Multatuli.online

[1 juni 1867
Artikel in The North British Review]

1 juni 1867

The North British Review, Vol. XLVI, No. XCII, publiceert een omvangrijk artikel over de Max Havelaar. (M.M.)

De North British Review werd uitgegeven door Edmonston & Douglas te Edinburgh. Deze aflevering van June 1867, met een omvang van 258 blz., bevat acht bijdragen van kritische aard, uiteenlopend van nog geen twintig tot tegen de zestig pagina's; ze handelen soms over éen boek, soms over een aantal met verwante problematiek. De tweede bijdrage A Dutch Political Novel, staat op blz. 319-342. Geen enkel artikel is ondertekend en er wordt ook geen redactie of redacteur vermeld.

Het feit dat Alphonse baron Nahuijs zijn engelse Max-Havelaarvertaling bij dezelfde uitgever publiceerde, kan doen veronderstellen dat hij ook de auteur van dit artikel zou zijn geweest of althans aan de totstandkoming ervan heeft meegewerkt, en zelfs dat er in deze tijd enig contact zal zijn geweest tussen hem en Multatuli. Maar elk spoor daarvan ontbreekt. Er blijkt voorts geen enkele overeenkomst te bestaan tussen de in dit artikel aangehaalde gedeelten en dezelfde passages in de vertaling van Nahuijs. Indien deze vertaling toen al gereed was geweest en bij de uitgever ingeleverd, zou er waarschijnlijk naar gestreefd zijn de teksten in het artikel gelijk te doen zijn aan die in het boek. Maar men kan de volgorde ook omkeren: het blijft vreemd dat er kort na dit artikel met zo omvangrijke aanhalingen, bij dezelfde uitgever een volledige tekst kon verschijnen waarin diezelfde passages op een geheel ándere wijze werden vertaald.

Hasselman, Mijne ervaring: de brochure van B.R.P. Hasselman, Mijne ervaring als fabriekant in de binnenlanden van Java. 's-Gravenhage 1852.

Art. II. - a Dutch political novel.

Officer. My Lord, this is the man who killed little Barbara.

Judge. To the gallows with him! How did he do it?

Officer. He cut her to pieces and pickled the body.

Judge. Infamous! To the gallows with him!

Lothario. My lord, I did not murder little Barbara. I fed, and clothed, and provided for her. I can bring witness to prove me a good man, and not a murderer.

Judge. You are to be hanged. You aggravate your crime by your arrogance. It is not becoming in a man, accused on any crime, to consider himself a virtuous being.

Lothario. But, my Lord, there are witnesses to confirm it, and as I am now accused of murder -

Judge. You will be hanged. You cut little Barbara to pieces, and pickled the body, and hold no small opinion of yourself; three capital crimes. Who are you, woman?

Woman. I am little Barbara.

Lothario. Heaven be praised! You see, my Lord, I am not her murderer.

Judge. Hem! yes, hem! But, - as to the pickling?

Barbara. No, my Lord, he did not pickle me; on the contrary, he has done me a great deal of good; he is the kindest of human beings.

Lothario. My Lord, you hear how she declares me to be a good man.

Judge. Hem; but the third crime allows of no exculpation. Officer, away with that fellow and hang him! He is guilty of self-conceit. And, clerk, be sure to quote in his sentence the jurisprudence of Lessing's Patriarch. - From an Unpublished Tragedy.

The above was the rather startling motto prefixed to a novel published exactly seven years ago at Amsterdam by an author styling himself ‘Multatuli,’ and who gave his book the singular title of Max Havelaar; or, The Coffee Sales of the Dutch East India Company.

There was certainly nothing very attractive in this title, but it had the charm of novelty, and suggested, too, the possibility of its containing some allusion to the great question of the day in the Netherlands, - the government of the Dutch colonies, - which has for so many years agitated the country, and been the lever used by all parties in political warfare, - either as a means of raising themselves, or of upsetting their adversaries.

In order fairly to judge the question as it now stands, it is decidedly necessary to have some insight into the general state of the Dutch colonies, and it will soon become evident that a more intricate problem is scarcely to be conceived than the one still puzzling the brains of our Dutch neighbours. A bird's-eye view of their chief colonies in India will enable us to appreciate in some measure the difficulties to be overcome in legislating for these islands from the other side of the globe, and, with all due respect for the Dutch Chambers, by a set of legislators, but few of whom are well versed, either by study or personal experience, in colonial affairs.

Java, the principal island of the great Soenda group, [*] We follow the Dutch orthography in all the names. is itself four times as large as the kingdom of the Netherlands; and whilst the mother country counts about 3½ million inhabitants, above thirteen millions are spread over the surface of Java.

Of these, in round numbers, some twelve millions are Javanese, cultivators of the soil, - an agrarian population, quiet, inoffensive, much attached to their home, and to native customs and traditions; Mohammedans, intellectual to a certain degree, the higher classes refined even, to some extent, but addicted to all the vices of the Asiatic temperament; fond of gaming, luxorious, vain and dissipated, greatly inclined to imitate the European in superficial acquirements, but without the tenacity of purpose or the energy only found in northern climes. The inferior classes are simple-minded peasants, easily contented, if only well fed, and in the darkest ignorance of everything beyond their immediate neighbourhood, living as serfs to their lords and masters, whose word is a law, and possessing so little individuality that distinctive family names are almost unknown among them.

Next to the natives in importance are the Chinese settlers, some 150,000 in number, all busily occupied in commercial affairs, victimizing the natives, cheating the Europeans, and thriving by their intelligence - and want of principle. Their influence on the Javanese is so much dreaded by the Dutch Government, that they are not allowed to settle in the interior of the island, but are strictly confined to the townships along the coast. There ‘the Chinese Camp,’ as it is styled, stands in its own quarter of the place, under its own jurisdiction, the Chinese ‘Captain’ or ‘Major’ being the responsible personage to the Dutch authorities for the acts of all his fellow-countrymen in those parts.

A mixed race of Arabs and Malays crowd the numerous ports; Madurese, Alfoers, or Harafoers, from the Moluccas, serve as sailors, or, when occasion offers, turn pirates, enlist as soldiers in the Dutch regiments, perform the work of coolies, and, mingling with numerous other tribes from the surrounding islands, are looked down on as rude barbarians by the Javanese themselves, but highly esteemed by the Europeans for the execution of the rougher work, for which the more effeminate native is less fitted, and never inclined.

Politically viewed, the island offers a varied aspect. Western Java, the Soenda districts, is scarcely more like the eastern extremity of the island in aspect or in institutions than France is to Switzerland. By far the greater part of the Europeans residing on the island are crowded together in Batavia, Buitenzorg, Soerabaya, and the other larger towns along the northern coast. Few and far between are scattered the dwellings of some settlers in the interior, or along the southern bays. Two small states retain here, nominally, a semi-independence; the Sultans of Djocjokarta and Soerakarta govern in their own names, and adjudicate by their own laws, though under supervision of the Dutch Resident, who in all other districts reigns supreme, and dictates despotically to the native prince. The latter bears the title of Regent, is a man of high caste and ancient descent, and the instrument by whose means the native is directly ruled and held under the strictest subservience to his foreign conquerors, of whom, in many parts, he has very little or no personal knowledge.

