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Title: Monumental Java

Author: J. F. Scheltema

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Language: English

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MONUMENTAL JAVA
Logo

MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED

LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY

NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO
DALLAS · SAN FRANCISCO

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.

 TORONTO

I. THE BORO BUDOOR

(Cephas Sr.)
 MONUMENTAL JAVA
BY
J. F. SCHELTEMA, M.A.
Unde etiam nunc est mortalibus insitus horror,
Qui delubra deûm nova toto suscitat orbi
Terrarum, et festis cogit celebrare diebus:

LUCRETIUS, De Rerum Natura, Lib. v.

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS, AND VIGNETTES AFTER

DRAWINGS OF JAVANESE CHANDI ORNAMENT
BY THE AUTHOR

MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED

ST. MARTIN’S STREET, LONDON
1912

COPYRIGHT
 TO
MY DEAR COUSIN AND FRIEND
PROFESSOR AUGUST ALLEBÉ
DIRECTOR EMERITUS OF THE NETHERLANDS STATE ACADEMY
OF THE FINE ARTS AT AMSTERDAM
 Decoration
If this book needs an apology, it is one to myself for taking the public at large
into the confidence of cherished recollections. The writing was a diversion from
studies in a quite different direction and letting my pen go, while living again the
happy hours I spent, between arduous duties, with the beautiful monuments of
Java’s past, I did nothing but seek my own pleasure. Should it turn out that my
personal impressions, given in black and white, please others too—so much the
better. In any case they must be taken for what they are: a beguilement of lone
moments of leisure.
Whoever find them readable, they will not satisfy, I hope, a certain class of
critics; those, I mean, who extend the paltry rule of mutual admiration, nul
n’aura de l’esprit que nous et nos amis, to any field they claim their own and “of
whom to be dispraised were no small praise.” Desirous, I must confess, to
stimulate their flattering disapproval, I hasten to admit in advance my many
shortcomings, a full list of which they will doubtless oblige me with in due
process of censorious comment. My work sets up no pretence to completeness:
there is no full enumeration of all the Hindu and Buddhist temples known by
their remains; there are no measurements, no technical details, no statistics—a
great recommendation to my mind, as Dutch East Indian statistics go. I am not
guilty of an ambitious attempt to enrich the world with an exhaustive treatise on
ancient Javanese architecture and sculpture—far be it from me to harbour such
an audacious design! I disclaim even the presumption to aspire at being classed
as a useful companion on a visit to the island; I deny most emphatically that I
intend to swell the disquieting number of tourists’ vade-mecums already up for
sale, clamouring for recognition, and, horribile dictu, scores more coming! Be
they sufficient or insufficient, qualitatively speaking, I am not going to increase
their quantity.
So much for what this book is not. What it is, I could not help making it,
choosing from the material stored in my memory; reliving, as fancy dictated in
long northern winter evenings, the sunny spells between 1874 and 1903 when I
might call Java my home; resuming my walks in the charming island pleasance
of the East, fain to leave the congested main roads and disport myself along by-
paths and unfrequented lanes where solace and repose await the weary wanderer.
The undertaking, somewhat too confidently indicated by the title, tempted to
excursions off the beaten historical, geographical and archaeological tracks,
which perhaps will contribute to a better understanding of the monuments
described in their proper setting, their relations to natural scenery and native
civilisation, but certainly do not tend to conformity with the regulation style of
compositions of the kind. Invoking the aid of Ganesa, the sagacious guide,
countenancer of poor mortals in creative throes—for, thank Heaven! the fever of
production is indissolubly one with the anguish that heightens its delights,—I
never hesitated in letting the idea of self-gratification prevail, even when the
question of illustration arose after the plan had ripened of inviting indulgent
readers to partake. In this respect too I struggled free from anxious deliberation:
Wer gar zu viel bedenkt, wird wenig leisten. And, Ganesa aiding, the following
kaleidoscopic view of the land I love so well, was the result of my delicious
travail.
Looking for the flowers in the ill-kept garden of Java, the delinquencies of the
gardeners could not be ignored and here I touch the unpleasant side of the
recreation I sought, especially disagreeable when proposing to strangers that
they should share; but a picture needs shade as well as light to become
intelligible. And to paint true to life the picture of Dutch East Indian passivity
(activity only in vandalism!) regarding treasures of art inconvertible into cash,
shade ought to be preponderant and light relegated to the subordinate place of a
little star glimmering dimly in the darkness, a little star of hope for the future.
Disinclined, however, to spoil my pleasure by dwelling on the tenebrous general
aspect of governmental archaeology in the past, I have no more than mentioned
such disgraceful incidents as the Mendoot squabbles, and omitted, e.g., all
reference to such ludicrously heated controversies as that about the kala-makara
versus the garuda-naga ornament, exhaustive of the energy which the officially
learned might have employed to so much greater advantage by rescuing the
venerable temples they fought over, from decay and willful demolition.
The neglect of the ancient monuments of Java has been nothing short of
scandalous, the evil effects of the habitual languid detachment of the colonial
authorities from the business they are supposed to look after, being, in their case,
intensified by acts of dilapidation which even a Government centuries back on
the road of enlightenment would have checked,[1] not to speak of downright
plunder and theft. The more honour deserve men like Junghuhn among the dead
and Rouffaer among the still living, who lifted their voice against the intolerable
negligence which hastened the ruin of some of the finest existing specimens of
Hindu and Buddhist architecture. At last, in 1901, an Archaeological
Commission was appointed, whose labours were directed by Dr. J. L. A.
Brandes, their head and soul. After his regretted death in 1905, he was succeeded
by Dr. N. J. Krom, who has no easy task in fanning the spark, struck by his
predecessor from the hard flint of official laisser-aller into a steady, bright flame
of real, continuous solicitude for the country’s antiquities.
Antiquities, except when sold, do not bring money to the exchequer, and the
Dutch Government’s most holy colonial traditions are diametrically opposed to
expenses without promise of immediate pecuniary profit. If sympathies in
matters alien to that prime purpose are miraculously aroused, such interest,
revealing itself at the very best by fits and starts to serve ambitious schemes,
soon flags and dies. Especially in Dutch East Indian enthusiasm for enterprises
financially uncommendable, the adage holds good that tout lasse, tout casse, tout
passe. The efforts of the Archaeological Commission can be traced only at the
respectful distance of at least a couple of years, the drowsy dignity of red-
tapeism putting as long a space as possible between the vulgar gaze of the
unofficially curious and the official accounts of things accomplished, meetly
compiled, arranged, amended, corrected, revised, purged, padded and bolstered
up by the editing experts of successively the circumlocution offices at Batavia,
Buitenzorg and the Hague. The reports, published in this manner, whatever they
represent as having been done, lay no stress, of course, upon what has been left
undone, upon the architectural marvels unprovided for, still suffered to crumble
away, to be stripped and demolished, the valuable statuary and ornaments to be
carried off piecemeal by unscrupulous collectors, the lower priced stones they
left, sculptured or not, by the builders of private dwellings and factories, of
Government bridges, dams and embankments.
The illustrations, inserted to explain, imperfect though it be, the charm of the
temple ruins I treated of, are reproductions of photographs, taken for the Dutch
East Indian Archaeological Service, I obtained from Messrs. Charls and van Es
at Weltevreden, by courtesy of Dr. N. J. Krom, and of photographs taken for the
Centrum Company at Batavia, and by Mr. C. Nieuwenhuis and the late Cephas
Sr. at Jogjakarta. The work of restoration can be appreciated from the photo-
prints of the chandi Pawon and, with respect to the chandis Mendoot and Boro
Budoor, from those facing pp. 215 and 280; they are the numbers 24 and 40 on
the list of the illustrations, and I owe them to Major T. van Erp, also through the
intermediary of Dr. Krom. My indebtedness for the text so far as it does not rest
on personal observation and information obtained in the localities referred to, is
a very large one to many authors on many subjects separately specified in the
notes. Concerning the historical parts, I beg leave to state that my readings on
controversial points have been determined by a careful sifting of the most
acceptable theories advanced, at the risk of critics of the stamp alluded to,
proving my preferred records absolutely inadmissible. If so, I having pulled the
long bow à l’instar of the annalists and chroniclers of ancient Java, and
consequently being shown up for indicating the way in which things did not
happen and could not have happened, instead of sticking to the historical truth
agreed upon until one of the hall-marked omniscient makes a name for himself
by inducing the others to agree upon something else, my sin falls back on the
shoulders of the savants prone to lead their admirers astray by their occasional
imitation of the eminent historian at whose inborn disrespect for facts Professor
Freeman used to poke fun. I am afraid that the system of transliteration I
adopted, will also meet with scant recognition in the same quarter, but finding
none that, strictly carried through, adjusts itself equally well to the exigencies
both of Javanese and Malay names and expressions, I shall adhere to this one
until taught better.
This must suffice for a preface if, indeed, it does not exceed the measure allowed
by my readers’ patience. Knowing Java, they will, however, excuse my fervour
in introducing reminiscences of beauty breathing scenes which, once enjoyed,
linger like delights in memory

... the memory of a dream,

Which now is sad because it hath been sweet.

Not knowing Java yet, they will forgive later, when they have visited the
matchless old shrines, images of her past and symbolic of her hopes for blessings
hidden in the womb of time, when they have tried to read the riddle of her
children’s destiny in the Boro Budoor

... seated in an island strong,

Abounding all with delices most rare.

