in the near neighbourhood af a native dessa. But we 
had been there for some time, before I became aware 
of the fact. And my first glimpse of the village was 
a surprise as fascinating as it was sudden. 

It chanced in the course of a cool clear morning, as 
we rode along on our way to the sacred grove of 
Sangean and the legend-haunted lake in its shadow. 

We had been skirting for some time what seemed 
to be an unusually dense bamboo~wood, when suddenly, 
in the wall of crowded stems, there appeared a breach 
and framed in it, lo! a prosprect of brown huts, with 
flowering fruit-trees set between, and a well-kept road 
in the middle, on which a score of children were playing 
about. A plough-man came along, driving a pair of 
grey buifaloes before him, women were coming and 
going, carrying waterpitchers and piled up baskets of 
fruit on their erect heads ; it was a busy hamlet in the 
heart of the wood. 

We entered, passing from the sunny hillside into 
the green twilight among the trees, and out again upon 
the village road, flecked with changeful lights and 
shadows. It was trim and clean as a gardenpath. 
The huts on either side of it had a prosperous look, 

18 

 268 

IN THE DESSA 

each standing in its own patch of ground, surrounded 
by fruit-trees—mangoes, bananas and djamboos that 
turned the soil purple with their fallen blossoms. The 
rice-barns shaped like a child's cradle, narrow at the 
base, and broadening out towards the top, were full 

Kaised shad from which the ripemng 
fields are watched. 

of sweet new rice and in the sheds sleek dun-coloured 
cattle stood patiently chewing the cud. 

I saw no men about, they were probably at work 
on the outlying ricefields. But here and there, under 
the pent-roofs of the houses, women sat at their looms 
busily weaving sarong-cloth. And on the doorsteps 
plump brown babies were rolling about. 

 Gunungan, or Pile of Sacrificial Food, as offered by women on Garebeg Mulud, the feast of the nativity of 

Nabi Muhamed, the Great Prophet. 

iW,, •»'.* 

-rj' ,x 

'' *'* » f' 

;*.j''" 

A native official and his followers. 

 IN THE DESSA 

273 

One hut we passed, where a very old man sat playing 
with a tiny baby, so exceedingly pretty, that we could 
not help stopping to admire it. With a proud smile 
he told us it was his great-grand-child. Its father and 
mother were living with him, and so indeed were all 
the other members of his numerous family, sons and 
daughters and grandsons and granddaughters who, 

Ricc-barn shaped like a childs cradle. 

each in turn, had wedded and brought a wife or a 
husband to the parental home. 

" There are over a score of them " said the patriarch 
proudly. To him had, in truth, been granted the prayer, 
which, on their wedding-day Javanese couples put up 
to the gods il Give us a progeny like to the spreading 
crown of the waringin tree." And the venerable sire, 

 :TI :. 

274 

IN THE DESSA 

I 

trusting in his helpless old age to the love and piety 
of his children, reminded one of the parent trunk, 
which, when decaying, is upheld by the stalwart young 
trees that have sprung up around it. 

We asked after his family. The children, the old 
man answered, were all out in the fields; no hands 
could be spared from the work just now. Only his 
youngest grand-daughter, the baby's mother, had stayed 
in the house, to look after the little one, and cook 
the familydinner. Yonder she was, at her bâtik-frame, 
painting the sarong-cloth with ñowers and butterflies. 
The girl looked up as he spoke, turning a pretty face 
on us; and smiled. 

" Ah ! happy those that live among the woods and 
flelds, if they but knew their happiness... ." It seemed 
to me that these dessa-folk knew theirs. 

And I filled my eyes and my heart with the scene 
before me—the low, brown roofs amidst the fniittrees, 
the merry-eyed children at play, the leisurely comings 
and goings of the women upon their daily occupation, 
with the rustling coolness and the soft green light of 
the bamboo leafage over it all ; gathering all the glad 
some beauty of it, that it might keep fresh and fragrant 
my thoughts, when I should have returned to the world 
outside, to the weariness, the fever and the fret to which 
we of the conquering race have condemned ourselves. 

As we rode on, and the wood-enshrined hamlet dis 
appeared among the folds of the hillrange, like the 
beautiful day-dream it all but seemed to me, I learnt 
that it was but a fair type of the prosperous dessa, 
such as it is found throughout the length and breadth 
of Java. 

The plan and general appearance of these native 
villages are always the same — a cluster of hnts, each 

:T' 

.~- y- 

Jîîî'»- 

-.— • .T*t 

'^. 

£ 

Jä 

il 

! I 

II 

I! ; 

 IN THE DESSA 

277 

standing in its own patch of ground, surrounded by a 
quick-set hedge; a main road from which numerous 
bye-paths diverge, leading through ; in the centre an 
open square, shaded by waringin trees, fronting the 
mosque ; then, surrounding the whole, a dense plantation 
of bamboo trees, which completely hides the village 
from sight. Around stretch meadows, ricefields, and 
plantions of nipahpalm, which, in many cases, are the 
property ofthe community. 

Where this particular form of proprietorship obtains, 
the village authorities assign portions of the communal 
fields in usufruct to such inhabitants of the dessa as 
will pledge themselves in return to pay certain taxas, 
and to perform certain duties entailed by the possession 
of landed property; the principal ofwhich are, keeping 
the roads and irrigation works in repair, and guarding 
the gates or patrolling the streets at night. Moreover 
in all matters touching the cultivation of these iields, 
they are obliged to observe the prescriptions of the 
"adat," and such regulations as the village authorities 
may deem proper to make. 

Very strict supervision is excercised in this matter, 
so as to prevent the occupant from exhausting, either 
through ignorance or neglect, the field, which, at the 
expiration of his lease, will be allotted to another 
member of the community. Disobedience to the commands 
of the village authorities is punishable by forfeiture of 
the right of occupation. 

In most districts, this communal right alternates with 
private proprietorship. 