The Regent himself, but indifferently salaried by the Dutch Government, sets the inhabitants of whole districts to work, according to the orders given him by the Resident; and the peasant, be-sides what he has to pay, either in cash, in work, or in substance, to the Regent for the foreign Government, has likewise to provide for all that is requisite to keep up the magnificence of his own prince's court, whose beggarly pittance would otherwise barely suffice to keep him from starvation. ‘Forced labour’ is one of the most efficient means of supplying the sums required by both parties. For instance, the Dutch desire the cultivation of coffee in the one or other district, either for the Government or for European landholders, with or without Government contracts; the Resident mentions his wish to the Regent, who gives his orders in consequence, and coffee-gardens, as they are termed, soon cover the whole surface of the country.

Of course but little prosperity can fall to the share of the peasant where such a system prevails, and but a minimum of wages is paid to the labourer. Whatever riches the soil or his own work produces pass into others' hands, and a bare subsistence is all he reaps from the rich harvest, sown and garnered by himself for the benefit of others.

A general feeling of discontent, of passive resignation, reigns in all these districts. It may well be supposed that the Regent throws the blame on the strangers; that the native serf, whilst obeying, and even often loving, his own lord, hates the foreign conqueror; that sooner or later an end must come to this preposterous and monstrous state of affairs; and that meanwhile the liberals in colonial politics call out loudly for radical reform.

Their cry is: Give the peasant his own plot of ground, recognise his individuality and his rights; let there be free labour and no tyrannical oppressions; - and though our returns may be less for some years, eventually all the profit will be ours.

It is but fair to state the arguments of their opponents. If we give the Javanese, they say, his own farm and plot of ground, what will be the case? He has no family name by which he can be designated in the registers; he has no idea of property, or its sacred rights, beyond the privilege of dwelling on the homestead of his fathers - the open grounds belonging to his race in general. He will neither understand nor attach any value to the legal possession of what he already regards as sufficiently his own. Within a few months he will thus be ruined, - the victim of the first speculator, Chinese or European, who settles in the neighbourhood, and chooses to become proprietor of a whole district for a very trifling sum. As for free labour, - it is only by forcing him to work that the Javanese can be brought to renounce his sloth. Leave him free, and he will just cultivate rice enough for himself and family, and pass the rest of his time in gambling or in idleness.

The only ‘free labourers,’ too, to be had in most parts of Java, are, for the greater part, vagabonds; men without a home, and criminals, [*] Vide Hasselman, Mijne ervaring, enz, p. 27, seq. who, having been obliged to leave their own villages, lead a nomade life, - earn a bare subsistence by their manual labour, sleep at nights where they best can find a resting-place, and gamble away every farthing they lay hand on as soon as possible, - if they do not spend it on opium. The great dearth of labourers has led many owners of sugar-mills and coffee-plantations to pander to the lusts of these wretches, rather than miss their co-operation.

The reformers, or liberal party, would remedy these evils, by raising the salaries of the Regents, and enabling them to live according to their high rank on the income granted them by Government; by augmenting the rate of wages paid to the labourer, and thus encouraging his efforts; and by severely punishing every attempt of the Regent to extort anything to which he has no positive claim from the peasant. This latter measure is subject to the greatest difficulty in its execution: a buffalo, even a wife, is often required by the prince, and the submissive peasant bows his head and gives op his dearest possessions with a sigh, but without resistance, to his lord and master. The great argument against the proposed reforms is, that whatsoever price be offered, free labour is not obtainable; that, by raising the pay of the Regents and the wages of the labourer, the Indian Archipelago, instead of remunerating the home Government as it now does, say to an extent of some twenty millions of florins per annum, will cost the mother country annually large sums; and that, in the end, no advantage will be obtained, as all the profits will still flow into the hands of the native princes and foreign traders, Chinese, Malays, and Arabs, who live on the soils of the natives.

For many years thus all complaints on the above subjects were care-fully suppressed by the Indian and the home Governments. The Residents reported favourably (in their official and published documents) on the state of their provinces; the Governor-General sent home flaming accounts, - and, better still, bags full of gold; and any man who had the courage, or the imprudence, to complain of the existing system, was carefully ‘put down;’ or, if a Government officer, quietly shelved.

But, as always will be the case, magna est veritas, and by degrees the truth oozed out. A sort of uneasiness began to spread about the state of the colonies, or rather about the state of affairs in Java; the other islands are too remote, too thinly colonized to be of such preponderating importance; whispers and reports circulated to an alarming extent; ‘understood relations revealed the secretest’ extortions; some men, such as the Baron von Hoevell, were not to be put down; and loud and long murmurs were heard in all quarters, though but few efficacious steps were taken to examine into or reform the grievances complained of.

This was the general aspect of the question when Multatuli's book appeared. The sensation it made was unequalled by anything of the sort ever printed in the Netherlands; and though some years have passed since the publication of the work, the state of the question remains, in its principal features, unaltered and undecided, owing to the frequent changes of Ministry, and the other difficulties to which we have slightly alluded, and which will be further elucidated in the course of this paper.

Before analysing the book itself, we have a few words to say about its author. It was soon discovered that the pseudonym ‘Multatuli’ had been selected by M. Douwes Dekker, ex-Assistant-Resident of Lebak, in Java, a highly-gifted but eccentric personage, - the friend of the native par excellence, - but rather a sentimental, fantastic, and irritable character than a practical statesman. M. Douwes Dekker had quarrelled with the Indian authorities; he had, in short, advocated the interests of the natives much too powerfully to please his superiors. He had objected very strongly to the system of cooked reports, always representing everything to be in the most flourishing state, dans ce meilleur des mondes; he had become violent and disrespectful in tone and language; and the result was, that he was obliged to throw up his situation in disgust, and return home in disgrace. On the part of the Indian Government, there had been the desire to get rid of a troublesome official, who would neither hold his tongue nor yield an inch of the ground on which he had chosen to establish himself; there was no doubt, too, of his capacity for exciting awkward discussions and much trouble to the Government; and unless he could be reduced to silence before his influence made itself felt in the colonies, there would be no possibility of prolonging the old and vicious system, which time and custom had hallowed. Instead, then, of looking into the complaints, serious as they were, so loudly uttered by Multatuli, he was, as we have hinted, sent home in disgrace.