J. F. S.
EDINBURGH.
 CONTENTS
CHAPTER I PAGE
THE COUNTRY, THE PEOPLE AND THEIR WORK 1
CHAPTER II
WEST JAVA 23
CHAPTER III
THE DIËNG 40
CHAPTER IV
PRAMBANAN 69
CHAPTER V
MORE OF CENTRAL JAVA 99
CHAPTER VI
EAST JAVA 140
CHAPTER VII
BUDDHIST JAVA 177
CHAPTER VIII
THE APPROACH TO THE BORO BUDOOR 207
CHAPTER IX
THE STONES OF THE BORO BUDOOR 233
CHAPTER X
THE SOUL OF THE BORO BUDOOR 266
BIBLIOGRAPHY 285
GLOSSARY 289
INDEX 295
 ILLUSTRATIONS
FACE PAGE
1. The Boro Budoor (Cephas Sr.) Frontispiece
2. Chandi Pringapoos (Archaeological Service through Charls and
43
van Es)
3. Chandi Arjuno on the Diëng Plateau (Archaeological Service
57
through Charls and van Es)
4. Chandi Bimo or Wergodoro on the Diëng Plateau
60
(Archaeological Service through Charls and van Es)
5. East Front of the Siva (Loro Jonggrang) Temple of the
70
Prambanan Group in 1895 (Cephas Sr.)
6. Siva (Loro Jonggrang) Temple of the Prambanan Group in 1901
78
(Cephas Sr.)
7. Prambanan Reliefs (C. Nieuwenhuis) 81
8. Prambanan Reliefs (Cephas Sr.) 84
9. Prambanan Reliefs (Centrum) 87
10. Prambanan Reliefs (Centrum) 90
11. Prambanan Reliefs (Centrum) 93
12. Prambanan Reliefs (Centrum) 96
13. Water-Castle at Jogjakarta (Centrum) 131
14. Water-Castle at Jogjakarta (Centrum) 135
15. Chandi Papoh (Archaeological Service through Charls and van
151
Es)
16. Chandi Singosari (Archaeological Service through Charls and
157
van Es)
17. Chandi Toompang (Archaeological Service through Charls and
159
van Es)
18. Chandi Panataran (Archaeological Service through Charls and
164
van Es)
19. Chandi Kalasan (C. Nieuwenhuis) 181
20. Chandi Sari (C. Nieuwenhuis) 185
21. Raksasa of the Chandi Sewu (Centrum) 191
22. Detail of the Chandi Sewu (Archaeological Service through
199
Charls and van Es)
23. Chandi Mendoot before its Restoration (Cephas Sr.) 211
24. Chandi Mendoot after its Restoration (Archaeological Service) 215
25. Interior of the Chandi Mendoot (Cephas Sr.) 223
26. The Chandi Pawon and the Randu Alas (C. Nieuwenhuis) 229
27. The Chandi Pawon divorced and restored (Centrum) 230
28. Base of the Boro Budoor showing the (filled up) lowest
242
Gallery (C. Nieuwenhuis)
29. Detail of the Boro Budoor (C. Nieuwenhuis) 244
30. Detail of the Boro Budoor (C. Nieuwenhuis) 247
31. Detail of the Boro Budoor (Centrum) 249
32. Detail of the Boro Budoor (C. Nieuwenhuis) 252
33. Detail of the Boro Budoor (C. Nieuwenhuis) 254
34. A Dhyani Buddha of the Boro Budoor (Cephas Sr.) 256
35. Reliefs of the Boro Budoor (C. Nieuwenhuis) 259
36. Ascending the Boro Budoor (Cephas Sr.) 261
37. Reaching the Circular Terraces of the Boro Budoor (Cephas
264
Sr.)
38. Ascending to the Dagob of the Boro Budoor (Cephas Sr.) 270
39. The Dagob of the Boro Budoor before its Restoration (C.
276
Nieuwenhuis)
40. The Dagob of the Boro Budoor after its Restoration
280
(Archaeological Service)
 Decoration
CHAPTER I
THE COUNTRY, THE PEOPLE AND THEIR WORK