According to the ancient custom, which has been 
ratified by the Colonial Regulations, whosoever, of his 
own free will, reclaims a piece of waste ground, by 
that act acquires the possession of the same, and the 

 278 

IN THE DESSA 

right to transmit it to his heirs, the " hereditary individual 
right," as the legal term is. Any native, desirous to 
obtain land on these terms, can apply for permission to 

^~~*" 

Sellers of rice. 

the Government, which, having taken the place of the 
ancient Sultans is considered as the "Sovereign of 
the Soil." This permission is never refused. So that, 

ïl 

o 
-,i 'E 

 IN ÏHE DESSA 

281 

under the communal regime as under the system of 
hereditary individual ownership, anyone who has the 
will to work is sure of being able to earn a sufficiency 
for himselfand his family. There need be no unemployed : 
there are no paupers in our sense of the word. It 
should be added, that the right of usufruct under the 
system of communal possession, can be converted into 
that of " hereditary individual ownership." But the in- 

. ---*; "--«*• ,-•*!---•' .= 

Woman pickiug cottoD, and man plaiting a sieve. 

herited communistic sentiment is so strongly developed 
in the people of the dessa, that they but rarely, if ever, 
avail themselves of the facilities, which the law oners 
them in this respect; they prefer that the community 
should own the soil. 

As might be expected the principle of solidarity which 
pervades these laws and customs, manifests itself even 
more strongly in the domestic life of the dessa-folk. 

 282 

IN THE DESSA 

The ties of kinship—though not those of marriage— 
are much respected by them. Parents are so absolutely 
sure of the love and filial piety of their children, that 

A Javanese family. 

they often, as they grow older, abandon all their property 
to them, content to live for the remainder of their days 
as their sons' and daughter's pensioners. And even the 

IN THE DESSA 

283 

most distant relation, who, like the nearest, is termed 
brother or sister, may count, in case of need, upon 
assistance and hospitality. Parents are free to bequeath 
their property as they like; and they sometimes give 
everything to the first-born son or daughter, without 
any of the other children protesting. But, just as fre 
quently, the heritage is left to all the descendants in 
common, when the paternal house is enlarged, so as to 

f;fl - n - 

,,. V ! "4 •" l l l',. 

Mat-plaiting. 

afford room for all the married sons and daughters and 
their families; and the produce of the fields is equally 
divided amongst them, as they equally divide the labour 
and the toil. Thus, through all chances and changes, 
the communistic principle is still maintained in the small 
community of the family, as in the greater one of the 
dessa. And indeed it may be said that the dessa is but 
the enlarged paternal house of the Javanese. All the 

19 

 284 

IN THE DESSA 

inhabitants of it are his kinsfolk and nearest of blood, 
whose interests are his own, whose prosperity or misery 
is bound up with his, and who are his natural allies in 
defending the common inheritance against the stranger. 
The bamboo enclosure which defines and defends the 
dessa and the environing fields—the common possession 
of all—are the symbols and the outward visible signs 
of this. 

Such then are the conditions which determine the 
existence of the Javanese husbandman—a happy life on 
the whole, exempt from hardship, excessive toil and 
care, and not without dignity or idyllic grace. 

The dessa-man has to work, certainly, but he need 
not slave ; a very moderate exertion is sufficient to 
procure him what food and raiment he wants. His 
neighbours are his next of kin, and spite occasional 
bickerings, his helpful friends. He has himself chosen 
the village-chief to whose authority he defers, and is 
free to follow that ancestral law of the adat, which, 
to him, is the embodiment of supreme wisdom and 
justice. And as he goes about his daily business, his 
labour in wood and field, still keeping time to the 
recurrent rhythm of the seasons, is graced by many a 
ceremony and religious rite, which while honouring 
the gods, rejoices the hearts of the worshippers. 

At these religious festivals called " Sedeka," sacrifices 
of flowers and fruits are offered to the deity and the 
ancient, naïve idea, that which is pleasant to human 
beings must also be acceptable to the gods, causes the 
Javanese to lay on his altar offering of the eatables he 
is fondest of himself. Such as spice-flavoured rice and 
all manner of sweetmeats. 

In this he does but as Jews and Greeks did before 
him. But there is a distinguishing detail about Javanese 

 ^i2'~''~ ~'~" ~-~j^ 

A bamboo hut. 

AVeigiing rice-sheaves. 

 IN THE DESSA 

289 

sacrilical rites,—a feature, which one is never quite sure 
whether to call eminently spiritual or naïvely gross and 
selfish. Of the food offered they believe the deity to 
enjoy the savour only; the celestial being disdains the 

Native official. 

material part. And so the worshippers, after a decorous 
interval of waiting, when they may suppose the invisible 
and imponderable essence of the meal to have been 
absorbed by the god, make a cheerful repast on the 
visible and ponderable parts left on the altar, thus 

 290 

IN THE DESSA 

combining piety and high living in one and the same 
act. In Java, if anywhere, it may be said, that, when 
the gods are honoured the people fare well. 

It would be somewhat invidious to inquire whether 
piety or appetite be the impelling motive; but, from 
whatever cause, the Javanese are most assiduous in 
the performance of sacrificial rites. Not only are the 
cardinal events of human existence, births, marriages 
and deaths, and the recurrent epochs of the agricultural 
year honoured with solemn observances, but any and 
every incident of daily existence is made the occasion 
of a " Sedeka." 

Sedeka is offered on setting out on a journey, on 
entering into any contract or agreement, on moving 
into a new house, on taking possession of a newly- 
acquired field: the sacrifice being oftenest dedicated to 
the "Danhjang dessa," tutelary genius of towns and 
villages ; to the spirits who render the soil fertile ; to 
the goddess Sri, protectress of the rice crops; and to 
all the ancestors, up to Father Adam and Mother Eve. 
Then too, side by side with these benignant deities, 
the wicked "seitans" and djinns are worshipped, the 
princes of the air, as powerful for evil as Sri and 1he 
Danhjang Dessa are for good, lt is they who send 
plagues and pestilence, who make the babe to die at 
its mother's breast, and the bufFalo to drop dead on 
the half-ploughed field ; who cause fires to destroy 
villages, and floods to sweep away the standing crops ; 
and who seduce men to theft, deceit, robbery, and 
violence. Since, then, they are so powerful for harm, 
it is wise to keep on terms of amity with them, and 
give even the Devil his due, bringing him the appointed 
sacrifices of eggs and yellow boreh-unguent and jessa 
mine blossoms. 

IN THE DESSA 

291 

These evil spirits, it should be noted, are exceedingly 
jealous, and one should never glory in the possession 
of any desirable thing, such as good health, riches, power, 
or-, above all, fine children, lest in their spite, they should 
turn lhese blessings into curses. But humility, or_still 
better contempt of the things men generally covet, 
conciliates them. Wherefure a Javanese mother- will 

— .i 

' ' ' ' 

Preparing the village field. 

often call her child, more particularly if it be remark 
able for grace and beauty, by a name implying that 
it is hateful, ugly and altogether worthless. 