In so far the Indian Government was decidedly to be blamed. It is not improbable, that some partial reforms, some very necessary improvements, in the spirit required by M. Dekker, would have satisfied both him and his friends, and been of infinite service to all parties. On the other hand, M. Dekker lost his temper, and instead of maintaining a dignified silence until he had tried what the home-authorities thought of his ideas, he clamoured loud and long, with so much personal virulence that the really good cause advocated by him was greatly damaged by his petulant pleading.

So M. Dekker seized his pen and published his book, a beautifully written - novel. From what we have said, it will be inferred that its subject is, of course, the ill-treatment to which the natives of Java are subjected by the European authorities. He himself is the idealized hero of his own tale, in which the Indians are depicted in the same glowing, but certainly exaggerated colours as their tyrants. At the same time, his personal adversaries are cut up in such a merciless manner, so ridiculed and held up to public contempt and aversion, that whilst some chapters of the book rise to the height of really sublime poetry, others can scarcely be otherwise qualified than as clever but virulent satirical attacks on his personal adversaries.

The form in which the book was presented to the reader was equally original and striking, and its contents can scarcely be better illustrated than by inviting our readers to follow us in a rapid survey of the subjects treated in the several chapters, together with such extracts as are peculiarly suited to our purpose.

For instance, the very first page of the book: -

‘I am a broker, - in coffee, and I dwell on the Laurier's Gracht (one of the canals in Amsterdam), No. 37. It is not in my way to write novels or the like stuff, and it cost me some time to make up my mind to order an extra ream of paper, and to begin the book, which you ought to read, whether you be a broker - or anything else. Not only did I never write a novel, but, as a man of business, I do not like reading such sorts of books. For years I have been busy with the query as to the utility of such things, and am surprised at the impudence of poets and novelists, who are always bothering people with long stories about things that have never really happened, and mostly never could have happened... I have to observe, too, that the greater part of those occupied with such work generally go to the dogs. I am now in my forty-fourth year, have been twenty years on 'Change, and have acquired the experience which gives a man a right to hold an opinion. Many a firm has been ruined in my time, and, for the greater part, the cause of their fall, in my opinion, must be attributed to the perverse tendency given to people in their youth. I, myself, stand te truth and sound good sense, - that is what I swear by...’

Mr. Droogstoppel (whose name we shall translate ‘Stubbles’) goes on for some pages in the same style. Poetry is humbug, history little better, and as for the tender passion: -

‘A girl is an angel. The man who discovered that was never blessed with sisters! Love is supreme bliss, - one flies to the ends of the earth with the adored object. Now the earth is round, and has no ends, and such love is all nonsense. Nobody can accuse me of not living in a proper manner with my wife (she is a daughter to Last and Co., - in coffee). I am a member of our Zoological Gardens, and she wears a shawl that cost ninety-two florins, and there has never passed one word between us about such nonsensical love as the poets rant of. When we were married, we made a trip to the Hague, where she bougth some flannel - I wear the waistcoats still, - and love never drove us farther...

‘As for poetry, I do not object to verses if people choose to stick up their syllables in a certain order; but confine themselves strictly to truth. “The clock strikes eight, the milkman's late,” is not objectionable, if really and truly it be not a quarter after seven...’ ‘And then the moral of all plays and novels: virtue rewarded! For instance, there is Lucas, our man-of-all-work in the storehouse; he was at any rate a virtuous man. Not a single bean was ever lost; he was a steady church-goer, and never drank a drop too much. When my father-in-law was in the country, he had the keys of the house and the office and everything. Once the bank paid him seventeen florins more than they ought to have done, and he brougth them the money back. Now he is old and gouty, and must give up work. He has not saved a farthing, for our expenses are heavy, and we have much to do, and want younger and stronger men. Now, say I, this Lucas is a virtuous man: - and pray, what is his reward? I have never seen a prince appear to give him a handful of diamonds, nor a fairy to cut his bread and butter. He is poor and remains poor, and that is just as it should be... Where would be his real virtue if he had been sure of reward, and could have led an easy life in his old age? In that case all the men we employ would be virtuous, and everybody else besides, which was clearly never intended, or what would be the use of rewards in another and a better world?’

This Mr. Stubbles forms the contrast to the hero of the work, Multatuli himself. The two have been school-fellows, and the broker meets his old friend in the streets, in a shabby dress and in dejected spirits, and the worldly wise man gets rid of the worldly silly one very soon. He feels his ‘respectability’ endangered by the seedy looks of his former school friend, and shakes him off, rather roughly. A few days after, however he receives a note, together with a bulky parcel of papers, from the poor man, who, having no other connexions left, invokes his influential friend's assistance in finding a publisher for what he has written at diverse periods.

The puzzled broker finds a great deal about ‘coffee’ in het papers, mixed up with a quantity of what he calls ‘trash,’ and ‘sentimental rubbish,’ and at length makes up his mind, with the help of one of his clerks, to publish a book, in which compensation will be found for his poor friend's rubbish in his own profound speculations.

Multatuli's tale is thus a romantic-historical version of his own doings in Java, interspersed with the most curious episodical reflections of Mr. Stubbles, and of course the question of Colonial Government forms the pith of the work.

Let us now see what Multatuli says of the position of the Javanese in respect to the mother-country, whilst we beg to remind the reader that his opinions are those of the ultraliberal party, highly coloured by his very lively fancy: -

‘The Javanese is a Dutch subject. The King of the Netherlands is his king. The descendants of his former princes and lords are Dutch officials; they are appointed, removed, promoted, or disgraced by the Governor-General, who reigns in the King's name. The criminal is tried and sentenced by laws promulgated at the Hague. The taxes paid by the Javanese flow into the Dutch treasury.’

Now, these assertions must be taken cum grano salis, of course, as the reader will understand on referring to what is stated in the beginning of this paper about the personal knowledge possessed by the native of his European conquerors: -

‘The Governor-General is assisted by a Council, which, however, has no decisive influence on his resolutions. At Batavia the different branches of the administration are confided to the directors of departments, forming the link between the Governor-General and the Residents in the provincies. But in all political matters the Residents correspond directly with the Governor-General himself.

The title of Resident dates from the time when the Netherlands were only the liege lords and indirect masters of the country, and their government was represented by these agents at the Courts of the several reigning princes. These princes are now no longer in existence; the Residents are provincial governors, prefects. Their sphere of action has altered; only their title has remained unchanged. The Resident is the real representative of the Dutch Government in the eyes of the native. The people know nothing of the Governor-General, nor of his councillors, nor of the directors at Batavia; they only know the Resident and his inferior officers. The residencies, some of them contain nearly a million inhabitants, are divided into three or four parts, or regencies, governed by an Assistant-Resident. Under his tutelage we find Comptrollers, Inspectors, and a number of other officials, for the collection of the taxes, etc.

A native of high rank, the Regent is the next in authority to the Assistant-Resident. It was good policy to employ their feudal authority in the support of the foreign government, and by turning them into paid officers of the crown, a sort of hierarchy was established, at the head of which stands the Dutch Government itself.’