It is the crowning virtue of all great Art that, however little is left of
it by the injuries of time, that little will be lovely. JOHN RUSKIN,
Mornings in Florence (Santa Croce).
Java’s ancient monuments are eloquent evidence of that innate consciousness of
something beyond earthly existence which moves men to propitiate the principle
of life by sacrifice in temples as gloriously divine as mortal hand can raise. Fear,
however, especially where Buddhism moulded their thought by contemplation
intent upon absorption of self, entered little into the religion of the children of
this pearl of islands. Nature, beautiful, almighty nature, guided them and their
work; even the terror inspired by the cosmic energy throbbing under their feet,
by frequent volcanic upheavals dealing destruction and death, flowered into
promise of new joy, thanks to the consummate art of their builders and sculptors,
whose master minds, conceiving grandly, devising boldly and finishing with
elaborate ornament, emphasised most cunningly the lofty yet lovely majesty of
their natural surroundings. They made them images of the Supreme Being in his
different aspects and symbolised attributes, free from the abject dread which
dominated his worship by other earthlings of his fashioning in other climes,
whose notion of All-Power was more one of Vengeance than of All-Sufficiency.
They lived and meditated and wrought, impressing their mentality upon the
material world given for their use; and so they created marvels of beauty,
developed an architecture which belongs pre-eminently to their luxuriant soil
under the clear blue of their sky, in the brilliant light of their sun.
Truly high art ever shows a natural fitness, as we can observe in our gothic
cathedrals, in the classic remains of Hellas, including those of Magna Graecia,
the temples of Poseidonia, Egesta and Acragas, the theatres of Syracuse and
Tauromenium, gates opened to the splendour of heaven and earth by the undying
virtue of mortal endeavour. Other countries, other revelations of the divine
essence in human effort, but not even the shrines of India as I came to know
them, born of a common origin with Javanese religious structures in almost
similar conditions of climate, physical needs, moral aspirations, can equal their
stately grandeur balanced by exquisite elegance, calm yet passionate, always in
keeping with the dignified repose of landscapes which at any moment may have
their charms dissolved in earthquakes, fire and ashes. Angkor-Vat, turned from
the service of four-faced Brahma to Buddhist self-negation, stands perhaps
nearest in the happy effect produced, if not in outline. And what is the secret of
that quiet, subtle magic exercised by the builders of Java? Nothing but a matter
of technical skill, of such a control over the practical details of their craft as, for
instance, made them scorn metal bindings, while using mortar only to a very
limited extent? Or was it their faith, leavening design and execution, attaching
the master’s seal to general plan and minutest ornamental scroll? In this
connection it seems worthy of remark that architect and sculptor, though
independent in their labours (with the exception of one or two edifices of a late
date), achieved invariably, in the distribution of surfaces and decoration, both as
to front and side elevations, complete unity of expression of the fundamental
idea.
Geographically, the ancient monuments of Java may be divided into three main
groups: a western one, rather scanty and confined to a comparatively small area;
a central one, rich both in Sivaïte and Buddhist temples of the highest
excellence; an eastern one, including Madura and Bali, illustrative of the island’s
Hindu art in its decadence. Taking it roughly, the order is also chronologically
from West to East, and to a certain extent we can trace the history of the
remarkable people who improved so nobly upon the ideas they received from
India, in the ruins they left to our wondering gaze. There has been a good deal of
controversy respecting the date up to which the inhabitants of Java developed
themselves on lines of aboriginal thought before the advent of the Hindus or,
more correctly speaking, before Hindu influences became prevalent. In fact,
there is hardly any question regarding the history of the island and its civilisation
before the white conquerors carried everything before them, which has not given
rise to controversy, and many important points are still very far from being
settled—perhaps they never will be. In the face of such disagreement it behoves
us to go warily and what follows hereafter rests but on arguments pro and contra
deemed most plausible and founded principally on the accounts of the babads or
Javanese chronicles,[2] always liable to correction when new discoveries with
new wordy battles in their wake bring new light—if they do! Rude attempts at
rock carving near Karang Bolong, Sukabumi, and Chitapen, Cheribon, are
ascribed by some to artists of the pre-Hindu period. Professor J. H. C. Kern’s
reading of inscriptions on four monoliths in Batavia, glorifications of a certain
king Purnavarman, proves that the first Hindus of whom we have knowledge in
Java, were Vaishnavas. Then comes a blank of several centuries while they made
their way to Central and East Java where, however, when the veil is partly lifted,
the Saivas predominate, almost swamping the rival sect. Fa Hien, the Chinese
pilgrim who visited the island in 412 or 413, having suffered shipwreck on its
coast, speaks of Brahmanism being in floribus and making converts, but
complains of Buddhism as still of small account among the natives.
The strangers arrived in increasing numbers on the hospitable shores of the good
and generous negri jawa, whose kindly reception of those adventurers is
marvellously well represented on two of the sculptured slabs of the Boro
Budoor, a tale of rescue from the dangers of the sea, a picture of the past and a
prophetic vision of the welcome extended in later days also to Muhammadans
and Christians—to be how repaid! The Hindus acquitted their debt of gratitude
by building and carving with an energy, to quote James Fergusson, and to an
extent nowhere surpassed in their native lands, dignifying their new home with
imperishable records of their art and civilisation.... The Venggi inscriptions of
the Diëng and the Kadu leave no doubt that the oldest manifestations of
Hinduïsm in Central and West Java were intimately related and that the first
strong infusion of the imported creed must have operated until 850 Saka (A.D.
928). In 654 Saka (A.D. 732), according to an inscription found at Changgal,
Kadu, the ruler of the land bore a Sanskrit name and sacrificed to Siva, erecting
a linga.[3] An inscription of 700 Saka (A.D. 778), found at Kalasan, Jogjakarta, is
Buddhistic and confirms the evidence of many other records carved in stone and
copper, of the oldest Javanese literature, last but not least of the temple ruins, all
concurring in this that the two religions flourished side by side, the adoration of
the Brahman triad, led by Siva, acquiring a tinge of the beatitude derived from
emancipation through annihilation of self; Buddhism, in its younger mahayana
form, becoming strongly impregnated with Sivaïsm, to the point even of
endowing the Adi-Buddha in his five more tangible personifications with
spouses and sons. Between two currents of faith, each imbued with the male and
female principle in a country where the problem of sex will not be hid, it
depended often upon a trifle what kind of emblematic shape the sculptor was
going to give to his block of stone, whether he would carve a linga or a yoni,[4] a
Dhyani Buddha, a Bodhisatva, a Tara or one of her Hindu peers.
Subsequent waves of immigration, the Muhammadan invasion, the Christian
conquests, did little to nourish the artistic flame; on the contrary, they damped
artistic ardour. Hereanent our historical data are somewhat more precise. The
Islām takes its way to Sumatra in the wake of trade; conversions en masse seem
to have first occurred in Pasei and Acheh, while merchants of Arabian and
Persian nationality prepared its advent also in other regions of the north and later
of the west coast. Marco Polo speaks of a Muhammadan principality in the
North at the end of the thirteenth century; Ibn Batutah of several more in 1345;
Acheh is fully islāmised under Sooltan Ali Moghayat Shah, 1507-1522; about
the same time Menangkabau, ruled by maharajahs proud of their descent in the
right line from Alexander the Great, Iskander Dzu’l Karnein, reaches its apogee
as a formidable Moslim state and remains the stronghold of Malayan true
believers until the fanaticism of the padris, stirred by the Wahabite movement,
ends, in 1837, in the submission of the last Prince of Pagar Rujoong to the Dutch
Government, which annexes his already much diminished empire. About 1400
the Islām had been introduced into Java, Zabej, as the Arabs called it, probably
via Malacca and Sumatra, more especially Palembang. The oldest effort
recorded was that of a certain Haji Poorwa in Pajajaran, but it appears not to
have met with great success. Gresik in East Java, a port of call frequented by
many oriental skippers, offered a better field for the religious zeal of Arab
sailing-masters, supercargoes and tradesmen, every one of them a missionary
too. Maulana Malik Ibrahim secured the largest following and was succeeded in
his apostolic work by Raden Paku, who settled at Giri, not far from Gresik,
whence his title of Susuhunan Giri, and by Raden Rahmat, who married a
daughter of Angka Wijaya, King of Mojopahit, and founded a Muhammadan
school at Ngampel, Surabaya. Their teachings resulted soon in the conversion of
the population of the northeast coast of the island, where Demak, Drajat, Tuban,
Kalinjamat and a few smaller vassal states of Mojopahit made themselves
independent under Moslim princes or walis, who at last combined for a holy war
against Hindu supremacy. They wiped Mojopahit in her idolatrous wickedness
from the face of the earth and the leadership went to Demak, from which Pajang
derived its political ascendency to merge later in Mataram. While the Islām
spread from Giri in East and Central Java, even to Mataram and, crossing the
water, to Madura, by the exertions of saintly men who “knew the future,” an
Arab sheik, arriving at Cheribon, directly from foreign parts, at some time
between 1445 and 1490, Noor ad-Din Ibrahim bin Maulana Israïl, better known
as Sunan Gunoong Jati, undertook the conversion of West Java. And of Cheribon
in her relation to the Pasoondan may be repeated what a Javanese historian said
of Demak, where the Evil One was outwitted by the building of a mesdjid, a
Muhammadan house of prayer, the oldest in the island: two human virtues
remained; so many as embraced the true religion went after them.
The two remaining virtues got hard pressed when Christian strangers came to
explore and exploit: Portuguese, English and Dutch, the latter dominant up to
this day. Viewed from the standpoint of the dominated, their god was a god of
plunder; their emblem, to suit the symbolism of the Hindu Pantheon, was a
maryam, a heavy piece of ordnance; their vahana, the animal representative of
their most characteristic qualities, was the tiger, machan still being synonymous
with orang wolanda (Hollander) in confidential, figurative speech. How Skanda,
the deity of war, incited and Kuwera, the corpulent bestower of riches, directed
their warriors and negotiators after the appearance of Cornelis Houtman’s ships
in the Bay of Bantam, need not detain us. That story of the past, with a hint at
the possible future, is told in the legend of the legitimately wedded but for the
time cruelly separated maryams of which one, very appropriately, awaits the
fulfilment of a prophecy at the capital of the intruders, and the other where they
first put foot on land, both being objects of veneration and granters of desires,
especially kind to barren women who come, in a spirit of humiliation, to pray for
the blessing of motherhood. A visit to Batavia is not complete without a
pilgrimage to the Pinang gate, once an approach to the East India Company’s
castle, now in its supernatural cleanness, with its hideously black funeral urns
and statues of Mars and Mercury or whoever they may be, giving access to the
old town, the first public monument which attracted the attention of young
Verdant Green in the age of sailing vessels after he had paid his due to the
customs at the boom. Not far from that Pinang gate, symbolic of a colonial