Among the saints of El-Islam, Joseph the father of 
the christian prophet Jesus, is the one whom Javanese 
matrons venerate above all others; from him they 
implore the gift of beauty for their children. Nor do they 
implore in vain. Javanese babies are absolutely charming. 

 292 

TN THE BKAGH 

IN THE DESSA 

293 

The brilliancy of their black eyes, and the dusky tints 
of their soft skin give their round little faces a piquancy 
altogether fascinating. The blue eyes, fair hair and 

But aIas! these heavenly memories fade soon. The suns 
of a few East monsoons utterly wither them. Villon, 

Í :V 

Native nobleman and his wife. 

pale complexion of European children seem insiped by 
comparison. Now and then one sees faces amongst 
them, innocent and earnest as those which on Murillo's 
canvases surround thc Madonria in cloud-like clusters. 

'- 

-=s_' 

PeIicriuis returned from Mceca. 

could he see the grown-up youths and maidens of Java, 
would vary his melancholy refrain about fair dead 
ladies. "But where are the babes of yester-year?" 

f .. 

 ,llf 

294 

IN THE DESSA 

IN THE DESSA 

295 

Among adults beauty is as rare as, among children, 
it is common. So that after all, it seems Saint Joseph 
takes the prayer for fine childeren "at the foot of the 
letter " and answers the petition in a somewhat ironical 
spirit. 

Of the many " Sedeka's " which grace the agricultural 
year, those connected with the cultivation of the rice- 
plant are the most important. Java is essentially what, 
according to tradition, its ancient name betokens—the 
Land of the Rice. The whole island is one vast rice- 
tield. Rice on the swampy plains, rice on the rising 
ground, rice on the slopes, rice on the very summits 
of the hills. From the sod under one's feet to the utter 
most verge of the horizon, everything has one and the 
same colour, the bluish green of the young, or the 
tawny gold of the ripened rice. The natives are all, 
without exception, tillers of the soil, who reckon their 
lives by seasons of planting and reaping, whose happi 
ness or misery is synonymous with the abundance or 
the dearth of the precious grain. And the great national 
feast is the harvest home, with its crowning ceremony 
of the Wedding of the Rice. 

In order to approximately understand the meaning of 
this strange rite, it should be borne in mind that a 
Javanese, similar in this respect to the ancient Greek, 
believes all nature to be endowed with a serni-divine 
life. To him a tree is not a mere vegetable, nor a rock 
a mere mass of stone, nor the sea a mere body of water, 
any more than he regards a human being as a mere 
aggregate of ñesh, blood, and bone. A hidden principle 
of life, invisible, imponderable, and powerful for good 
or evil animates the seemingly inert matter. In this 
sense, a Javanese believes in the soul of a plant or a 
rock almost as he believes in the soul of a human 

being. And this soul he endeavours to propitiate with 
prayers, libations and offerings of fruit and flowers. 
Hence the frequent altars under old waringin-trees, in 
which the Danhjang dessa, tutelary genius of towns 
and villages, is believed to dwell. Hence the solemn 

A scholar. 

sacrifices to the Lady of the Sea, Njai Loro Kidoel, who 
has her shrine on the rocky south-coast. And hence 
too the rites in honour of Dewi Sri, the Javanese 
Demeter, whose soul animates the rice-plant,—rites 
which culminate in the Wedding of the Rice. 

 296 

IN THE DESSA 

At every Harvest-Home this mystical ceremony, the 
Pari Penganten, is celebrated; and the manner of its 
conducting is as follows: 

As soon as the owner of a field sees his rice ripening, 
he goes to the " dookoon-sawah " literally, the " medicine 
man of the rice-field," to consult him as to the day and 
hour when it will be meet to begin the harvest. This 
to a Javanese, is a most important matter, and it 
requires all the astrological,.necromantic^ndcabalistic 
knowledge of the dookoon-sawah to settle it. For there 
are many unlucky days in the Javanese year, and any 
enterprise begun on such a day is doomed to inevitable 
failure. After long and intricate calculations, into which 
the cabalistic values corresponding to the year, the 
month, the day, and the hour enter, an acceptable date 
is at last fixed upon by the dookoon-sawah, on which 
the selection of the Rice-Bride and Bridegroom is to 
take place. 

On the appointed day, having first solemnly conse 
crated the field by walking round it with a bundle of 
burning rice-straw in his hand, and by the planting 
of tall glagahstalks at each of the four corners, invoking 
Dewi Sri as he does so,—the dookoon begins to search 
for two stalks of rice exactly equal in length and 
thickness, and growing near each other. When these 
are found, four more are hunted for, two pairs of 
absolutely similar ears of rice. The first couple are 
the Bride and Bridegroom; the four others the brides 
maids and the "best men," (if the term may be 
used to designate what the French call garçons d'hon- 
neur.) These couples are now tied together as they 
stand, with strips of palm-leaves, and the doekoen 
invokes on them the blessing of Dewi Sri. Then he 
addresses the Rice-Bride and the Rice-Bridegroom, asking 

 lN THE DESSA 

299 

thern, each in turn, whether they accept each other 
as husband and wife, and answering for them. The 
marriage now is concluded ; the stalks are smeared 
with yellow boreh-unguent, decorated with garlands, 
and shaded from the sun by a tiny awning of palm 
leaves, whilst thc stalks round about are cut off. 

Riccjbarn. 

Now the dookoon, the owner of the field and his 
family, all those who have in any way helped in pre 
paring the "Sawah," or planting the rice, sit down to 
a "Slamettan," a repast which is at the same time a 
sacrifice to the gods, and a further celebration of the 
marriage just contracted; and, at the end ofthe banquet, 

20 

t Ï 

l|'. 

 300 

TN THE DESSA 

the doekoen, rising.up, solemnly declares thatthehour 
of the harvest has come. 

Now, it is the kindly custom of Javanese land-owners 
to invite to the harvest-feast all who, during the past 
month, have taken any part, however slight, in the 
cultivation of the Sawah. And as, under so eleborate 
a system of agriculture as is demanded by the growing 
of rice, these are necessarily many, the Pari Penganten 
is a feast for the whole "dessa" as well as for a single 

<f 

i 
=*..i ^'. 