Multatuli goes on to compare this state of affairs, not inaptly, to the feudal system of the middle ages in Europe, as even the hereditary right to the office of Regent is tacitly acknowledged by the Dutch Government.

The position of the Assistant-Resident with regard to the Regent is one of great delicacy. The European is the responsible party; he has his ‘instructions,’ and must act up to them. Nevertheless the Regent is, in the eyes of the Colonial Government, a much more important personage. The Assistant-Resident can be ‘shelved,’ or otherwise disposed of, on the slightest emergency. The Regent cannot be got rid of so readily. Any slight put on him, any punishment or degradation inflicted on this eminent personage, is very likely to rouse the indignation of the whole population and to incite them to open rebellion.

The Assistant-Resident must therefore unite great firmness of purpose with no less suavity of form, and is officially ordered - we give the letter of his instructions - ‘to treat the native officer placed at his side like a younger brother’.

For the above-stated reasons, it is evident that the elder brother is very often exposed to be kicked out, if the younger one should complain of him. And besides this virtual superiority influence, the native has the advantage over the European officer in respect to wealth.

The European is barely paid enough to maintain his rank; his object is to save as much as possibly can be scraped together in order to get home again, or, at any rate, to obtain some higher and more profitable appointment; whilst the native prince generally spends his income, and all he can lay hands on, in the most extravagant manner. It is by no means a rare case to find one of these potentates, in the enjoyment of some twenty or thirty thousand pounds a year, in very great pecuniary difficulties, caused by inordinate love of display, excessive negligence in all matters of business, and by the reckless way in which he allows himself to be plundered by European adventurers of every description.

The incomes of the native princes are chiefly derived from four sources: - Their Government monthly pay; a fixed sum granted by the Dutch as an indemnity for some of the rights and claims ceded to the European Government; a certain extra remuneration, dependent on the quantity of sugar, coffee, etc., cultivated in their province; and lastly, their arbitrary disposal over the labour and property of their subjects.

We have mentioned the way in which the Regent forces the population to work for the European's profit; we have still to elucidate the manner in which he considers himself the proprietor of everything possessed by the peasant. According to the almost universal idea in Eastern Asia, the subject, and all he holds, is the lawful property of his sovereign; and the Javanese of the inferior classes never ventures to doubt or dispute these rights of his feudal lord. It would, too, in his own eyes, be wanting in respect on his part, if he ever entered the prince's palace without some present or tribute to the great man. It is likewise customary for the prince's neighbours to keep in order the grounds near his dwelling, and this is voluntarily done, and only considered a fitting mark of their goodwill. But, at the same time, the population of whole villages is often ordered out by the Regent to cultivate lands of his own, lying at some distance from the peasant's home; and whilst the poor wretches are working for their prince, their own rice-fields are left uncared for.

It is the duty of the Assistant-Resident to remedy such abuses; he is even enjoined to do so by his instructions; but, besides the difficulties already alluded to, there are others almost insurmountable. If, for instance, the Government be from time to time inclined, in some very flagrant cases, to support the Resident and to punish the Regent, the European will generally find himself without the means of bringing witnesses to support his accusations. The native neither will nor dares side openly with the foreigner against his native prince. He will whisper his complaints boldly enough in the Resident's ear, but in public deny with equal boldness ever having been illtreated by the Regent.

Max Havelaar, the hero of the book, in whom Multatuli has depicted his own character, has, at the beginning of the work, just been appointed Assistant-Resident of Lebak, and has to deal, besides all the difficulties we have mentioned, with others of no less importance which will be gradually developed.

‘Havelaar was thirty-five years of age. He was slender and active,... sharp as a file and tender as a girl, always himself the first to feel the wound inflicted by his bitter words, and a greater sufferer than the person attacked. He was quick of apprehension, - seized the highest or most complicated questions at first sight; amused himself with the solution of the most intricate problems, and was very often incapable of comprehending the simplest matters, which a child could have explained to him. Love of truth and justice caused him often to neglect his more immediate duties, in order to remedy some more remote evil, to which he was probably attracted by the greater effort requisite for accomplishing his purpose... A second Don Quixote, he often wasted his courage on a windmill. His ambition was not to be satisfied, and he considered all social distinctions little better than trifles, whilst he loved a quiet and peaceful home. He was a poet, whose lively fancy created and peopled worlds. He could dream away hours, and return to the most prosy details of business with equal facility... He was modest and kind to those who acknowledged his intellectual superiority, but intolerant of opposition to it... Though timid and awkward towards those who did not seem to understand him, he grew eloquent as soon as he met with encouragement. He was honest, even to magnanimity, but would leave hundreds unpaid in order to give away thousands.’

These, in a more concise form than that adopted by the writer, are some of the more salient traits of his hero's character, to whom (in contradistinction) is opposed his superior officer, the Resident, the formalist, the man who places a fullstop after every word he uses; so slow in his utterance and his thoughts, that both seem always followed by a herd of stragglers, long after the subject in discussion has been exhausted. ‘People who knew him called him “Slimy,”’ says Multatuli, ‘and that was his chief characteristic;’ and such is the name given in the book to Havelaar's well-known superior officer. Max Havelaar himself, accompanied by his wife and child, - beautifully drawn pictures, - astonishes the Comptroller and all his infe-riors by his perfect acquaintance with the state of the country he is called on to govern and by his eccentric ideas of improving the position of the native; and is soon looked upon half as a madman, half as a fool, by the officials who have for a long series of years been accustomed to ‘red-tape’ in all its varieties, and are terrified by the revolutionary system their new chief seems inclined to introduce. At the same time he is accused of irreligion, because he opposes the missionaries, and asserts that civilisation must precede conversion, as the mere Christian in name among the natives is not a whit better than the infidel. His manner of reasoning on all sorts of subjects, too, discomfits friend and foe, whilst his official reports, in which no veil is thrown over existing grievances and evils, only annoy his superiors. And no wonder, if the following account of the manner in which these documents are prepared and ‘got up’ be not greatly exaggerated: -

‘It is in general disagreeable to be the bearer of evil tidings, and their communicator seems always responsible for some part of the unfavourable impression produced.... The Indian-Government likes writing home to the effect that everything is prospering. The Residents like to write in the same strain to the Government. The Assistant-Residents, who scarcely ever receive any but favourable reports from the Comptrollers, dislike sending, on their own account, bad news to the Residents. Hence, in all official correspondence, we find an artificial optimism, not only violating truth, but directly in contradiction with the convictions of these optimists themselves when expressed by word of mouth, and even with the statistics and figures accompanying their reports. Examples of this sort might be adduced, which, were the case not so very serious, would raise a laugh at the expense of the writers... I shall confine myself to one instance.... The annual report of a certain residency is now in my hands. The Resident is greatly pleased with the commercial prosperity of the country, and asserts everything to be progressing favourably. A little farther on, speaking of the insufficient means at his disposal to restrain the smuggling propensities of the natives, but at the same time wishing to prevent the Government being unfavourably impressed by the idea of the losses inflicted on the treasury by the smugglers, he says: - “These are but very trifling, indeed; scarcely any smuggling goes on in this residency, where there is very little trade, as none of the people risk their capital in commercial undertakings...”