system under which short weight flourished with forced labour and trade carried
on at the edge of the sword, lies the man-cannon, Kiahi Satomo, whose pommel
presents a hand, closed so as to make the gesture of contempt, la fica, which
Vanni Fucci of Pistoja permitted himself when interrogated in the abode of
despair by the poet, quem genuit parvi Florentia mater amoris, and which
accounts for the peculiar forms sacrifice assumes at this altar. His favourite
spouse, discovered floating on the sea near old Bantam, an extraordinary thing to
do for such a big heavy piece of metal, was given a temporary home on the spot
where finally she lay down to rest from her travels: a certain Haji Bool built her
a bambu house after the eruption of Krakatoa in 1883, her presence having saved
Karang Antu from the fate of Anyer and Cheringin. Waiting for the great
consummation, when her reunion with her lord at Batavia will announce the
hour of the oppressors’ defeat and their expulsion from Java, she is not less
honoured than he. Dressed in a white cloth, which covers the circular inscription
in Arabic characters on breech and cascabel, while the priming hole is decorated
in square ornament, with five solid rings to facilitate conveyance if she prefers
being carried to moving by her own exertion as of yore, anointed and salved
with boreh,[5] the spouse, expecting the summons in the fragrance of incense and
flowers, kananga and champaka, is often surrounded by fervent devotees,
muttering their dzikr on their prayer-mats, grateful for bounty received or
hopeful of future delivery from bondage. Husband and wife will meet and then a
third cannon, far away in Central Java, in the aloon aloon[6] before the kraton[6]
of the Susuhunan of Surakarta, inhabited by a ghost, dispenser of dreams, the
sapu jagad, will vindicate that name, “broom of the world”, by sweeping all
infidels into the sea. Though the scoffing unbeliever counts this a dream of
dreams, to the confiding children of the land it is a disclosure of things hidden in
the womb of time, not the less true because Kiahi Satomo has an older mate,
Niahi Satomi, the wife of his youth, the robed in red of the Susuhunan’s artillery
park, which glories in many maryams renowned in myth and history, among
them another married couple, Koomba-rawa and Koomba-rawi, who shielded
the ancient Sooltans of Pajang, being the official defenders of their palace. But
Kiahi Satomo’s heart is in Bantam, at Karang Antu, as Niahi Satomi has reason
to suspect since she, the more legitimate and more advanced in age, cannot keep
him at her side. It avails nothing that the Susuhunan’s retainers chain the
reluctant head of the family to the Bangsal Pangrawit, the imperial audience-
chamber constructed after a heavenly model in gold; always and always he flies
back to Batavia, anxious to be ready where the beloved bini muda (lit. young
wife) has trysted him for sweet dalliance, from which victory will be born and
release.
While predictions of the kind may be laughed at, the native belief in them and
the foundations on which that belief rests, are no laughable matter by any means.
Stories of mythical beings like Kiahi Satomo and Niahi Satomi, transformed into
pieces of ordnance connected with the legendary lore of Trunajaya on one side
and Moslim fanaticism personified in the cannon of Karang Antu on the other,
prove that the native mind is still strongly imbued with pre-Muhammadan and
even pre-Hindu ideas and modes of thought. Its imagination is fed by the
fortunes (and misfortunes!) of an island which may be compared in the
heterogeneous factors of its culture with Sicily, where Greek colonists built their
temples in the high places of aboriginal idolatry; and the Saracens constructed
their qubbehs overtopping the churches and cloisters into which the Christians
had transformed the cellae and colonnades consecrated to Zeus, Hera, Poseidon,
Aphrodite, Pallas Athene, Artemis, the Dioscuri; and the Normans added their
arched doorways and massive masonry to perplex posterity entirely. In Java the
Hindu element, with a strong Buddhist admixture, predominates; it prevails
wholly in ancient architectural activity, not to speak of Soondanese and Javanese
folklore and literature, while later Christian influence is negligible if not
negative. Everywhere in the island we find under the Muhammadan coating the
old conceptions of life from which the Loro Jonggrang group and the Boro
Budoor sprang: scratch the orang slam and the Saiva or Buddhist will
immediately appear. As the Padang Highlands, which preserve the traditions of
Menangkabau, still ring with the fame of the Buddhist King Adityawarman, and
scrupulously Moslim Palembang still cherishes the memory of Buddhist San-bo-
tsaï, while South Sumatra clings to Hindu customs and habits for all its
submission to Islām, so Java reveres whatever has been handed down from her
pantheistic tempo dahulu (time of yore), however attached to the law of the
Prophet. Sivaïsm and Buddhism were deeply rooted in the island; if the political
power of its old creeds was broken in 1767 with the taking of Balambangan,
Hinduïsm nevertheless lingering among the Tenggerese and in Bali, their spirit
goes on leavening the new doctrine and we meet with their symbolism at every
turn. Not to mention Central Java, where especially in Surakarta and Jogjakarta
their tenacious sway strikes the most casual observer, the great staircase of the
Muhammadan sanctum at Giri is adorned with a huge naga, the worshipful rain-
cloud descending in the likeness of a serpent, despite the Qorānic injunction to
abstain from the representation of animate creation. The pillars of reception-halls
and audience-chambers in the houses of the high and mighty, East and West,
bear a remarkable resemblance to the linga, witness, e.g., the kedaton[7] built by
the Sooltan Sepooh Martawijaya of Cheribon, a Moslim prince who ought to
have evinced the strongest repugnance to Siva’s prime attribute.
Under the circumstances we need not wonder that the Islām did so little to
stimulate art in Java. Christianity did still less, rather clogged it in its application
to native industries, which suffered from the country being flooded with stuff as
cheap as possible in every respect, but sold at the highest possible prices to
benefit manufacturers in Europe. This is not the place to expatiate on this subject
nor to discuss present efforts (in which alas! personal ambitions play first fiddle
and jeopardise results) to revive what lies at the point of death after centuries of
culpable discouragement, the professional secrets and peculiar devices of native
arts and crafts, requiring hereditary skill and the delicate touch of experienced
fingers to attain former perfection, being now already half forgotten or altogether
lost. Concerning the ancient monuments of Java, it is to the British Interregnum,
to Sir Thomas Stamford Raffles that we owe the first measures for their
preservation and the first systematic survey of specimens of Hindu workmanship
as beautiful as any in the world, more in particular of the Prambanan temples,
and also of the Boro Budoor, by common consent the masterpiece of Buddhist
architecture. Marshalling his assistants in the archaeological field, especially
Cornelius and Wardenaar (whose fruitful explorations and excavations deserved
fuller acknowledgment than they received from him), a diligent student besides
of the history and literature of the island, doing for Java in that respect what
Marsden had done for Sumatra, he inspired Dr. Leyden, Colonel Mackenzie and
his rival John Crawfurd among his contemporaries, and of younger generations
now equally gone, Wilsen, Leemans, Brumund, Friederich, Junghuhn, Cohen
Stuart, Holle,—j’en passe et des meilleurs! The value of their labours must be
recognised and it is the fault of the Dutch Government’s apathetic attitude that
with such forces at its disposal, so little has been achieved. Each of them, with
few exceptions, worked independently of the other and blazed his own personal
path in the wilderness of Dutch East Indian antiquities. There was, as Fergusson
complained, no system, no leading spirit to give unity to the whole.
Disconnected, sometimes misdirected investigation did not result in more than
an accumulation of fragmentary material for possible future use, rudis
indigestaque moles. And meanwhile the glorious remains of a lost civilisation
went more and more to ruin. They were drawn upon for purposes of public and
private building; statues and ornament disappeared, not only in consequence of
the unchecked, persistent nibbling of the tooth of time, and it seemed almost so
much gained if Doorga or Ganesa reappeared occasionally in the function of
domestic goddess or god to some Resident or Assistant Resident who
demonstrated his devotion to ancient art and care for the preservation of its
masterpieces by a periodical process of whitewashing or tarring. Worse than
that: dilettantism began to tamper with the finest temples and the miserable
bungling of mischievous, quasi-scientific enthusiasts reached its climax in the
sorry spectacle prepared for the visitors of the last international exhibition in
Paris (1900). There was to be seen in the Dutch East Indian section, a mean,
ridiculous imitation of one of the Buddhist jewels of Central Java, a caricature of
the chandi[8] Sari, the exterior in nondescript confectioner’s style, daubed dirty
white, the interior made hideous by a purple awning, abomination heaped on
abomination. And that piteous botch, in fact an unconscious avowal of Dutch
colonial shortcomings, did service as a sample of la magnificence d’une religion
prodigue en ornaments, en feuillages et en voluptés!
After an era of dabbling by pseudo-Winckelmanns and Schliemanns, spicing
their pretences with mutual admiration, the Government decided finally to
appoint a permanent Archaeological Commission. Things, indeed, had come to
such a pass that there was danger in delay: the island is becoming more and
more accessible to globe-trotters of all nationalities, not a few of whom publish
their impressions, and if erring authority wields a vigorous Press Law to silence
criticism at home, against foreign criticism it has no weapon of the kind,
however touchy it may be. So it began to move and the Archaeological
Commission (short for Commission for Archaeological Research in Java and
Madura), though without a single trained archaeologist among its members,
displayed at once a good deal of activity under its first President, Dr. J. L. A.
Brandes, exploring in East Java, restoring the chandi Toompang, attending to the
Mendoot and Boro Budoor in Central Java, in order that, acting upon King
Pururava’s injunction, at last understood and accepted, after a fashion, by
Batavia and the Hague, no monument shall be lost which has been wrought in
the right spirit. It can be imagined that subordinate officials, eager to follow their
superiors’ lead, now revel daily in numberless finds, reported not only from
districts, near and remote, in the star island, but from the exterior possessions,
from Soombawa, from Jambi in Sumatra, from Kutei in East, from Sanggau and
Sakadan in West Borneo, etc. etc. Like the encouraging of native art applied to
weaving, wood-carving, the manufacture of pottery, of household utensils of
copper and bronze, and so on, the ferreting out of sculptural and architectural
ties with the past is quite the latest craze, a stepping-stone to preferment or at
least a means of ingratiation with those who set the pace. There would be no
harm in this if obsequious ambition did not burgeon here and there into an
excess of zeal which makes one tremble, pregnant as it proves to be with dangers
well defined by Ruskin: Of all destructive manias that of restoration is the
frightfullest and foolishest.
Curiosity being excited, there is the impulse to satisfy vulgar demands, to cater
to coarse appetites when admitting every one who knocks at the door of the
treasure-house however unworthy. Trippers from the trading centres on the coast
swarm round as their fancies guide; tourists from distant climes scour the land,
either single spies or driven in noisy battalions of “conducted parties”. Travel in
Java is already assuming the character of holiday excursions pressed upon the
public in bombastic handbills and posters of transportation companies. Revenue
being the principal objective of Dutch colonial solicitude, the opportunity they
create is gladly seized to levy gate-money from visitors to the chandi Mendoot.
[9] And since the Philistines, who do not appreciate the beauties of a building