' 

•- ."'**- 

* A ' - Au!^JC**-**SWB" 

-7^*^ -"> 

Peasant ploughing. 

family. The men leave their work in the shops or the 
market, the women lay down the sarong-cloth on which 
for weeks and weeks they have been patiently tracing 
elaborate patterns with wax, and blue and brown 
pigment; and all, in holiday attire and with flowers 
wreathed in their hair or stuck into a fold of their 
head-kerchief, repair to the ripe rice-field. 

The dookoon-sawah is the first to enter it; and, as 
he does so, he in this wise greets the spirits of the field/ 

B 

3 

 IN THE DESSA 

303 

" 0 ! thou invisible Pertijan Siluman ! do not render 
vain the labour I have bestowed upon my sawah ! If 
thou dost render it vain, I will hack thy head in two! 
Mother Sri Penganten ! hearken ! do thou assemble and 
call to thee all thy children and grand-children! let 
them all be present and let not one stay away! I 
wish to reap the rice. 1 will reap it with a piece of 
whetted iron. Be not afraid, tremble not, neither raise 

"The |irodurc of thc fields is c |ually (livii]wl amongst thrm as they equally 
divide (he labour and the toil." 

thine eyes! All my prayers implore thy favour and 
gracious protection. Also, I propose to prepare a sacri 
ficial repast, and dedicate it to the spirits that protect 
this my sawah ; and to the spirits that protect the four 
villages nearest to this our village, and also to Leh- 
Saluke and Leh-Mukalana!" 

Having pronounced this invocation, he cuts off the 
ears which represent the Rice-Bride and Bridegroom 

 304 

IN THE DESSA 

and their four companions, and the reapers begin their 
work. The implement they use is best described as a 
cross-hilted dagger of bamboo, having a little knife 
inserted into the wooden blade; the reaper, holding 
the hilt in the fingers of his right hand, with the 
thumb presses the rice-stalk against the small knife, 
severing the ear, which he gathers in his left hand; 
and thus he cuts off each ripe ear separately with a 
gesture as delicate as if he were culling a llower. The 
whole rice harvest of Java is reaped in this manner. 
The loss of time may be imagined. The Government 
has, again and again, tried to introduce the use ofthe 
sickle and more expeditious methods, but in vain. In 
all things, the Javanese love to do as their fathers did 
before them ; and, in this particular matter of the reap 
ing of the rice, their attachment to ancestral customs 
is still further strenghthened by a religious sentiment. 
The Dewi Sri herself they believe, having assumed the 
shape of a gelatik or rice-bird, which broke off the 
iipe ears with its bill, taught mortals the manner in 
which it pleased her that her good gift of the rice 
should be gathered. And accordingly, her votaries to 
the present day do gather in thus, culling each ear 
separately. In their opinion, to use a sickle would be 
to show a wanton disrespect to the goddess, and a 
contempt of her precious gift, as if it were not worth 
gathering in a seemly manner; a sacrilege which the 
outraged deity would not fail to avenge by famine and 
pestilence. On the other hand, what would they gain 
by departing from their ancestors' honoured custom, 
and adopting instead the manners of the men from 
Holland? "Time," these men respond. But then,that 
means nothing to a Javanese. He no more wants to 
"gain time" than he wants to "gain" fresh air or 

n 

¿i-ív 

 IN THE DESSA 

307 

sunlight. It is there; he has it; hc will always have 
it. What absurdity is this talk of "gaining" an assured 
and ever-present possession? 

The idea of time as an equivalent for a certain 
amount — the greatest possible — of labour performed, 
is essentially occidental. A Javanese not only does not 
understand it, but he shrugs his shoulders and smiles 
at the notion. He does not see what possible relation 
there can be between a day and what these white men 
call a day's work. He works, undoubtedly; but he 
works in a quiet deliberate fashion, for just so long as 
he thinks pleasant, or fit, or when the monsoon threatens, 
unavoidable ; and then he stops ; and. if the task be 
not finished, well, it may be finished some future day. 
There is no cause why any ado should be made about 
it. Everything in time. And let us remernber that 
haste cometh of the evil. 

At last, however, the harvest is reaped, and the hour 
has coine for the Rice-Bride and I3ridegoom to repair 
to their new home. The two reapers on whom devolves 
the honourable duty of conducting them thither, don 
their very best clothes for the occasion, and daub their 
faces with yellow boreh-unguent. Then to the strains 
of the gamelan and followed by all the reapers, men 
and women in solemn procession, they carry the garland 
ed sheaves to the house of the owner of the field. He 
and his wife meet them in the doorway; and, in set 
phrase, they inform the Rice-Bride and Bridegroom 
that the house is swept and garnished, and all thing 
ready for their reception. The procession thcn wends 
its way to the granary, where a small space, surround 
ed by screens and spread with clean new matting, 
represents the bridal chamber. 

The Rice-Bride and Groom and their "maids and 

 308 

IN THE DESSA 

youths of honour" are introduced into this miniature 
room, the other sheaves are piled up in the loomboong 
(rice-born) and when the whole harvest is stored, the 
dookoon-sawah pronounces the prayer to the Goddess Sri. 

- -.' ' -•. '• ,*,f * 

îf '*• . { : ;-.- - - 

:. '}ie, ^ ; ;, 

The men, with the father of the bride at lheir head, cunie for the 
bridegroom, to conduct him to the mosque." 

"Mother Sri Penganten, do thou sleep in this dark 
granary, and grant us thy protection. It is meet that 
thou shouldst provide for all thy children and grand 
children." 

IN THE DESSA 

309 

Then the door of the loomboong is locked ; and during 
forty days none dare unlock it. At the end of that 
time the honey-moon of the Rice-Bride and Bridegroom 
is supposed to be over. The owner of the field comes 

6 ~ 

»i.-t- 

• . 

,. • r-»\';i 

*t 

• .:i 

- i:"'_ _^ 

"With measured steps the two advanced towai'ds each other, and whilst vct 
at some distance paused." 

to the loomboong, unlocks the door, and in set phrase 
invites the couple to an excursion on the river. " The 
boat," he says, "lies ready; and the rowersknowhow 
to handle the oars." With this comparison the process 
of husking the grain is designated. 

 310 

IN THE DESSA 

The sheaves are laid in the hollowed-out tree-trunk 
which serves as a kind of mortar, and the women, 
bringing down the long wooden pestles in a rhythmic 
cadence husk the rice. And this is the end of the Pari 
Penganten. 

But, as the proverb has it, "of a wedding comes a 

,\-^' 

V.. 