Another of these reports began literally: - “Last year the tranquillity in this residency remained tranquil...”

When the population has not increased, this is ascribed to faults in the last census; when the taxes are not more productive, this circumstance must be attributed to the necessity of low taxation in order to encourage field-labour, which will eventually - that is to say after the Resident's retiring from office, - be sure to produce millions... Disaffection and revolt, when they cannot be passed over in silence, are only the work of a few malcontents, - rendered harmless in future, - as universal satisfaction with the Government is everywhere observable; and when the population has been thinned by famine, this sad misfortune is, of course, the result of crops failing, of drought, or too heavy rains, - of everything but ill-management.

In one word, the official reports of the Government officers, and those based upon them sent home, are for the greater and more important part falsehoods.’

This very serious accusation was one of the subjects which naturally gave rise to violent discussions both in Holland and India. The picture, though highly coloured, was found, in its outline, to contain no violation of the truth.

Max Havelaar goes on: -

‘Every Resident sends in a monthly report of the rice imported or exported in his districts. The tables state how much of this rice is grown in Java itself, or comes from other parts. On comparing the quantity of rice, according to these accounts, transported from residencies in Java to residencies on the same island, it will be found that it greatly exceeds (by some thousand pikols) the quantity of rice, according to these same tables, ever received in the residencies on Java from residencies on that island.

Without speaking of the blindness of a Government receiving and publishing such reports, we will proceed to show what is their tendency.

European and native officials are paid a certain percentage on prod-ucts raised for the European marts; and the cultivation of rice was consequently so much neglected, that in many parts a famine ensued, which could not be officially concealed... Orders were given to prevent the like disasters in future, and the above-mentioned reports were intended to keep the Government au fait, by a comparison between the exports and imports of the different residences. Exportation naturally represented plenty; importation, want. We repeat - the tables we allude to only refer to rice grown on the island, and their figures state, that all the residencies together export more rice than all the residencies together import;... in other words, there is more home-raised rice in Java than is grown on the island.’

This is but one of the many examples adduced of the gift possessed by the Indian Government, of looking on the bright side of things and ignoring the dark one.

Now M. Douwes Dekker, or Max Havelaar, or Multatuli, set vigorously to work to oppose this system. No one can doubt for one moment, either his really good intentions, or his very imprudent way of acting, from the very beginning. Multatuli, after sowing his wild oats at the University of Leyden, set out for India. He married a lady of rank, but, like himself, without fortune; ran into debt, was continually ‘in hot water,’ first with an old general, represented as a tyrant and a bully of the worst description, on the west coast of Sumatra, got into fresh difficulties about irregularities in his accounts at Natal (Sumatra), wrote squibs on his superiors, fought duels without end, and soon made a reputation as a dangerous, clever, dare-devil sort of personage, who, under proper guidance, might have turned out a first-rate man; but, exposed as he was to temptations of all sorts, and consorting chiefly with his inferiors in mind and talent, was rather feared as a dangerous character than respected for the genius he certainly had shown. He found his Assistant-Residency in a sad state. His predecessor had spoken, but not written, officially to the Resident (for the reasons above stated) about many grievances against the Regent; they had been ignored, as usual - or ‘smoothed over.’

An oral complaint of some act of oppression was at best folllowed by a lengthy conversation with the native prince, who always denied everything, and asked for ‘proofs.’ The plaintiffs were sum-moned, and, kneeling at the prince's feet, implored his mercy. ‘No, their buffalo had not been stolen; they felt quite sure the prince intended to pay at least double the price.’ ‘No, they had not been forced away from their own fields, in order to work for nothing at all on the Regent's land; he intended to pay them high wages; of that they were firmly convinced.’ ‘They had been certainly out of their wits, when they had stated to the contrary; and begged now to be forgiven their heinous offence.’ And the Resident, who knew but too well the real state of the case, was saved the trouble of complaining of the Regent to the higher authorities. Next day, perhaps, the same complaints were renewed, - and with the same result. Grievous punishment, however, awaited in many instances the ‘rebels’. Many fled to other districts; others were found strangely murdered. But redress for the victims of this abominable system there was none.

Max Havelaar went seriously to work to reform these grievances. In his novel he inserts an official letter of his own to the Comptroller serving under his orders, in which he desires him to conceal nothing in his correspondence, to give utterance to the truth and nothing but the truth, and to give up boldly and at once the system of prevarication and subterfuge which had been the cause of so many calamities.

In so far, Max Havelaar acted as a brave and honourable man; but at the same time he committed grievous errors. He could neither give up his custom of laughing at his superior, nor of, in our opinion, confounding persons with systems. Aged and respectable men, who had grown grey in the service, and distinguished themselves in many ways, were represented, not as what they in fact were, the instruments of a Government working by a vicious system, but as vicious in themselves, fools and idiots, to be scoffed at and ridiculed by all who blessed with a little common sense. His book is full of portraits, or caricatures of well-know personages in the Dutch East Indian islands; and the piquancy of his details, naturally deprived of some part of their interest for those unacquainted with the characters introduced, - enhanced their value for the Dutch reader.

Another grave fault of the author's is, that whilst drawing the European in the blackest colours, he idealizes the native to an extent that would literally be incredible, were it not that Max Havelaar, amongst his other talents, possesses the poet's gift of a lively fancy in no common degree.

The fact, however, is that the Javanese, like most Asiatics, is in no respect the equal of the European, and it may be fairly doubted if he ever will become so. But this does not seem to be acknowledged by Max Havelaar. His pictures of the native peasant are drawn with inimitable talent, regarded as works of fiction, as poetical sketches, in the style of Chateaubriand's Atala, and Mrs. Beecher Stowe's Uncle Tom; but in point of fact, they will not stand the test of serious inquiry, and carry their own condemnation with them very plainly for the serious reasoner. Himself democratically inclined, Max Havelaar represents the native of the humbler ranks as the most innocent and virtuous of human beings, a fit subject for an idyll, the victim of his oppressors - Europeans and Indian princes, - and only waiting to be emancipated from his thralls in order to rise to the rank of the sublimest of human beings.

The seventeenth chapter of his book offers one of the most striking proofs of his way of writing; it is perhaps the most popular part of the whole work, and, as a work of art, a prose poem unequalled by anything of the description ever written in Holland. It contains the story of Saïdjah, and we give it without hesitation, as an excellent specimen of the author's style and manner, with some few abridgments, in order not to occupy more space than we can here lay claim to: -

‘Saïdjah's father had a buffalo, with which he ploughed his fields. When the buffalo was taken from him by the chief of the district of P-k-ng, he grew sick at heart, and not a word passed his lips for many days. For ploughing-time was drawing near, and it was to be feared if the Sawah were not soon ploughed, sowing-time would pass away, and there would be no rice to be garnered up in his house...