they cannot comprehend, expect something in exchange for their contribution to

the upkeep, visible tokens of their really having been there, we shall soon hear of
photographers established in the temple to perpetuate the memory of spoony
couples, giggling and offensive, magnesium flashed at the feet of the Most
Venerable, or of the Boro Budoor in a blaze of Bengal fire to please mediocrity,
which wants barbarous stimulants. And apart from such concessions to the
exigencies of inane modern travel, how distressing the plain tokens of neglect
and spoliation! As Psyche began to mourn Love after she had come to grasp his
excellence, so the discerning one, advancing to the apprehension of eternal truth
there enshrined in beauty, a call to heaven in stone, laments less what is gone of
material substance by the ravages of time, than what is taken from the spiritual
essence by willful mutilation; by methods of repair embodied in iron scrapers to
remove moss and weeds, incidentally spoiling the delicate lines of reliefs and
decoration; by filling gaps with any rubbish lying about, mending and patching à
la grosse morbleu; by additions for the convenience of sightseers, like the
unsightly staircase askew near one of the original, dilapidated approaches. It is
devoutly to be hoped that the overhauling now in progress will, at least, remove
such incongruities and avoid new horrors of so-called restoration.[10]
Dr. Brandes, whose learning and good sense led the Archaeological Commission
in a track of sound activity, died, unfortunately, in 1905. Though the theft of
antiquities has been discontinued on paper, impudent souvenir hunting is still
winked at by authorities fawning on distinguished guests. Untitled and unofficial
collectors will have some trouble perhaps, at any rate incur a good deal more
expense than formerly, in filling their private art galleries, but for officials of the
type of Nicolaus Engelhard[11] no difficulties seem to exist and even the Boro
Budoor was very recently despoiled to please a royal personage. So much for
Java; as to the exterior possessions, the Minahassa was plundered, even more
recently, for the benefit of foreign explorers of name and fame. Since the
respective Government edicts[12] multiplied, fixing responsibility at random,
cases of strange disappearance multiplied too, on the principle, it seems, of
making hay while the sun shines; the pen-driving departments, issuing circulars
on everything, for everything, against everything, about everything, effect
absolutely nothing unless their insistence be taken, often rightly by him who
reads between the lines, for a covert invitation to do precisely the contrary,
considering friendships, family relations, party obligations, etc. etc., of powers
and dominions. The force of regulations and rescripts in the Dutch East Indies is
notoriously short-lived in the best of circumstances, and we have it on the
authority of Hans Sachs, Je mehr Hürten, je übler Hut. The very scrupulous and
wise, moreover, drag off whatever is loose or can be detached, separating details
of ornament, reliefs and statues from their surroundings, which are indispensable
to their proper understanding, to hide and forget them in cellars and lofts of
museums until, the stars being favourable, accidentally rediscovered after years
and years, and ticketed and huddled together with other ticketed objects in long,
dreary rows of forbidding, bewildering aspect. That is, if they are rescued and
classified and ticketed tant bien que mal: the colonial section in the Museum of
Antiquities at Leyden, a byword among the lovers of Dutch East Indian
architecture, shows clearly the obstruction caused by hopeless negligence in the
past and lack of backbone in the present zeal, energy, ardour, nay, frenzy of
investigation. Everything in Dutch colonial affairs goes by fits and starts with
long blanks of indifference between. To give but one instance: the Corpus
Inscriptionum Javanarum, planned with flourish of trumpets in 1843, still awaits
the preliminaries of a beginning of execution. Concerning the fever of
restoration which has broken out, one feels inclined, in support of Ruskin’s
opinion quoted above, to sound the note of warning engraved on the signet ring
of Prosper Mérimée, Inspector of the Historical Monuments of France almost a
century ago: μέμνασ' ἀπιστεῖν, lest the last state become worse than the first, and
excess of zeal deface what time and the hand of man, even the Department of
Public Works itself, quarrying its material for bridges, dams, embankments and
the shapeless Government buildings of which it possesses the monopoly, have
left standing. Without, however, insisting on the dark aspect of the situation, let
us trust that a sense of shame, if not of duty, will sustain the interest in the old
monuments of Java now in vogue, and may then the faddish, pompous display,
turned into channels of quiet, responsible, persistent endeavour, herald a brighter
day!
Decoration
 Decoration
CHAPTER II
WEST JAVA

Quedaron mudos los cuerpos,

Solas las almas se hablan,
Que en las luces de los ojos
Iban y venian las almas.[13]

Romancero Morisco (Celin de Escariche).