" Humbly kneeling down, the bride proceeded to wash the bridegroom's fcet, 
in token of )oving submission," 

wedding" and this mystic marriage ofthe rice invariably 
proves the prelude to marriages among the young folk 
of the dessa, who, have met and wooed and won one 
another during the long days of common work and 
play in the ripe rice-field. During our stay on the 
Tjeremai hill-side we had occasion to convince ourselves 
of this. The Pari Penganten was but just over when 

IN THE DESSA 

311 

we arrived ; and already several marriages were being 
arranged in the dessa, among the number that of the 
headman's pretty daughter to a good-looking youth, 
her remote cousin. 

As a preliminary the village scholar had been con 
sulted as to the young couple's chances of happiness; 
and he having declared the cabalistic meaning of their 

,. v-v 

.> 

V. >, 

; __ t. _ *iii/ ¿- î ^ • • •; *--';=\ 

%!~'^ V-: "V-:ii-; 

Bride and bridegroom sitting in state. 

united initials to be " a broadly-branching waringin-tree" 
which is the symbol of health, riches and a numerous 
progeny, the parents, reassured as to the future of their 
children, had begun negotiations about the dowry. This, 
it should be noted, is given by the family of the future 
husband. 
After a great deal of haggling and protesting, they 

 312 

IN THE DESSA 

IN THE DESSA 

313 

had at last agreed upon a sum about half-way between 
the amount originally offered by the bridegroom's parents 

,** 
>« 

"V'~~s 

TJie wedding-guests 011 the!r procession through thc village. 

and that demanded by the father of the bride. In due 
course, then, the youth had sent the customary presents 
of food, clothes, and domestic utensils to the" house of 

his bride. And now he was busy preparing himself 
for the great day. He had had his teeth filed almost 
to the gurns, and blackened till they shone like lacquer, 
so that his enthusiastic mother and sisters compared 
his mouth to the ripe pomegranate, in which the black 
seeds show through the red flesh. And, day by day, 
he went to the village-priest to recite to him the words 
of the marriage-formula, which he did, sitting up to 
his chin in the cold water of the tank behind the 
mosque, the priest standing over him, Koran in hand. 
The bride, on her side, had been living on a diet of 
three tea-spoonfuls of rice and a glass of hot water 
per diem, so as to lose flesh and—according to Javanese 
notions—gain beauty against the happy day; and to 
the great satisfaction of her family she was now so 
thin, that they could almost see the (lame of the oilwick 
shining through her. 

Meanwhile the entire population of the dessa was 
busy with preparations for the marriage-feast. The 
women might be seen all day long, under the pent-rool 
of the bride's house and in the kitchen, pounding rice, 
boiling vegetables, broiling iish, roasting goats' flesh, 
and mixing all manner of condiments for the innumer 
able dishes, which figure at a Javanese repast. And 
the young inen were chopping wood and carrying water 
as if for their livelihood. 

At length the wedding-day arrived. 

The sun had hardly risen when already the women 
of the village were up and stirring, hastening on their 
way to the house of the bride, whom they were to 
assist at her toilet. This was a most complicated affair, 
the girl's hair having to he dressed in a curious and 
elaborate fashion, requiring much twisting and coiling 
of oil-saturated tresses, intorwoven with wreaths of 

 314 

IN THE ÜESSA 

jessamine blossom, and fixed with large ornamental 
pins; and a row of little curls must be painted on the 
forehead with black pigment. Furthermore the face 
must be carefully whitened with rice-powder, and the 
shoulders and arms anointed with yellow boreh-unguent. 
It need hardly be said that it required the whole morn 
ing to bring these many and delicate operations to a 
satisfactory end. 

The men, meanwhile, with the father of the bride 
at their head, had gone to the house ofthe bridegroom, 
to conduct him in solemn procession to the mosque, 
where the priest was to perform the marriage-ceremony 
between him and the representative of the bride; for, 
according to Javanese notions, a woman has no busi 
ness at a wedding—least of all at her own. From the 
mosque the groom then returned to his own house, 
where he proceeded to a toilet hardly less elaborate 
than that of his bride. After a considerable time, he 
issued forth again, resplendent with boreh-unguent, 
garlands of jessamine-blossoms and silver ornaments. 
He mounted a richly caparisoned pony, which his 
" youth of honour " held ready for him ; and, at the head 
of the procession, triumphantly rode to his bride's house, 
where the guests were waiting, my friends and I among 
the number, to witness the meeting of the newly-wedd 
ed pair. 

As the bridegroom drew rein in front of the house, 
the bride supported by two maids of honour, slowly 
came out of her chamber. With measured steps the 
two advanced towards each other; and whilst yet at 
some distance paused. Two small bags of sirih-leaves 
containing chalk and betel-nuts were handed them; 
and with a quick movement each threw his at the 
other's head. The bride's little hag struck the groom 

IN THE DESSA 

315 

full in the face. "It is she that will rule the roost," 
said one of the women, chuckling. And I fancied a 
saw a gleam of satisfaction pass over the bride's demure 
little face, half hidden though it was by the strings of 
beads and jessamine flowers dependent from her head 
dress. The next moment however, she had humbly 
knelt down on the floor. One of the bridesmaids handed 
her a basin full of water, and a towel ; and she proceed- 

"The men sat down to a repast." 

ed to wash her husband's feet, in token of loyalty and 
loving submission. 

When she was done, he took her by the hand, raising 
her ; and led her towards the middle of the apartment, 
where a piece of matting was spread on the floor. On 
this she squatted down, holding up a handkerchief ; and 
the bridegroom threw into it some rice, some " peteh "- 
beans and some money, symbolising the sustenance 
which he bound himself to afford her. The symbolical 
ceromonies were then concluded by his sitting down 
next to her, and putting three spoonfuls of rice, knead- 

21 

 I i- 

316 

IN THE DESSA 

ed into little balls, into her mouth, after which he ate 
himself what was left in the dish. The solemn part 
of the proceedings being now over, the festivities began. 
As a preliminary, the bridal party was to go in solemn 
procession through the village; and they were mar 
shalled in order before the door. 
A curious cortege it was. At the head appeared two 
" barongans " the images of a giant 
and a giantess, carried on the 
shoulders of men who were hidden 
in the large framework; then 
came the gamelan orchestra, bells, 
drums, kettles, viols and all ; next 
a group of men mounted on hobby 
horses, and beating on the sono 
rous "angkloeng." * After these 
came some half dozen women, 
carrying the bridal insignia—paper 
birds, bunches of green leaves and 
paper flowers, and tall fans made 
of peacocks feathers. A group of 
priests followed, beating tambour 
ines and chanting a sort of epith- 
alamium. Next came the bride 
and her maidens in a litter, carried 
upon the shoulders of four men; 
and immediately after her the 
bridegroom on horseback followed 
by a group of musicians. The wedding-guests brought 
up the rear. 