Saïdjah's father grew sadder and sadder. His wife would have no rice, nor Saïdjah himself, who was still a child, nor his little brothers and sisters. And complaints would be made of him to the Assistant-Resident for not paying his taxes, and he would be liable to punishment. But Saïdjah's father took a kris (a sword) that he had inherited from his fathers, and there were silver bands round the sheath and at its extremity, and he sold it to a Chinese for two-and-twenty florins, and bought himself another buffalo.

Saïdjah, then about seven years of age, had soon made friends with the new buffalo. I say expressly “made friends,” for it is indeed touching to see how greatly attached the buffalo grows to the child that takes care of him. The big and heavy brute bends his strong neck, to the right or the left, up and down, at the slightest fingertouch of the child he knows and understands, and that grows up with him....

Adjoining to Saïdjah's field were the lands of Adinda's father (the little girl who was destined to become Saïdjah's wife), and when Adinda's little brothers met Saïdjah on the limits of their grounds, the children chatted with each other, and boasted of the good qualities of their buffaloes. But, I believe, Saïdjah's was the best, because he was most kindly treated; the buffalo is very sensible to kind treatment.

Saïdjah was nine, and Adinda six, when the second buffalo was carried off by the chief of the district of P-k-ng. Saïdjah's father, who was very poor, sold to a Chinese two silver Klamboe-hooks, inherited from his wife's parents, and bought another buffalo for eighteen florins.

Little Saïdjah was very sad, for he had heard from Adinda's brothers that his buffalo had been driven to the chief town of the district, and he was afraid it had been slaughtered, like all the other cattle taken away from the peasants.

And Saïdjah wept long and in silence, and refused his meals, and grieved for his buffalo, for Saïdjah was but a child.

But soon the new buffalo, though not so beautiful as the one that had been killed, gained the boy's love,... and one day saved his life, by boldly attacking and ripping up a tiger's belly that lay in wait for Saïdjah.

And when this buffalo was driven off and butchered - my tale is monotonous, gently reader, - Saïdjah was twelve, and Adinda wove her own sarongs in dark colours, for she had seen Saïdjah grieve,... but his mother had grieved more sorely than he, for the buffalo had saved her child's live, and had surely understood by her tears, when he was led away to be slaughtered, that she was guiltless of his death.

Then Saïdjah's father fled the country, for he could neither pay his taxes, nor find anything to sell for which to purchase a new buf-falo... Saïdjah's mother died of distress, and Saïdjah's father was laid hold of by the police for leaving his home without a passport, and he was severely beaten and shut up in prison, and treated as a madman, probably not without reason. But he soon got free again - by dying.

What became of Saïdjah's brothers and sisters I never learnt. The house they had inhabited remained for some time empty, and then tumbled to pieces, for it was only built of cane, and thatched with long grass. A little heap of dust and rubbish served to mark the spot of so much suffering. There are a great many of the like landmarks in Lebak.’

Saïdjah, the author goes on to relate, was fifteen at the time of his father's death, and set forth to seek his fortune. He takes leave of his promised bride, and promises to return at the expiration of three times twelve months exactly. The lovers are to meet under a large tree on the borders of the forest. He bears a flower in his hand as a pledge of her love and constancy, and leaves her a strip of the blue kerchief bound round his own head. On his way to Batavia, Saïdjah's thoughts are duly registered by the author, who, breaking into verse, gives a beautiful poem, but of a romantic, sentimental character we hardly can imagine to be really descriptive of the feelings of a Javanese peasant.

The last lines refer to the wanderer's return, unknown and dying: -

‘If I die at Badoer, they will bury me outside the village,’ says he, ‘to the east, where the hill rises and the long grass grows, and Adinda will sometimes pass there, and the skirt of her sarong will rustle gently among the leaves, and I shall hear her.’

Such is the tone of the whole poem, which we should characterize rather as German than Javanese.

Saïdjah reaches the capital of Dutch India, serves three years, faithfully, a kind master, saves his wages, and, true to his word, starts on his return home in due time. On reaching the place of meeting at the appointed hour, Saïdjah breaks out again into song, this time anticipating the bliss awaiting him in his mistress's love and constancy, - another very beautiful poem, but liable to the same objection as the former one.

He is doomed to a cruel disappointment. After waiting in vain for the girl's appearance, he hastens to the village to seek her. Her father's house is in ruins. It is the old story, the monotonous tale of the buffalo retold, and the whole family have fled. The despairing lover succeeds in learning Adinda has remained faithful to him, and traces the family to the south coast of Sumatra, where they have joined the rebels against the Dutch Government. We give the conclusion of the sad tale in the author's own words: -

‘One day the rebels had suffered a new defeat, and Saïdjah remained wandering about amongst the ruins of a village just mastered by the Dutch troops, and set fire to by them. He knew that the band, then and there destroyed, had consisted chiefly of people from his own home. He stalked like a ghost from one burning house to another, and found the body of Adinda's father, with a bayonet wound in the breast. Near him lay Adinda's three murdered brothers, youths, children, and a little to one side he discovered Adinda's body - uncovered and horribly mutilated. There was a strip of blue cotton pressed into the gaping wound on her bossom, which had ended her sufferings.

And Saïdjah rushed on some soldiers who were driving the last remaining rebels at the point of the bayonet into the flames; he seized the threatening blades in his arms, cast himself on their points, and held back the soldiers with a last effort, till the hilts of their weapons struck against his breast.

A short time after there were great rejoicings in Batavia at the new victory, which had added so many laurels to those already reaped by the Dutch-Indian army. The Governor-General wrote home that tranquillity was restored in the Lampongs, and the King of the Netherlands, advised by his Ministers, rewarded as usual the heroism of his soldiers by the distribution of a number of crosses. And most likely thanks were rendered to Heaven by the pious, in churches and meeting-houses, that “the Lord of Hosts” had sided again with the banners to the Netherlands.’

