Max Havelaar;

by Multatuli

There is a profound chasm between Erwin von Steinbach and our architects! I know, that for many years they have been occupied in filling up that chasm; at Cologne too they are again working at the Cathedral. [[56]]But will they be able to join the broken wire; will they be able to find again in our days, what constituted the power of prelate and builder?—I do not think so. Money may be contributed, stone and lime may be bought, a draughtsman may be paid to draw a plan, and a mason to fix the stones——but the lost and still venerable faith, that saw in an edifice a poem—a poem of granite, that spoke very loudly to the people—a poem in marble, that stood there as an immovable continual eternal prayer, cannot be purchased with money. * * * *

There was one morning an unusual bustle on the frontiers between Lebak and Pandaglang. Hundreds of saddled horses were on the way, and a thousand men at least, a large number for that place, ran to and fro in active expectancy. There were the chiefs of the villages, and the district chiefs of Lebak, all with their followers; and judging from the beautiful Arab steed, that stood there in his rich caparison, a chief of great importance must be there also. Such was the case. The Regent of Lebak, Radeen Adhipatti, Karta Natta Negara,[3] had left Rankas-Betong with a numerous retinue, and notwithstanding his great age had travelled the twelve or thirteen miles that separated his residence from Pandaglang. A new Assistant Resident was coming; and custom, which has [[57]]the force of law in the Indies more than anywhere else, will have it that the officer who is intrusted with the rule of a district must be festively received on his arrival. The Controller, too, was present. He was a man of middle age, and after the death of the last Assistant Resident, being the next in rank, had carried on the government for some months.

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

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

It was not very correct of me to call the Assistant Resident the “chief” of the Regent. I must explain the machinery of government in these regions. The so-called “Dutch India”—[I think the expression inaccurate, but it is the official term]—as far as regards the relation of its [[58]]population to the mother country, must be divided into two very distinct great divisions.

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

This book will treat chiefly of these Dutch possessions, which form an integral part of the kingdom of Holland. The Governor-General is assisted by a Senate, but this Senate has no power to modify his resolutions. At Batavia, the different branches of the Government are divided into departments, with Directors at their head, who form the link between the supreme direction of the Governor-General and the Residents in the provinces. Yet in matters of a political nature these Residents apply directly to the Governor-General. [[59]]

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

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

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