In this order the procession took the road; went 
round the dessa twice; and finally halted at the house 
of the bridegroom. 

* An instrument composed uf a series of graduated bamboo tubes. 

<d. 
't 

-_J|' 

,* 

Í 

Native poU<:emaii. 

IN THE DESSA 

317 

The father appeared in the door, as soon as he heard 
the music approaching ; came out to meet the proces 
sion; and advancing towards the litter of the bride, 
lifted her out of it, and carried her into the house, 
where the bridegroom's relations were seated in a circle 
to receive her. To these she was now, with great 
ceremony, introduced as the daughter of the house, 
whilst she and the bridegroom saluted every member 
of the assembly in turn, by kneeling down and kissing 
his or her feet. 

The guests were then invited to enter, and the men 
sat down to a repast, at which the women served them, 
whilst the bride and bridegroom took their meal together, 
separately from the rest. 

We took advantage of the momentary bustle to slip 
away unobserved. There was not a soul to be seen 
on the moonlit village street;the huts were dark and 
silent ; and at the entrance of the village the watchman 
on duty for the night had left his post vacant. 

A din of laughter and buzzing voices pursued us as 
we descended the hill-path to our bungalow. And all 
that night, long after the last cricket had ceased his 
song we heard the thin clear notes of the gamelan 
resounding from the heights. 

 EPILOGUE 

 % 

» V- 

\ 

%*• *»?fc«äK. 

¿fr- 

^v_- 

W--- 

'fe 

As I write these lines—adding a last touch to the 
slight sketches in which I have endeavoured to render 
my impressions of this country^the shrill whistle of 
steam and the thudding and panting of powerful engines 
are in my ears, and I see the radiant sky blackened 
by volumes of smoke. The "campaign" has begun in 
the Cheribon plains. In endless file the lumbering, 
buffalo-drawn "pedatis"* creaking under the load of 
luscious green sugar-cane, jolt along upon the dusty 
road, on their way to the factory yonder,—a great, 
square, ungainly building, all around which there is a 
stir and bustle of dark figures, like the swarming of 
ants around an ant-hill. The gate is thrown wide ; tall 
black shapes loom through the semi-darkness of the 
interior; and, now and then, the sudden flare from a 
furnace reveals the bulging, sooty-black mass of a 
boiler, or the contour of the gigantic wheel slowly 
revolving. The nauseous smell of the boiling syrup 
taints the air. 

*Carts thc wheels of which are wooden dises. 

 322 

EPILOGUE 

I went to the mill, the other morning, to watch the 
transformation of the beautiful tall reeds, which, only 
a few hours ago, so gaily fluttered their pennon-like 
leaves in the wind and sunshine without, into a shape 
less pulp, and a turbid viscous liquor. The " mandoor " 
showed me the first sugar-bags of the season. I looked 
at them with some interest beyond that which they 
deserved in themselves. We were to be companions 
on the journey westwards, .and already the steamer 
which was to convey us hence, was riding at anchor 
in the roadstead of Cheribon. 

Last impressions, it is said, are the strongest, and 
those which ultimately fix the mental images. If so, I 
will remember Java, years hence, not as the fairy-land 
it seemed to me only yester day, in the sylvan solitudes 
of Tjerimai, but as a busy manufacturing country, 
prosperous and prosaic. 

I will remember a rich soil, an enervating climate, 
alternating droughts and inundations and fever-breath- 
ing monsoons; a mode of life, comfortable and even 
luxurious, but monotonous in the extreme, which taxes 
to the utmost both mental and physical energies. I 
will think of white dusty towns by yellow muddy 
rivers; of hills, and vales, and marshy lowlands over 
grown with thick, sprouting rice ; of admirable izTiga- 
tion works; of a system of political admistration, 
apparently wise and equitable and conducive to the 
well-being of a prosperous native population. And I 
will be at a loss how to reconcile all these hard solid 
facts about Java with the airy fancier, the legends and 
the dreams, which must still, as with white splendours 
of zodiacal light, illumine my thoughts of the beautiful 
island. 

It seems impossible that both should be true. And 

EPILOGUE 

323 

yet, I know that the fancies are every whit as real 
and living as the facts, that the poetry and the romance 
are as faithful representations of things as they are, as 
the driest prose could be. 

Even now, whilst in the factory yonder, fires roar, 
engines pant, and human beings sweat and toil, to 
change the dew-drenched glory of the fields into a 
marketable commodity some hamlet in the plains is 
celebrating the Wedding of the Rice with many a 
mystic rite. Some native chief, celebrating the birth of 
a son, welcomes to his house the " dalang," the itinerant 
poet and playwright, who on his miniature stage, repre 
sents the councils of the Gods, and the adventures, in 
war and love, of unconquerable heroes, and of queens 
more beautiful than the dawn. And in the sacred grove 
of Sangean on Tjerimai, the green summit of which 
dominates the southern horizon, some huntsman, crouch 
ing by the shore of the legend-haunted lake, invokes 
the Princess Golden Orchid, and her saintly brother, 
Radhen Pangloera. who live in a silver palace deep 
down in the shining water, and who shower wealth, 
honour, and long life upon the mortal, who pronounces 
the names the spirits of the lake know them by. Nay— 
on this very estate, amid the smoke of the factory- 
chimneys romance still holds her own. The mythopceic 
fancy of the country-folk has enthroned a " danhjang," 
tutelary genius of the field, in the branches of an 
ancient waringin-tree out in the fields. On their way 
to the mill, men and women pause in its shade, to 
hang little paper fans on the branches, or deposit on 
the humble altar jessamine blossoms, yellow "boreh" 
unguent and new-laid eggs in homage to the agrestic 
god. Now, the waringin tree stands in a field of sugar- 
cane, where its wide-spreading roots exhaust the soil, 

 I 

324 

EPILOGUE 

and its broad shadow kills the young plants within an 
ever expanding circle. Clearly, it should be cut down. 
But the owner of the estate, warned by recent events, 
wisely forbears. lIc chooses to put up with these in 
conveniences, rather than expose himself and his property 
to the revenge which the votaries of the Danhjang 
would undoubtedly take, if a sacriligious hand were 
laid on his chosen abode. And so, the Sacred Waringin 
thrives and flourishes in the midst of the plantations 
of sugar-cane, a fit symbol of the romance which, in 
this island, pervades all things, even those the most 
prosaic in appearance. 