The Batu Tulis, lit. “the inscribed stone”, near Bogor, commemorates the feats of
a certain prince, Parabu Raja Purana, otherwise Ratu Dewata, and calls him the
founder of Pakuan, ruler, maharajah ratu aji, of Pakuan Pajajaran. That kingdom
is the centre of everything tradition has transmitted regarding the Hindus in West
Java. Its origin, according to native belief, goes back to a settlement of princely
adventurers from Tumapel in East Java, and when Mojopahit flourished after the
fall of that mighty empire, it rose to equal eminence at the other end of the
island, only to be destroyed by the same agency, the growing power of Islām.
The subjection of the mountain tribes of the Priangan by the settlers from the
East proceeded in the beginning but slowly and the children of the land, even
after they had yielded to the inevitable, must have retained a share in the
management of their affairs, for Soondanese pantoons[14] mention separately, as
two factors of government, the ratu, king of Pakuan, and the menak, nobility of
Pajajaran. However this may be, from about 1100 until the beginning of the
sixteenth century, Pajajaran was a political unity that counted. She could send an
army of a hundred thousand warriors into the field. Her kings disposed at will of
large territories, gained by conquest; one of them conferred upon his brother
Kalayalang the dominion of Jayakarta, in later years better known under the
name of Yacatra, and on his brother Barudin the dominion of Bantam,
principalities destined to play an important part in the overthrow of the sovereign
state. Nothing, save the meagre accounts of the babads and the scanty remains to
be referred to at the end of this chapter, reminds now of Pajajaran, except the
Badooy in South Bantam, who constitute a community apart, entirely isolated
from the rest of the population and whose peculiar customs and religious
observances so far as known, make it probable that they are the descendants of
fugitives before the Muhammadan inroad.
When Noor ad-Din Ibrahim bin Maulana Israïl had established in Cheribon not
only his religion but also his political power, he began, under the name and title
of Sunan Gunoong Jati, to propagate the faith by force of arms in the whole of
West Java. First he cast his eyes on Bantam, then a mighty realm, the possession
or at least the control of which, leaving spiritual motives alone, would materially
benefit Moslim trade by securing a free passage through the Straits of Soonda
whenever trouble with the Portuguese made the Straits of Malacca unsafe. The
Sivaïte Prince of Bantam, trying to preserve his independence by fostering the
commercial rivalry between his Muhammadan and Christian friends, received
the latter with open arms and besought their assistance against Cheribon and
Demak, but Maulana Hasan ad-Din, a son of Sunan Gunoong Jati, defeated him
none the less and introduced the Islām among his people both in Bantam proper
and in the Lampongs. Another son of Sunan Gunoong Jati founded the
Muhammadan principality of Soonda Kalapa, notwithstanding the fortifications
erected there by the Portuguese, at the instance of their Bantamese ally, to stem
the tide of Muhammadan conquest. After subjugating the vassal state, Maulana
Hasan ad-Din attacked, about 1526, the troops of Pajajaran under the King’s son
Sili Wangi, and routed them, taking the capital and proselytising by the sword
wherever he went, following the example set by Raden Patah of Demak in East
Java. It is probable that Bantam, once islāmised and consequently turning
against the Portuguese, took the side of Cheribon in these wars. At any rate, we
find Bantam and Cheribon together acknowledging the suzerainty of Demak,
like the more eastern principalities of the north coast, and when that central
Muhammadan state of Java lost the hegemony in consequence of its breaking up
after the death of Pangeran Tranggana, and at last the Sooltan of Pajang,[15] into
which it dissolved, had to humble himself with his allies, the Adipati of
Surabaya and the Sunan of Giri, before the Senapati of Mataram, his former
regent in that territory, this valiant and clever potentate claimed the lordship over
the island. These were the beginnings of a glorious new Mataram, perhaps
identical with Mendang Kamulan.
Cheribon, which had conquered Bantam and Pajajaran, lost gradually her
strength, became tributary to Mataram in 1625 and wholly dependent in 1632.
She declined still more after the death of Panambahan Girilaya, who divided his
succession between his sons Pangeran Martawijaya (later Sooltan Sepooh) and
Pangeran Kartawijaya (later Sooltan Anom), on condition of their providing for
a third son, Pangeran Wangsakarta of Godong (later Panambahan). Embroiled in
the rebellion of Trunajaya against the authority of Mataram and captured,
Martawijaya and Kartawijaya were kept as hostages at its capital, Karta.
Released through the intervention of Sooltan Tirtayasa of Bantam, more
commonly known as Abu’l-Fatah, they returned home only to get again mixed
up in hostilities against Mataram and the Dutch East India Company, which
overran Cheribon with its soldiers and improved the opportunity by regulating
the affairs of Girilaya’s three sons to its own best advantage. The foundation of
Batavia on the site of old Yacatra, taken by Jan Pietersz Coen, May 30, 1619,
had meant, among other things, an always keener competition in trade with
Bantam or, rather, the “establishment of a free rendezvous”, i.e. free of
bickerings with native princes and princelings, for the fleets of the Company on
their long voyage to the Moluccos. Bantam having outstripped Cheribon by the
importance she derived from English and Dutch shipping, resented the blow
which threatened to relegate her to a second or third place, and this resulted in
frequent conflicts with the intruders, though the boundary line of their settlement
and their mutual relationship had been carefully defined in the treaty of 1659. On
the other side in occasional difficulties with Mataram, the Company, acting on
the divide et impera principle, encouraged the rivalry between the middle and
western empires, which both strove for supremacy in the Priangan. How the
Company accomplished its purpose and triumphed, needs here no detailed
examination. Its objects and the considerations which moved it, are wittily
discussed in a Javanese mock-epic, the Serat Baron Sakendher, a satire on the
rise of Dutch power at Batavia, the foundation of Moor Yang Koong (Jan
Pietersz Coen). If that pattern of regents outre mer, the first Dutch Governor-
General in Java, whose motto was “never despair”, whose grip like the grip of
the tiger, has invited comparison with Ganesa (firstborn of Siva and Parvati) for
wisdom and cautious statecraft, with Skanda (also sprung from the Mahadeva’s
loins but without the Devi’s collaboration) for resolution and mettle, here we
find him as the son of Baron Sookmool, Baron Sakendher’s brother, and
Tanaruga,[16] daughter of the Pajajaranese Princess Retna Sakar Mandhapa, and
the poet makes the personification of the Company say to his twelve hopefuls,
the earliest Tuan Tuan Edeleer, or honourable members of the Governor-
General’s Council: Good measures you will enforce, without quarrelling
amongst yourselves, and, even if it were larceny, the moment you have decided
upon it by common consent, I give my permission,—a speech delightfully in
keeping with the tactics of his father, whose artillery prevailed, not with iron
cannon-balls, but with golden grapeshot of ducats and doubloons.
The ruins of the Fort Speelwijck and the minaret of Pangeran Muhammad’s
mesdjid at Old Bantam are very illustrative of the insinuating way in which the
pioneers of the Company planted their factories; once admitted on the strength of
their promises, they gained a firm footing by military superiority, driving hard
bargains and ousting the Islām from what it had come to regard as its own. Near
by is the neglected, overgrown Dutch cemetery, where many of those pioneers
were laid to rest, far from home, family and friends, killed in the Company’s
battles or by strenuous obedience to exacting orders, bartering their health in a
murderous climate for a handful of silver, wasting body and soul to swell the
Company’s dividends. A tangle of weeds and briars closes over their remains;
thick moss, covering their broken gravestones, effaces their forgotten names;
even the mausoleums dedicated to the memory of the leaders among them,
commanders and commercial agents-in-chief, are crumbling away, harbouring
hungry guests which leave safe lairs in the forests, when deer and wild pigs
become scarce, to raid at night the village sheepfolds, while snakes may dart
forth from the cracks and fissures at any moment and mosquitoes swarm round
in myriads, the worst plague of all to him who seeks communion with the dead
in that jungle. The burial-ground of the Sooltans of Bantam, gathered round
Hasan ad-Din, the first preacher of the true faith in this region, is in better
condition. Though Shafei, to whose madsheb or school the Moslemin of the
Dutch East Indies belong, disapproved of elaborate tombs and prescribed that
sepulchral cavities, after the deposition of the bodies, should be filled up and
made level with the ground, memorial tokens to mark the graves of
Muhammadan saints, famous princes and heroes, often venerated as kramats, are
a familiar sight in Java; they consist generally of pieces of wood or stone,
tengger, standing upright at both ends, at the head and at the feet, differently
shaped for men and for women. Many such are found where Pangeran
Muhammad raised his mesdjid with the minaret detached like the campanile of
some mediaeval Italian church. Tombs all round, tombs of Sooltans, their
brothers and sons and cousins, their great councillors and generals, a Bantamese
Aliscamps with Hasan ad-Din occupying the place of honour under a canopy,
prayer-mats and prayer-books lying around, a benign breeze stirring the muslin
hangings and filling the air with the fragrance of the kambojas.[17] Whoever
wants to know of the excellent deeds of the Sooltans of Bantam, their acts of
devotion in peace and their prowess in war, can receive information from
Pangeran Muhammad Ali in kampong Kanari, one of their descendants, keeper
of the archives of the mesdjid and the surrounding garden of the departed. He
will tell furthermore of the well near the north wall of the new building, which is
fed from the well Zemzem at Mecca and, thanks to the child Ishmaïl, beneath
whose feet its water bubbled forth, possesses the property of curing disease. It is
also connected with the miraculous source at Luar Batang, whose water
possesses the property of detecting perverters of the truth: the man who tries
there to slake his thirst with a falsehood on his conscience, from a downright lie
to a terminological inexactitude, or even a little fib for the sake of domestic
tranquillity, will not be able to swallow a drop, his throat refusing liquid comfort
until expiation of guilt; and so the devotees who flock to the shrine of the saint
of Hadramaut at Pasar Ikan, Batavia, leave that source prudently alone—one
may have sinned unwittingly or under strong provocation. Such holy places are
thickly strewn and the last habitation of Hasan ad-Din is one of the holiest, being
overshadowed by the venerable minaret of Pangeran Muhammad’s mesdjid,
which signified to Bantam what the mesdjid of Ngampel did to the eastern and
the mesdjid of Demak to the middle states of Moslim Java. The intact
preservation of the latter as the oldest existing edifice erected[18] for
Muhammadan worship in the island, is of high importance superstitionis causa,
and exceeding care was taken in 1845, when the danger of its tumbling down
became imminent, to rebuild it not all at once, but one part after the other, round
the four principal supports of the original structure, and to restore the beautifully
carved lintels and posts exactly to their accustomed position. Nothing is left at
Demak of Raden Patah’s princely dwelling, but the graves are shown of
Panambahan Jimboon, Pangeran Sabrang Lor and Pangeran Tranggana, who was
killed by one of his servants on an expedition to still Sivaïtic Pasuruan.
Pangeran Tranggana had auxiliaries from Bantam among his troops and this
leads us back to West Java after our slight digression in favour of Demak, the
energetic central state which, at the time here spoken of, ruled the roast in
matters of conquest for the propagation of the faith. The Bantamese, more than
their converters, have conserved a reputation for fanaticism and it is not yet a
quarter of a century since a certain Abool Karim of the district Tanara preached
the holy war, the brotherhood of the Naqshibendyah fanning the flame of
sedition he kindled. His murids (disciples) Tubagoos Ismaïl, Marduki and Wasid
having spread the movement, a mob, led by a certain Haji Iskak, massacred
several Europeans at Chilegon (1888). But for the Government’s bayonets, rather
than a course of conciliation based on a thorough knowledge of the agrarian
causes at the bottom of the unrest among the population, the whole of Bantam
might have blazed up and Cheribon might have followed. Seeing that they could
not prevail, the dissatisfied betook themselves again to prayer, there at the grave
of Hasan ad-Din, here at the grave of Sheik Noor ad-Din Ibrahim, situated not
far from the capital he founded, on a hill near the sea, the Gunoong Jati, whence
his title. The terraces of the astana so called, first home of the Islām in this
region, much venerated however much defaced, savour of more ancient heathen
monuments in all their odour of Muhammadan sacredness, not otherwise than
the Kitab Papakam, the Cheribon code of laws, savours of Indian maxims and
even at this date betrays its birth from the legislation introduced by the Hindu
immigrants, though in 1768 (and not before that year, more than three centuries
after the introduction of the law of the Prophet!), the Kutara Manawa has
officially been abrogated in the Sooltanate. The lowest three terraces of the
astana serve as a burial-ground for the descendants of Sunan Gunoong Jati and
the men of mark in the annals of his empire; a road, winding upward, a Moslim
Via delle Tombe, conducts the pilgrim to a mesdjid on the fourth, not to be
desecrated by the feet of unbelievers;[19] above the mesdjid, on the fifth, the
sanctum sanctorum, rest the mortal remains of the saint himself. Speaking of
Cheribon in its relations to Hinduïsm and the Islām, a reference to Chinese
influences on Javanese architecture cannot be omitted. They are most evident, of
course, where the sons of the Flowery Empire have settled earliest and in
greatest numbers. In several localities Chinese temples are found for the building
and decorating of which renowned architects, wood-carvers and painters have
expressly been summoned to Java at great expense. Reputedly the finest is the
klenteng, situated at a stone’s throw from the shed wherein Sunan Gunoong
Jati’s grobak is kept, the vehicle in which he descended from heaven to proclaim
the Word. Transplanting their curved roof-trees and gaudy ornament, the Chinese
brought also a taste for grotto-work, once notably conspicuous in the kraton of
Sooltan Anom. On the road to Tagal, near the dessa (village) Sunyaragi, lies a
rocky labyrinth belonging to the pleasure-grounds of Sooltan Sepooh’s famous
country-seat. Among other clever devices it contains an artificial cave so
constructed that the kanjeng goosti, retiring thither on a hot afternoon for
dalliance with his favourite of the hour, might shut himself completely off from
the world by a discreet artificial waterfall, securing privacy behind its liquid
screen and a refreshing atmosphere stimulative to amorous exercise. The
Chinaman who elaborated the idea, had his eyes gouged out to prevent his
creating another such wonder of architecture adapted to the diversions of oriental
potentates.
It seems fitting that in Java, the sweet island whose air is balm and where always
the delicious sound of running water is heard, where the cult of bathing is
perfected by inclination as well as necessity of climate, some of the oldest signs
of civilisation are found in sheltered nooks and corners still frequented by those
who appreciate an invigorating plunge. Kota Batu, near Bogor, the supposed site
of the capital of Pajajaran, is an instance in point. Destroyed, says the
Soondanese tradition, because the illustrious King Noro Pati had lifted up his
heart to boast against the message of the Prophet, his sons completed the
calamity by their wrangling for the lordship over outlying, as yet unsubjugated
and unconverted dependencies, and righteousness left the country. The same
reasons which made Pajajaran slow to accept the Islām, had hindered her
acceptance of Hinduïsm. The mountainous Priangan was sparsely populated and,
even if we accept the statements of native historians who give Hindu civilisation
in West Java a long life by dating the colonisation from India back to the first
century of the Christian era,[20] confined to a limited area, as the antiquities
discovered make clear, it remained far behind that which reared the superb
temples of Central Java. To the best of our knowledge there were never any
Hindu temples at all in West Java, where the people seem to have contented
themselves with prayer and sacrifice in the open. While Central Java attained to
the loftiest and noblest in art, West Java vegetated until improved
communication, stimulated by war and trade, brought about a dissemination of
more eastern artistic notions, discernible in raised levels and terraces as those of
Gunoong Jati, which remind one faintly of the Boro Budoor; in earthen walls as
those on the Bukit Tronggool, which are arranged after a plan somewhat like that
of the squares enclosing the principal temple and the surrounding smaller ones of
the chandi Sewu. Even then Polynesian clumsiness was not shaken off. At Batu
Tulis, a kampong in the outskirts of Bogor, where the hosts of two religions
fought the battle which decided the fate of Pajajaran, are several ungainly
images and impressions of the feet of Poorwakali, the spouse of one of that
realm’s petrified kings, who mourned him with such copious tears that she
softened the very rock she stood upon, according to one legend; and, according
to another legend, of the feet of a certain Raja Mantri who tarried so long in
contemplation of the inscribed stone already mentioned, pondering over the
meaning of its strange characters, that he sank gradually into the hard ground.
There are more impressions of more feet and a coarsely carved linga, Siva’s
fecundating attribute, transformed by Muhammadan piety into the miracle
working staff of a Moslim santon. Hardly greater interest is awakened by the
primitive statues Kota Batu derives its appellation from, “city of stones”, which
form a sort of Ruhmes Allee, lining the path from the main road to the bath-
house, with many of the same pattern scattered to right and left. All of them are
petrified worthies of Pajajaran, which their own mothers would not recognise,
though the natives know each of them by praenomen, nomen, cognomen and
title. King Moonding Wangi, i.e. the nice-smelling buffalo, looking perhaps a
trifle more human than the rest. Of a similar nature are the archadomas, a
collection of about eight hundred blocks of stone on the estate Pondok Gedeh,
which need a vivid imagination in the beholder to pass for the figures of men
and animals. A good specimen of the Pajajaran type of sculpture, if it deserves
that name, is the lachrymose Poorwakali already referred to as standing, petrified
herself, at a little distance from the Batu Tulis where she solaces her widowhood
by keeping company with Kidangpenanjong, forgetting her royal husband, after
her paroxysm of grief, in a plebeian flirtation. Such is woman!
From these crude attempts at a representation of animate creation, sprang
nevertheless an art which, in the hands of the master-builders and sculptors of
Central Java, who sought the beauty of truth that is verily without a rival,
flowered out in prayers of stone, visible tokens of their yearning for heavenly
reward, born of communion with the divine in deep reflection, only to descend
again to lower planes, to the seeking of the praise of man, in the decadent
conventionality of the later eastern Hindu empires. The story of the development
of architecture and sculpture in the island from the immaturity identified with
Pajajaran to the luxurious grandeur of the temples of Prambanan, the Mendoot
and the Boro Budoor, hides a riddle no less strange than that of the bursting forth
of Arabic poetry, full-blown in all its subtleness of thought, exuberance of
imagination, perfection of language. The story of decline is written in the
evolution of decorative design: the significance of motives based on the
observation of the earth and her precious gifts, evaporates gradually in nicely
waving lines, elaborate scrolls, insipid fineries. The kala-head changes into the
roots of a tree, figurative of the forest; the trunk of Ganapati into its bole; at last
the tree, roots, trunk, branches, foliage and all, with the sun rising over the
forest, with mountains touching the sky, with rivers flowing to the sea, into
conventional ornament. Islāmic ideals were not conducive to a revival of artistic
conceptions fading into nothingness; neither was, to repeat that too, the painful
contact with Christian civilisation. When the natives were made to toil and moil
for alien masters, their virtues and energies blighted into the defects and failings
of apathy. How could it be otherwise where an inefficient, venal police and a
slow, defective administration of justice did (and does) not protect property
against depredation; where exertion beyond what is strictly necessary for bare
subsistence, meant (and means) not prosperity but increased taxation. With all its
pretensions to superiority and display of ethical sentiment, the Dutch
Government can scarcely be said to differ much from Baron Sookmool, the
personified East India Company of more than three centuries ago. Holland’s
wards in her rich colonies may be moulded into men, angels or devils, like the
Triloka, the triple people of the Hindus, according to the treatment meted out to
them and the education they receive. As far as Java is concerned, hoping in
heaven’s mercy, they live in their old traditions, the light of the past and the
shadow of the present. What will the future bring in advance of the day on which
mankind shall be scattered abroad like moths? There is no knowledge of it but
with God and the secret lies behind the Banaspati,[21] in the hand of him of the
budding lotus-flower, the Deliverer from Evil.
Decoration
 Decoration
CHAPTER III
THE DIËNG