Now this style of writing, though perhaps admissible in fiction, is gravely reprehensible in all serious controversy. The poetical fiction, by which the victim of oppression is always virtuous and inno-cent, is equally false as the theory that the instruments by which a vicious system is worked must necessarily be wicked and cruel. The contrary is often the case, and it is a well-known fact that the Dutch soldier, exposed to innumerable hardships in the tropic clime, is patient, well-behaved, and by no means unworthy the well-earned rewards not too liberally conferred by the home Government. That facts of the description on which Max Havelaar's fiction is founded may have occurred, no one would venture to deny. By generalizing isolated cases, and by exaggeration in a really sound and worthy cause, Max Havelaar in some measure defeated his own purpose. Instead of a calmly written, businesslike book on the subject he has taken to heart, M. Douwes Dekker, doubtless ‘shelved’ in a very off-hand and even unmerited manner by the Indian authorities, produced a sensational romance, in which he treated the subject of Indian reform in the manner sketched by us in this paper, and whilst acquiring numerous admirers of his novel, and rousing public attention to the matter, of course excited a storm of indignation in the bosom of the Conservative party, and of those whose friends and relations were so cruelly derided by the gifted author. The end of the work is the greatest mistake he made: -

‘This book,’ cries he, ‘is but an introductory chapter... I shall augment my strength and sharpen my weapons with the growing need. Please God that this may be spared me!... No, it will not be needful! For to you do I dedicate my book, to you, William iii, King, Grand-Duke, Prince,... more than Prince, Grand-Duke, and King,... emperor of the fair empire of Insulinda, that is wound about the equator like an emeral girdle!... Of you I demand, trustfully, if it be your imperial will,

that Havelaar's words be trampled under foot by Slijmerings and Droogstopples? [*] The reader will remember that Slijmering is the nickname, the “Slimy one”, of Havelaar's chief, the Resident, and that Droogstoppel is the Mr Stubbles referred to in our paper.

and that yonder more than thirty millions of your subjects be maltreated and beggared in your name?’

It is but natural that such an appeal to the Crown in a constitutional State, and in the form selected by M. Douwes Dekker, should meet with no response.

But a sensation was made the like of which had never been witnessed before, and high and low talked for some time of scarcely anything but Max Havelaar. The Colonial question came en evidence again; the Conservative party got frightened, and odd stories were circulated as to attempts made to bribe the writer to keep silence in future. His public and private life were freely discussed, and he himself grew more and more indignant, and obstinately refused to accept the reputation as a gifted novelist, which he only claimed as an Indian reformer.

Within a few weeks the first edition of his work was exhausted, and a second one, though loudly called for, never appeared. The story of its suppression is a sad one, told in very few words. M. Dekker had, it seems, disposed of the copyright of his book to a gentlemen of high reputation in the country, himself a gifted author, who found a publisher for the then unknown writer. But the offence given by the personal attacks contained in it, and the sensation it had made, caused the owner of the manuscript to refuse allowing a second edition, and a court of law ruled in his favour.

Meanwhile M. Douwes Dekker continued his eccentric but talented writings. Multatuli's Ideas and a crowd of short but pithy pamphlets followed, until, by degrees, the fertile vein seemed to be exhausted, and some time passed without any sign being made by the man whose genius had seemed to promise so much. But a few weeks ago, he again issued a pamphlet in his old clever but eccentric style, though on a subject entirely irrelevant to our present purpose.

Has the Indian question progressed in all these years? We fear but very, very little. A short-lived Conservative Ministry was succeeded by a Liberal Cabinet. M. Thorbecke, the Minister of whom Lord Palmerston is said to have affirmed ‘he is too great a man for so small a country,’ was virtually Premier - the title itself is unknown in Holland - and at his side M. Fransen van der Putte was the Liberal Minister for Colonial affairs, of whom great things were expected, and perhaps not without cause, as long as he was supported by the Premier. But the Conservative party, weak in numbers and weaker in their cause, were strengthened by dissensions spreading among the Liberals.

Thorbecke was called a tyrant, and unable to bear with an equal; the fact was, his equals in rank, but his inferiors in capacity and statesmanship, could not endure a master-spirit at their side, and forcing M. Thorbecke to resign, M. van der Putte became Premier of the new Cabinet. As all had forseen, it was but a short-lived one. The Colonial Budget met with so much opposition that the new Minister, with his colleagues, retired from office, and the Liberals, weakened and divided among themselves, were turned out by the Conservative party now holding the reins of government. The Colonial portfolio passed into the hands of M.P. Myer, an ultra-Conservative; the partial reforms already proposed or introduced were threatened with annihilation, and for the moment the state of affairs in India seemed so hopeless to the Liberals, that though they were at variance on all other points, they were ready to unite against their common adversaries in colonial policy. A report, too, was widely spread that M. Myer had only accepted the portfolio temporarily in order to get a provisional budget passed by the Chamber, and that as soon as he had succeeded in doing so he was to be rewarded by the Governor-Generalship of the Colonies. This was most positively denied by himself and his friends, not only in private circles, but even in the Chambers, and as the Liberal party was, at the moment, utterly disorganized, and the new Minister's tone was conciliatory, hinting at concessions, and even giving promises to that effect, his first measures met with little or no opposition. Not a week after carrying them he was gazetted as Governor-General, and sailed as soon as he possibly could for India, leaving his portfolio in the hands of the present Minister, M. Trahraney. The indignation of the Chamber, and of the public in general, needs no description. One of the Conservative members, M. Keuchenius, an eloquent speaker, boldly attacked the whole Cabinet, and a vote of non-confidence in the Ministry was passed.

The Conservatives, but a few weeks in power, seemed on the point of being thrown out again. But they were not inclined to give up the fight so easily. Acting on the principle of aux grands maux les grands remèdes, they actually dissolved the Second Chamber, declaring the vote of blame thrown on M. Myer's appointment to be a breach of the Royal prerogative, which gives the Crown the right of appointing all officials. The King himself was thus rendered responsible for the act and deed of the Cabinet, and for the countersign of his own Colonial Minister. We refrain from all comment on these circumstances, only sketched by us in so far as they serve to elucidate the subject of this paper. The next measure taken by the Minister was still more extraordinary in a Constitutional State. Elections in Holland are not in the least like what they are in Britain. Generally at least one-third of the total numbers of electors of the lower class of people remain quietly at home. They know very little about politics, and take no share in them.

Among the higher classes so much disgust was felt at what had been done by the Ministers, that it was necessary for them to take extraordinary measures in order to assure the return of a Conservative majority at the approaching elections for the new Chamber. No better plan could be devised than the issuing of a Royal proclamation, summoning the electors to appear at the poll, and to return members who would insure the existence of a Cabinet, and not endanger the public welfare by constant changes of Ministry. This was interpreted to the ignorant voters as an expression of the King's personal wish to retain his present advisers; the theme was duly wrought out by the Conservative papers, the leading men of the Liberal party were branded as rebels and traitors, as the most dangerous enemies to their King and country, and the result was that a great many of them were not re-elected, whilst a small majority was obtained for the present Ministers - still holding their ground rather owing to the continued dissensions among the Liberals than to the strength of their own party. Proofs of this fact are not wanting. A revision of the educational law on primary instruction is impatiently desired by the ultra-Conservative and orthodox party. It was only by positively refusing to grant it that the whole Cabinet, supported on this question by the Liberals, was enabled to hold its ground in the Chamber. In like manner the Colonial Minister has been obliged to make so many concessions to the Liberals, that, but a few weeks ago, his budget passed through the Chamber by their support, whilst the leading men of the party who brought him into power voted against it. At the present moment there is thus a split in the Cabinet, of which the result must be either the retirement of M. Trahraney in favour of a rigorously Conservative Minister, or the fall of the whole Ministry, brought about by the Liberals. Either way it seems likely that the Colonial questions will come to an issue, and that at least the temporary triumph of one or other of the two Colonial systems, of which we have now to recapitulate and elucidate the chief points as briefly as possible, will be insured.