It is this, I believe, this constant intrusion of the 
poetic, the legendary, the fanciful into the midst of 
reality, which constitutes the unique charm of Java. 
This is the secret of the unspeakable and irresistible 
fascination by which it holds the men of the north, 
born and bred among the sterner realities ofEuropean 
civilisation. A spell which becomes so potent as to 
countervail ills which otherwise would prove unbearable ; 
and to temper, with a regret and a strange sense of 
want, the joys of the exile's home-coming. 

And this, too, is the reason why, to me as to so 
many who have beheld Java not with the bodily eye 
alone, it must still remain a land of dreams and fancies, 
the Enchanted Isle where innocent beliefs and gladsome 
thoughts, such as are the privilege of children and 
childlike nations, still have their happy home. 

ILLUSTRATIONS 

Page 

*Mask used by Topeng-players . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 

*Batik-freme for the exclusive use of ladies of quality . . . . . . V 

A "brownie" of that cnchantetl garden that men call Java . - . . Z 

*Batik-pattern. . . . . ., . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 

"Fishing-praos, their diminutive hull almost disappearing under thc one tall 
whitish-brown sail, shaped like a bird's wing and (lung back, as if ready for 
a swoop and rake" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6 

"The ship lay still and wc trod thc quay of Tandjoiig Priok" . . . . 7 

*Sekin. (Interior of Sumatra) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11 

*Fonr-armed Civa. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 

*Lamp.—Garnda the Suu-Bird in the shape of a winged woman . . . . . 14 

*Landing of a Hindoo Ship.—Relief to Borobocdoer (Java) . . . . . . . 15 

" A seller of frnit and vegetables his baskets dangling from the cnd of a bamboo yoke " 17 
"Pine-apples and mangosteeii, velvety rambootan anil smooth-skinned dookoo" . 19 
"T]ie big kalongs hanging from the topmost branches in a sleep from which the 
sunset will presently awaken thcm . . . . . . . , . . . 21 

*Ivory Mortar aud Pestle, deeoraled with representations of scenes from the Life 
of Krishna. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26 

*Mask used by Topeng-players . . . ,. . . . . . . . . .. . . 28 

*Wayang "bèbèr", drawing, representing thestoryofJujakaPrataka.(Vide:Vreede 
Catalogue of Javanese and Madnrese MS. Leiden 1892, page 196) . . . . 39 

"A triple row of branching tamarinds" . . . . . . . . . . . 32 

"The idyUic Duke's park, very shadowy, fragrant and green" . . 33 
Tae bnsiness quarter of Batavia . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3R 

A footsore Klontong trudging wearily along . . . . . . . . . 37 

fThe Chinese Quarter . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39 

"The West-monsoon has.set in, flooding the town". . . . . . 40 

f"The Kali Batawi on its way through the Chinese Quarter" . . . . . 41 

fEutrance to a rich Chinaman's House . . .- . . . . . . . 43 

 •326 

ILLUSTKATIONS 

Page 

51 

53 

55 

60 

61 

62 

67 

71 

75 

77 

78 

80 

" A glimpse of the river as it glides along between the bamboo groves of i(s margins " 45 
fProcession at the funeral of a rich Chinaman . . . . . . . . . . 50 

fFuncral procession on its way to the Chinese Country 
fBurning of symbolical figures at a Chinese Funeral 

"The deliberate stream sauntering along at its own pace ou its way froin the 
hills to thc sea" 

*Bamboo case. (Java: Preanger Regencies) . 

*Batik-pattern . 

" Compound " of a Batavia House . 
fThe servants' kitchen . 
fNative servants . . . . . . . • . 

fNative gardener 
fNative footboy . 
fSacred gnn near the Amsterdam-gate, Batavia . 

*Brass flower-pot, modern (Java: Resid of Siirabaya) 

*Wayan? bèbèr, drawing, representing the story of Djaka Prataka. (Vide: Vreede, 
Catalogue of Javanese and Madurese MS. Leiden 1892. page 196) . 

*ilanrlau. (S. E. Borueo) . . . . . . . . . . . . . - . 

Raksasa (Demon) . 

*Mask used by Topeng-players 

*Creese. (Java) . 

fThe River-Bath . . . .. . . . . . . . . . 

fA Laundry in the River . 
Native Lady travelling in her Litter. . 
A Litter. 
fThe Market, at Malang . . . . . . . . 

fStreet-Daiicers . 

Musicians . 
fThe native cithara and violin 

Clasp for fastening a kabaya in front . 
fA native restaurant in its most cornpendioiis shape. . . . . . . . . 115 

"For the moming and evening meal he prefera the open air and the cuisine of 
the Warong . 

fA kitchen . 

A native restaurant in its simplest and most cumpendious shape. . . . . 121 
fNative restaurant . 
Breakfast in the open air. 

"Here thcy are: without playthings naked and supremely happy" . 
fA Chinese Carpenter . 
fA Chinese Dyer 

" The miniatnre stage on which the lives and adventures uf Hindoo Heroes. Queens 

and Saints are acted over again by ]iuppets ot' gilt and painted leather". 
Scene in a Wayang-Wong Place . 

81 

95 

96 

98 

99 

101 

103 

104 

105 

107 

110 

111 

112 

113 

117 

120 

123 

125 

129 

130 

131 

133 

136 

ILLUSTRATIONS 

327 

The Regent of Malang's Wayang-Wong . 

The native orchestra which accompanies every represeotation of the Wayang 

Wayang-Wong Players missing a Fight . 

Wayang-Wong Scene . 

Scenes from a Wayang-Wong Pky . 

"Topeng" played by masked actors . 

"Topeng" actors . 

"Slowly they advance gliding rather than walking" . 

Strtet-dancers . 

"The dancers stand listening for the inusii-," . 

A Wayang representation . 

A Wayang representation . 

*Copper Bish, decorated with Wayang-fignres 

*Wooileu model of a boat (majang.—Java: lles. of Japara) 

*Batik-pattern . 

*Balinese crease.—Stabbard made of "Kajoe pèlèt". 

*Padi-Reaper.—Java. 

*Laksjmi seated on a lotos-cushion 

*Batik-pattern taken from a Head-kerchief . 

Buffaloes at grass . 
fAvenue leading to the Botanical-garden. 

A Nipah Palm. 

The Brantas-River.—Malang , 

A Javanese. 

A Hill-man. 
f"In the depth of the rav!nR" 

Watrh-men. 
fPrinsenlaan-corner, Batavia . 

"The beautiful taU reeds of the sugaraane, their pennon-like gleaming in the 
sunshine" 

Avenue of old Waringin-trees, Botanieal-garden, Bnitenzorg . 
fA cactus in flower. 

fGnm tree, Botanieal-garden, Bnitenzorj . 
fPalmtrees in the Botanieal-garden 
fA Waringin-tree . 
t"A path leading from sunshine into dappled shade and from shade into 

sunshine again". 

f" A bamboo-grove where was an incessant rnstling and waving of foliage though 
no wind" 

"Carriers walking by the side of their lumbering, buUoctdrawn pedati, which 

creaks along the sun-scorched roads" . 
fPalm trees and Arancaria 

f"A taU glooruy avenue of Kenari-trees, the sky but faintly showing though 
their sombre branches , 

Page 
137 
139 
141 
145. 
149 
152 
15a 

155 

156 

157 
159' 

160 

161 
164 
16& 

181 

182 

184 

185 

188 

189 

194. 

195 

197 

198 

199 
201 
20a 

204 

205 

208 

210 

211 

214 

216 

217 

21» 

222 

 328 

ILLUSTRATIONS 

Submerged rice-ficlds . 
fBamboo-bridge near Batu-Tiilis 
Bamboo-bridge across the Tjitaroon . . . . . . . . - - - 

Bamboo-bridge across the Tjitaroon . 

*Brass water-kettle.—Java: Kes. of Surabaya. 

*Copper Dish, decorated with Wayang-figures 

*.Iavancse girl . 

*Relief to Boroboedoer. 
A village couple . 
Near Garoot . . . . . . . . .. . 

A "brownie" of that enchanted garden that men call Java . 
Girl from the Preanger-Country . 
Javanese of the higher class . 
Girl from Kadoo . 
fWomen pounding rice. . . . . . . . . . . - . 

The rapids of the Tjitaroon . . 

Pangcran Adipati Mangkoe Boemi (Djokjakarta) . 

Javanese Lady. 

WaterfaUs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

The Tjimahi faUs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

f"Thrcmgh the darkling stillness of the grove there break the splendour and the 
sonnd of living water". 

Pedang. (Interior of Sumatra) 

*Gant'ca. — The (iod of Wisdom . 

*Priests with tLeir Guru or Teacher . 
Raised shad from which the ripening fields are watched . 
lunnugan, or Pile of Sacrificial Food, as offered by women, on Garebëg Mnlud, 
the f'cast of the nativity of Nabi Muhamed, the Great Prophet. (Vide: Gronc- 
man,"theGareheg"."TheHaguel895,page33). . . . . . . . 

A native official and his followers . 
fKice-barn shaped like a childs cradle 

"A progeny like to the spreading crown of the waringiu-tree" . 
Sellers of riec . 
fWomen dyeing sarong-cloth . 
fWoinan picking cotton, and men plaiting a sieve . 

A Javanese Family 
fMat-plaitiug 
fA bamboo hut. 

Weighing rice-sheaves . 
fNative official . 
Preparing the village h'eld 
Native noblcnian and his wife . - . .. . 

fPilgrims returned frorn Mecca . 

*Gunnu 

Page 
225 
227 

229 

230 

231 

232 

234 

235 

237 

241 

246 

247 

249 

251 

253 

254 

256 

257 

259 

260 

261 

264 

266 

267 

268 

270 

271 

273 

275 

278 

279 

281 

283 

283 

286 

287 

289 

291 

292 

293 

ILLUSTRATIONS 

fA scholar . 

Filling the village field 
fHice-barn . 
Peasant ploughing. 
Kice on the swampy plains . 
"The produce of the fields is equally divided amongst them as they equally divide 

the labour and the toil" . 
l<looded rice-fields . 

f'Tlie incu, with the father of the bride at their head, had come for the bride 
groom, to condnct him to the mosqnc " . 
t"WHn measured steps the two advanced towards each other, and whilst yet at 

some distance paused" . 
f"Hnnibly kneeling down, the bride proceeded to wash the bridegroom's feet, in 

token of loving submission" . 
fBride and bridegooni sitting in state. 

fThe wedding-guests on their procession through the village . 
t"The men sat down to a repast" 
Native Policeman . 

*Mandou (S. E. Borneo) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

*Vishnu the preserver, four-armed, standing on a lotos-cushion, lotos-plauts to his 
right and left, under which two women stauding: Laksjmi and Satiavana tlie 
Consorts of the God. (Java) 

*Javanfse Type . 

*Creasc. (Java) . 
A seller of Peruvian bark. 
Crease. (Java) . 
A iIahiy . . . . . . . . . . . . 

Crease. (Java) . 

*Kartakeya Çiva's Son, the War-God, seated on a pea-cock. 
Cock-fighting . 

329 

Page 
295 
297 

299 

300 

301 

303 

306 

308 

309 

310 

311 

312 

315 

316 

317 

318 

320 

321 

325 

329 

330 

331 

331 

332 

The illustrations niarked * are taken from originals in the Leyden Ethnographical 

Museum, those marked f from the Haarlem Colonial Museum. 
Vide also: H. H. Jnyuboll, "Das Javanische Maskenspiel" in- Intern. Archiv. 

fur Et.hn. XIV 41. 
L. Serrurier, De Wayang Poerwa. Eene ethnologische studie. Lciden 1896. 

 "iiS'jLli' 

(!ONTENTS 

TV 

'7 v s 

rROLOGUE . 
I. FIRST GLlMl'SES . . . 

II. A BATAVIA llüTEL . . 

III. THE TOWN . . . . 

IV. A COLONIAL HOME. 

V. SOCIAL LIFE . . . . . 

VI. 6LIMl'SES OF NATIVE LIFE 

VII. ON THE IiEACn . . . . 

VIII. OF BUITENZOKG. . . . 

IX. IN TlIE IIlLL COUNTRY . 

X. IN THE DESSA . . . 
EPILOGUE . . . 
ILLUSTRATIONS . . 

V 

1 

IS 

27 

59 

79 

97 

1C3 

183 

233 

265 

319 

323 

\ 

PRINTED IN HOLI.AND 

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