The Conservatives advocate ‘forced labour’ and the maintenance of the rights of the native princes to claim certain services for their own advantage from the peasant. They insist, too, on upholding the old system of ‘Government cultures,’ - the yearly cultivation of certain products of the soil, in certain quantities, at such places as the Government shall please to determine.

The Liberals demand ‘free labour,’ a fixed rate of taxation, the undisputed possession of the soil for the free native, who is to be exempted from the personal services claimed by his prince, and grants of the large tracts of land still lying uncultivated to private individuals, with a guarantee that no Government interference shall impede the settlers' efforts for the encouragement of free labour. This was the system favoured so many years ago by Sir Stamford Raffles, and imperfectly understood and partially followed by some of the more liberally inclined Dutch Ministers in later times. The property of the soil was granted to the Dessas, or townships, as they may be termed, instead of being given to the individual, and the consequence was that the peasant remained as dependent as ever on the great man of the place, instead of being raised to the dignity of a freeholder, as had been intended.

On the other hand, the system of Government cultures, as we have said, is still in vigour, so that, in point of fact, two theories, entirely adverse in their tendencies, have for a long course of years been militating against each other in Java, till a state of affairs has been brought about for which it will not be easy to find a remedy. Other difficulties, too, of a more serious character, occur in the government of the Dutch colonies. Not more than, in round numbers, 25,000 Europeans, a great many of whom are not Dutch subjects, reside on the island of Java, and have, with perhaps scarcely 20,000 troops, to overawe or coerce a native population of more than thirteen millions of souls. This comparative scarcity of European settlers is attributable to several reasons. Formerly, the Dutch Government was excessively and unreasonably jealous ad suspicious even of its own subjects, - perhaps more so than of foreigners, - and great difficulties were laid in the way of those who wished to establish themselves at Java. The most arbitrary powers were granted to the Residents, and very few capitalists vertured to settle in a district whence they themselves might be banished, or their business completely ruined, by even any inferior Government official who chose to take offence at anything said or done against his pleasure. In those days the island was considered a real gold mine for the friends of the Government. Needy adventures blessed with ‘good connexions,’ officials fit for little or nothing at home, but men of good birth, the prodigal son, the widow's offspring, were all sent out to India by their kind friends, who provided them with well-salaried situations, and ample opportunities of making a fortune, - and at that time, the lapse of a few years sufficed for that purpose, and the wealthy man came home, and saw his place in India refilled by one as needy as he himself had been, and equally desirous of filling his purse and getting back to Europe as soon as possible.

But little encouragement was thus given to commercial or other undertakings, only in the hands of the Government. The favoured few got the good things to be had, and kept them very carefully in their own hands; and though this evil policy has been entirely given up, its results are still felt in the present generation. Mayhap the reader will say: ‘Tout comme chez nous.’

Now-a-days, any Dutchman (or, in fact, any European) who goes out to Java with a good constitution, clear brain, and due amount of energy, is sure to prosper in course of time. He is not likely to make a fortune in two, but pretty safe to secure a competency in ten, years; and to grow a millionnaire if he will only remain where he is, and take what is offered him. But, somehow or other, few people remain in Java longer than they absolutely must, in order to secure the means of living at home in comfort. The climate is in most parts of the country enervating; there is a dearth of intellectual food, and an excess of dainty dishes; children must be sent to Europe for education; liver-complaints and longing for home increase day by day; and thus, though every facility be now granted to the Dutch emigrant, the number of residents on the island is but increasing at a slow ratio. Latterly, measures have been framed to improve the schools, to offer many inducements, formerly wanting, to every one who will remain a resident, - but with little result, as was to be expected from half-measures in which the settler finds but few guarantees for his permanent advantage and security.

The Indian army, which has nothing at all in common with the home service, is composed of elements but little adapted to promote the moral supremacy of the European, though its ranks contain a brave and hardy set of soldiers, who rendered invaluable services to the Government. The officers may be divided into two distinct classes: those brought up with the cadets for the home service at the military college of Breda, entirely at the Government expense, in every respect well-educated young men; and those promoted from the ranks, selected from among the men who are sent out to India as privates, or exchange, as commissioned, or even non-commissioned officers, from the home into the colonial army. The greater part of the rank and file of the European soldiers who enlist in Holland for India belong to the very worst set imaginable of the natives, to whom are added in great numbers the outcasts of all nations, who can find no other means of escaping disgrace or starvation. The Dutch student, ruined by profligacy, the German fraudulent bankrupt, the French gambler, the discharged soldiers of the foreign legions of other nations, who fought in the Crimea, who were Zouaves in Africa, in Italy, or in Mexico, stand beside each other in the ranks, and share together the hardships of the campaign. Most of these men are of a dare-devil character, excellently adapted for the field, but entirely unfit for a peaceful home, or for exercising any wholesome influence on the native Indian population. The Liberals desire a union of the home and colonial branches of the service, in order to improve both armies. At the same time, they demand that greater care shall be taken than hitherto of the northern coast defences, and that some safe ports be armed for the protection of the Dutch merchant vessels in case of war. The southern coasts offer but few convenient spots for a hostile landing. Another reform, of entirely different description, loudly cried for, not only by the Liberals, but even by the more moderate Conservatives themselves, regards the criminal laws. Whilst the mother country adopted, many years ago, the French code, the ancient criminal code, a compilation of all that is practically deficient and theoretically false in our days, is still in vigour in the colonies, and though a new one was promised long ago, so little progress has been made, that people are growing impatient on that score.

We have now terminated our sketch of the state of Colonial affairs in the Netherlands at the present date. It will be seen they centre in the policy to be followed with regard to Java; and as to the lengthy debates which must ensue ere the question is finally decided, - ending as we began with a quotation from the work that gave us occasion to write this paper, - we venture to predict that matters are now so far advanced, that his assertion will no longer hold ground, that, ‘generally, an important question is tested not so much by its own intrinsic merits, as by the importance attached to the opinion of the member speaking on the subjects; and as this person mostly passes for a “spécialité,” - “a man who has held a high position in the colonies,” - the result of a division in the Chamber is usually influenced by the errors seemingly inherent to the “high position” of the orator.’

The systems and partisans of both the adverse parties are too clearly defined, too widely separated, for such a result; and at the present moment it seems probable that a decisive struggle for the mastery will take place within a comparatively very short period.