Where Silence undisturbed might watch alone,

So cold, so bright, so still.

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, Queen Mab.

Where five residencies—Samarang, Pekalongan, Banyumas, the Bagelen and the
Kadu—meet between two seas, the wonderland of the Diëng links the eastern
and western chain of volcanoes which are the vertebrae of Java’s spine. The
Diëng plateau, the first part created, as tradition goes, and destined to remain
longest above water in the island’s final destruction and submersion, is nothing
but a huge crater. Nature, in her most mysterious mood, exercises here a charm
of a peculiar character, well expressed by the name, according to the Javanese
derivation from adi aëng, i.e. marvellously beautiful.[22] The temples in this
region belong to the oldest and finest if by no means the largest of Java. The
discovery of a stone with a Venggi inscription has led to the conjecture that the
Hindu settlement to which we owe them, originated from the Priangan; other
indications point to immigration directly from Southern India. However this may
be, the dates ascertained (one in an inscription reproduced by me in 1885 for
further examination at Batavia, leaving the stone in the place where I had found
it) from 731 Saka (A.D. 809) on, witness to the lost civilisation of the Diëng
having reached its apogee at the time the Abbassides flourished in Baghdad and
the Omayyads in Cordova. How it rose, declined and fell, we do not know. For
four centuries its memory lived only as a fantastic tale, the Diëng remaining
utterly deserted, a wilderness of mountain and forest, inhabited by devils and
demons of the Khara and Dushana type.
Resettled since about 1800, its villages increase in number and size, and its wild
animals, big and small, disappear gradually, though the tigers are still
troublesome, evincing a growing disposition to vary their accustomed fare with
domestic kine and sheep. The sombre woods are gone and efforts at
reafforestation gave so far no perceptible results. The ground yields abundant
crops of cabbage, onions and tobacco, in which a lively trade is done with
Chinese middlemen, who buy for the merchants at Pekalongan, whence the
product is shipped to larger centres of trade. These middlemen congregate
principally at Batoor, a prosperous village, where travellers to the Diëng,
arriving from that side, will appreciate the hospitable disposition of the wedono,
the native chief of the district. Many a one has been entertained under his roof,
looked down upon from the palupooh (split bambu) walls by the Royal Family
of Great Britain and Kaiser Wilhelm in chromolithographic splendour, while
discussing a substantial lunch or arranging for sleeping accommodation if too
tired to push on, or desirous of visiting the Pakaraman, the valley of death, at
break of day when the uncanny manifestations of that place of horror are
strongest. Another source of income for some of the Chinamen of Batoor and
their henchmen of the Diëng is opium smuggling. The geographical position,
commanding access to five administrative divisions of the island at once, lends
itself admirably to that lucrative business. And if the smugglers cater to a low
vice, they can advance an excuse logically unanswerable by those in authority
who punish them when caught: they satisfy but a demand, in competition with
the Government that created it, introduced the drug and encourages its use,
artificially whetting a depraved appetite and demoralising the children of the
land for the sake of more revenue.
Often though I went up to forget the cares of exacting duties in happy holidays
on the Diëng, trying the different approaches, the impressions of my first ascent
in October 1885 are freshest in my memory. Starting from Wonosobo, I
preferred to a more direct route the roundabout way via Temanggoong, spending
a day on the road between the twin volcanoes Soombing and Sindoro, enjoying
the views to right and left, every new turn disclosing new wonders: mountain
slopes basking in the warmth which radiated triumphantly from a sky of dazzling
brightness, valleys of perfect loveliness losing their brilliant hues in the shades
of evening as if a curtain fell between the world left and the world entered. The
following morning early I rode from Temanggoong in a thick mist which, rolling
away before the sun, uncovered a landscape more and more rugged as I passed
Parakan and Ngadirejo, but always more charming, a feast to the eye. Near
Ngadirejo the chandis Perot and Pringapoos claimed my attention. Built for the
worship of Siva, his sakti Doorga and their eldest son, they offered a sad
spectacle of decay, the former crumbling away in the baneful embrace of a
gigantic tamarind, one of whose branches rose from the midst of the ruin straight
up to heaven, overshadowing Ganesa, the conqueror of obstacles, in his
meditations; the latter holding an image of Siva’s vahana or nandi, the bull,
symbol of his creative power, still an object of veneration as the boreh indicated,
the walls of the temple being decorated with splendid bas-reliefs representing a
scene from Javanese history or mythology, analogous to the rape of the Sabine
women.[23] Farther on, surprise succeeding surprise, lies Joomprit, another
delicious spot, sanctified by a holy grave, at the source of the Progo. The water,
gushing forth from the mouth of a cavern and trickling down its sides, is
immediately lost to sight in a declivity among the ferns. Curious monkeys herd
round, led by their brawny chief, imperious like Hanoman, born from the wind,
swinging through space, commanding the simian army of Sugriva: they
constitute one of the few colonies of sacred apes which form a living link with
the Hindu epoch; that of Gaja Moongkoor on the Diëng has ceased to exist.
II. CHANDI PRINGAPOOS
(Archaeological Service through Charls and van Es.)
From Joomprit on, it was pretty steep climbing to a point where, at a sudden
turn, I beheld the lowlands, far beneath the clouds gathering round me, fair
plains resting under their hazy veil of midday repose, calm and undisturbed.
Drinking deep of the invigorating mountain air, I noticed the red cheeks of the
women and girls who returned from market in little groups. After descending to
the tea-plantations of Tambi, the clambering up began again, pretty hard for my
pony, to which I gave an occasional rest, looking back over hills and valleys as
they dissolved in soft-melting tints, impressing the beholder with a sense of
eternal light in limitless space. Wonder akin to awe seized me when, panorama-
like, a landscape of silent grandeur, quite different from the graceful majesty of
the rose-gardens of Wonosobo and the palm-groves of Temanggoong, unfolded
itself. I was on the Diëng plateau. Notwithstanding the late hour, my admiration
of the scenery having made my progress slow, I could not resist the temptation to
dismount and follow the trail which led me down to the source of the Serayu
beside the road, and pay my compliments to the shade of stalwart Bimo by way
of introduction to the regions resounding in its temples with his exploits and
those of other worthies sung in the Brata Yuda.[24] Nor indeed only in its
temples: this same delightful retreat commemorates Bimo’s prowess according
to a legend which in its astonishing account of his supernatural virility cannot be
repeated. Enough to say that Arjuno, making him dig up the toog Bimo, on the
advice of Samār, the wily, was the first, by determining the course of the Serayu,
to direct the water from the mountains of Central Java to the sea, therewith
obtaining the realm of Ngastino. And whoever takes a bath, alone and at night,
in the water springing from mother earth under the pohoon chemeti, the weeping
willow of Bimo’s fountain, will have no occasion for certain elixirs largely
advertised in daily and weekly papers, will retain youthful vigour into hoariest
age.
It was dark when I arrived at the pasangrahan, the Government rest-house,
received first by a shaggy, plumetailed dog of the Diëng variety, suspicious of
strangers. Her name proved to be Sarama, suggesting classical associations not
sustained, I am sorry to record, by her master, mine host, a Swiss, retired from
service in the Dutch colonial army and put in charge of the place. Speaking
innumerable languages and every one of them as if it were a lingua franca
composed of all the others, he showed me my room, took orders for my supper
and made me comfortable, the broad, perpetual smile on his honest face
illumining our polyglot conversation. Alas! Wielandt is no more. Indra, who
knows men’s hearts, has certainly assigned to this diamond, more polished,
presumably, in its celestial than in its former terrestrial state, a worthy station
among the jewels of the city of bliss, Amaravati. A man of family instincts, good
Wielandt left several daughters, at the time of my visit of initiation extremely
shy little girls; and a son, then Sinjo Endrik, the obliging and attentive, ever
ready to act as a guide to and otherwise to assist his father’s guests on their
excursions, now Tuan Endrik, his father’s successor in the pasangrahan, while
one of his brothers-in-law keeps a small, private hotel, opened to meet the
increasing influx of sightseers and seekers of health. The Diëng plateau,
especially in the dry season, would be an ideal site for a sanatorium. The sufferer
from the debilitating heat on the coast in the enervating conditions of a
continuous struggle for the next dollar or official preferment with fatter salary,
may find there rest and a cool climate. Going to the bath-room before setting out
early on some expedition, I have often found miniature icicles pendent from the
panchuran, the water conduit, and riding off, have often heard, in crossing a
puddle, the thin coating of ice crackle under the hoofs of my pony. Sometimes, at
sunrise, the few remaining temples stand out white, the whole plateau being
covered with frost, which makes a strange impression on one who but the day
before yesterday sweltered in the fiery furnace of, for instance, the Heerenstraat
at Samarang.
Waking up the morning after my first arrival, feeling cold, though the scene my
eyes met was not quite so severely wintry as that just described, my dreams
seemed to continue in reality. I beheld a tranquil plain different in its bright
serenity from everything I had so far seen anywhere else, the Bimo temple rising
to the left and the Arjuno group to the right, sharply outlined against the hills and
the sky, their dark-gray colour in wonderful harmony with the verdure of earth
and the blue expanse of heaven. One moment they appeared near in the clear
atmosphere as if I could seize them with my hand, and then again very, very far,
never to be approached. A vapour, clinging to the slope of the Pangonan in the
direction of the Kawah Kidang, reminded me of the tremendous cosmic energy
entering into the composition of this soothing stillness, this tonic for the sick and
worried, with the certainty of annihilation as final pledge of freedom. Once a
lake of seething lava, the plateau lies enclosed by the tops of five mountains, the
Prahu, Sroyo, Bismo, Nogosari and Jimat, 2050 metres above the level of the
sea; the Pangonan and Pagar Kandang are old eruptive cones, formed of the mud
and sand thrown out, which accumulated at their bases and raised the
surrounding ground. The plateau in its narrower sense is now a flat stretch of
turf, in places, especially in the middle, a morass, called the Rawa Baleh
Kambang for its northern, and the Rawa Glonggong for its southern part. Ruins
have been found everywhere in the plain and up the slopes of the hills, even up
to the summit of the Prahu. Here stand stone posts in a row, used by Arjuno,
according to the legend, to tether his elephants, while his cows, after grazing on
the Pangonan, were corralled for the night in the hollow of the Pagar Kandang,
lit. “fence of the cattle-pen”; there, as in Diëng Kidool, layers of ashes among
the slags and other debris, mark the situation in the past of the burning-grounds,
which yield a steady harvest of bronze and gold finger-rings, bracelets, anklets
and other objects of personal adornment. Ancient aqueducts, walls, staircases,
foundations of secular buildings, clustered round the temples, remains of an
important religious centre, so various and rich that Junghuhn did not exaggerate
when calling them inexhaustible, suggest the existence, once upon a time, in
those mountain wilds, of a Javanese Benares, minus the Ganges but plus a
setting of unceasing volcanic activity, which demolished it by a sudden, violent
outbreak. Such suggestions need only the seconding of one of the learned to be
utterly ridiculed by his equally learned brethren of an opposite school.... We will
let the matter rest at that and simply enjoy the actual calm of a landscape
evidently exposed to destruction at the shortest notice, of nature recuperating
from outrageous debauch.
Voices solemn and sweet summon to close communion with the power behind
those manifestations, the universal soul of things human and superhuman,
infernal and divine. One look more at the strip of turf which clasps the mysteries
as a girdle embossed with gems, the Arjuno and Bimo shrines, shining in the
splendour of early morning,—we shall return to them after our stroll of
orientation. In the dessa Diëng Wetan, close to the pasangrahan, is, or rather
was, the watu rawit, a wall constructed of big blocks of stone, two portions of
which still exist with a narrow staircase, hewn on a smaller scale, leading to the
coping. The structure, largely drawn upon for building material, goes also by the
name of benteng (fort of) Buddha, an appellation incompatible with the Sivaïte
origin of Diëng architecture and a contradiction in terms besides, considering the
character of Gautama’s teaching; but in native parlance everything connected
with the Hindu period is referred to as belonging to the jaman buda, while the
expression agama buda includes every pre-Muhammadan ancestral religion. Via
Patak Banteng, Jojogan and Parikesit the dessa Simboongan may be reached,
until recently the highest in Java (2078 metres). Founded in 1815 by the
grandfather of the present lurah, or chief of the village, its inhabitants, on whose
stature and colour of skin the cool climate has had a visible influence, are very
prosperous, their principal occupation being the preparation of a hair-oil from
the seeds of the gandapura (Hibiscus Abelmoschus). Simboongan lies on the
west bank of Telaga Chebong, one of the many lakes which add to the
indescribable charm of the Diëng, some possessing uncanny echoes, some being
yellow and sulphurous, some of ever changing hue, some of crystalline clearness
and stocked with goldfish, while the marshy shores are a favourite haunt of
meliwis, a kind of duck much prized as food and becoming correspondingly
scarce. Proceeding to Sikunang we get beautiful views in the direction of Batoor,
hidden among its Chinese graves and orchards as in an airy robe of white and
green; along the mountain rills which hasten impetuously to the valley of
Banjarnegara, meeting in the radiance of the sun’s promise for union with the
sea; down to the ricefields of Temanggoong, resplendent at the feet of the high
mountains which keep guard over the Kadu, a paradise dominated by the sister
volcanoes Soombing and Sindoro, a joy to behold.
Passing Sikunang and turning round the Gunoong Teroos, a spur of the Pakuojo,
we notice some trachyte steps, the head of a staircase made for the convenience
of pilgrims from what is now the residency Bagelen, to the city of temples, an
ascent of five thousand feet. Over a long distance, following the course of the
river Lawang, that gigantic roadway can be traced far below Telaga Menjer by
stones left in holes from which it was not easy to remove them for building
purposes. Another of these ondo buda on the north side of the plateau, served the
pilgrims coming from what is now the residency Pekalongan, via Deles and
Sigamploong, and disappeared in the same manner. Descending, a smell of
sulphur announces a lion of the Diëng of a less innocent, in fact of a decidedly
satanic aspect: on this soil always the unsuspected turns up, the remains of an
ancient civilisation forcing themselves upon our attention together with
impressive reminders of the subterranean forces which extinguished it. From a
number of cavities on the slope of the Pangonan, bare of vegetation, a picture of
desolation, noxious vapours rise and bubbles of mud are blown forth and burst
with a rumbling noise. High above the rest works the Kawah Kidang, the deer-
kettle, spouting and growling, throwing the hot liquid round with relish, and it is
advisable to keep her well to leeward on her days of gala, for she changes
frequently her aim and her mood, an index of Kala’s disposition when stirring
the bowels of the earth. Being the pulse of the Diëng, so to speak, she is
regularly excited to fiercer exertion by the rainy season, differing also in this
particular from the Chondro di Muka, her rival near the Pakaraman, with whom
she has been confused even by geographers of name, greatly to her
disparagement since she commands a considerably wider sphere of influence,
not scrupling to encroach upon the domain of her neighbours by moving about.
Wherever one pokes into the ground within her sphere of action, the steam
rushes out and seething puddles are formed; it is wary walking and the wise will
take warning from the foolhardy Contrôleur whose curiosity prompted him a
step too far: sinking through the upper crust into the boiling mud, he had his legs
so badly burnt that he died of the consequences and was buried at Wonosobo
instead of marrying his Resident’s daughter at Poorworejo.
With its mofettes, solfataras, steam-holes, mud-geysers, sulphurous lakes, its
treacherously opening and closing chasms,[25] last but not least its notorious
valley of death,[26] the Diëng is the region above all others in volcanic Java, of
miracles that expound the antagonism between fratricide life and death on our
turbulent planet, which continuously prepares for or recovers from spasms of
generative destruction. One of these spasms, on a grander scale than usual in the
short span of human history, was the eruption of Krakatoa in 1883; which raised
and submerged islands, shaking and altering the Straits of Soonda, a resultant
tidal wave razing the towns of Anyer and Cheringin. The Diëng, some three
hundred miles off, responded faithfully, as might have been expected, the Kawah
Kidang roaring and splashing mud furiously, the wall of the crater-lake Chebong
cracking in several places, so that part of its water, instead of flowing through
the old channel, now seeks its way through the fissures thus created,
remunerative tobacco-fields being transformed into swamps. Such disasters
preach an eloquent sermon on the text, hewn in stone by the builders of the
temples here erected to Siva as Kala, the Overthrower, and, transmitted with the
wisdom of ages by a later religion, happily expressed by the German poet:

Was hilft es Menschen seyn, was liebe Blumen küssen,

Wann sie sind schöne zwar, doch balde nichts seyn müssen?
 [27]

The news that a troop of strolling players had arrived, dispelled, however, ideas
of that sort, unpalatable truth never proving successful against the pleasurable
excitement of the moment. They were going to perform at the house of the
reputedly wealthiest man of the plateau and not the less highly considered by his
neighbours because caught redhanded, not once but repeatedly, in handling the
forbidden, as I heard afterwards. Living near one of the enclosures traditionally
associated with the pyres which were extinguished when the Hindu priests
deserted their altars, he gave the ton to the upper ten of Diëng society,
“disporting like any other fly” unterrified by daily manifestations of cosmic
potency. Surrounded by his ganadavatas, gods of the second rank, he welcomed
me to the show. Mounted on sham horses, the actors delighted their audience
with a sham battle which soon became a single combat between two valiant
knights, encouraged by masked clowns, funny yet exquisitely graceful in their
movements: the savoir vivre of this people is perfectly matched with their
elegance of carriage and correctness of speech and innate propriety of
demeanour. The comedians’ stage-properties did not amount to much and their
inventive genius shone the more brilliantly: a tiger (for a hunt of his highness our
common uncle[28] followed the joust) was improvised with jute bagging and two
pieces of wood, representing the jaws, snapping ferociously, perhaps a
compliment to the orang wolanda present, his biped equivalent in native
estimation, as already remarked. Or an allusion may have been intended to local
events: not longer than a week before, Paman had tried to force Wielandt’s
stable, cooling his wrath, when baffled, on Sarama’s pups.
So much for my recollections of the histrionic exercises on the Diëng, and now
about the temples! If Thomas Horsfield, in his narrative of the tour he made
through the island between 1802 and 1807, mentioned the so-called Buddha-
roads, it was Raffles who sent Cornelius, Lieutenant in the Corps of Engineers,
to survey the architectural remains on the Diëng plateau proper, which the earlier
traveller had not visited. According to the official account of his mission, kept in
the library of the Museum of Antiquities at Leyden and still unpublished, he
found whatever was standing of some forty groups, covered with clay and
volcanic ashes up to nearly a fourth of the original height. Captain Baker, also
commissioned by Raffles, worked three weeks on the Diëng after his
examination of the ruins at Prambanan and the Boro Budoor. Junghuhn, whose
observations date from 1838 to 1845, speaks of more than twenty temples in a
wilderness of marshy woods. The woods have disappeared, the marshes hold
their own and of his twenty temples only eight are left in a recognisable shape:
five of them belong to the Arjuno group, including the so-called house of Samār;
the best preserved is the Wergodoro or Bimo; the Andorowati and Gatot Kocho
crumble away even faster than the rest. It has already been remarked that the
Diëng structures belong to the oldest in the island, the hanasima inscription,
transferred to Batavia, furnishing a record of the Diëng civilisation which goes
back to 731 Saka (A.D. 809). They are interesting to the Indian antiquary, wrote
Fergusson, “because they are Indian temples pure and simple, and dedicated to
Indian gods ...; what (they) tell us further is, that if Java got her Buddhism from
Gujerat and the mouths of the Indus, she got her Hinduïsm from Telingana and
the mouths of the Kistnah.... Nor are (they) Dravidian in any sense of the word.
They are in storeys, but not with cells, nor any reminiscences of such; but they
are Chalukyan.” Later learning accepts this statement only with cautious reserve.
Whether Chalukyan or not, though, it is plain even to the unlearned that, erected
to Siva, the Mahadeva worshipped principally in his character of Bhatara Guru,
the divine teacher, to his sakti Doorga and their first-born Ganesa, these temples,
radiating the all-soul in the fierce glare of the midday sun, unfolding their secrets
in the mellow moonbeams of night, partake fully of their mysterious
surroundings, are integral portions of the ground they occupy, as may be said of
all ancient Javanese buildings. Men of great power of imagination, deep-
reasoning sentiment, the builders of these marvels, working their thoughts up to
the sky, rescued for us the essence of the Diëng’s past existence. Their
apprehension of universal happiness without beginning or end, sharpened by the
desire to enjoy heaven on earth, lent immortality to the greatness of a people
every vestige of whom would have disappeared but for their creative enthusiasm.
 III. CHANDI ARJUNO ON THE DIËNG PLATEAU
(Archaeological Service through Charls and van Es.)
Prurient prudery, keen on the scent of the nasty, feels shocked at the lingas and
yonis lying round, unable in its fly-blown purity to grasp the divinity of eternal
love in the poem of generation, the union of the Deva and the Devi in causation
and conception of life. The Philistine sees little more than rubbish, heaps of
stone of no earthly use except as havens of refuge when out shooting meliwis
and overtaken by rain. In the Rawa Baleh Gambang we find five such clustered
together, the chandis Arjuno with the house of Samār, Srikandi (Ongko Wijoyo),
Poontadewa (Trumo Kasumo or Sami Aji) and Sembrada (Sepropo), the chief
hero of the Brata Yuda being honoured in the midst of family and friends,
including his funny and faithful servant. The kala-makara[29] ornament of the
entrance to the chandi Arjuno tells its tale; so do the empty niches designed for
free-standing statuettes dissolved into space. Like the chandi Srikandi it was
once surrounded by a wall and another point of resemblance is the small
rectangular building called the chandi Samār, probably destined for secular
purposes; of the Srikandi dependency, however, only the base can be traced. The
chandi Sembrada deviates somewhat in architectural plan and detail, and the
ground-idea of the decoration can be studied to best advantage in the chandi
Poontadewa, finest of the group, exquisitely graceful on its high basement. Here
again the makara ornament prevails, budding into leaves and flowers, chiselled
with a chaste appreciation of the esthetic principle of self-control: In der
Beschränkung zeigt sich erst der Meister. Under the tapering roofs, fallen or
falling in, which give the inner chambers an air of indescribable elegance,
notwithstanding the cramped dimensions, images of holiness stood on pedestals;
the images have been removed, heaven knows whither, and even the pedestals
have fared badly at the hands of sacrilegious robbers digging for hidden treasure.
Trumo Kasumo, supposed to keep sentinel over his chandi (in bas-relief, north
side), cannot but be scandalised at modern methods of research and modern
behaviour in general.
The morass shows, in the dry season, the foundations of buildings, regularly
arranged, lining streets which intersected at right angles over a considerable part
of the Rawa Baleh Gambang. Their disposition has been advanced to support the
theory that the population of the Diëng lived in wooden houses, built on those
substructures of stone. The theory that the superstructures of stone have been
carried away and the submerged substructures left because not so easy to get at,
is just as plausible; perhaps a little more so. But whatever they were, temples and
priestly or private dwellings of wood or stone, the officiating clergy, their
assistants and the inhabitants of the city ministering to their fleshly needs, must
have suffered a good deal from the dampness of the soil, the plateau offering
already in those early days a field of rich promise for the experiments of
hydraulic engineers. Among canals and ditches of less importance, the Guwa
Aswotomo, a cloaca maxima some twelve centuries old, still relieves the plain of
its superfluous water. According to the legend, for nothing in this locality goes
without at least one,—according to the legend then, the subterraneous passage
was dug by Aswotomo on his expedition to the Diëng for the purpose of
smashing the Pandawas, and nearing Arjuno’s residence he pushed his way up to
the surface, from distance to distance, spying how far he had yet to continue his
underground march. Descending into one of the peep-holes he made, in a season
of extreme drought, I was able to crawl on to the next, through mud and debris
which blocked my further progress and, unable to crawl out on a level fifteen or
twenty feet lower, the watercourse sloping deeper and deeper down, I had to
return to my point of ingress. The glory of this feat diminishes in the light of my
knowledge of the circumstance that the Diëng plateau harbours no snakes,[30]
save the decorative nagas of temple architecture, and that a companion followed
my movements above ground; had we been provided with ropes, we might have
carried our work of exploration much further—but that must wait for another
time. Of the rare plant which grows nowhere but in Aswotomo’s burrow and
owes its growth to his copious perspiration while at his task, a fern possessing
rare qualities, highly beneficial to him who pulls it out by the roots, I saw or,
rather, felt nothing in groping my way through mire and darkness. Taking its
course in a direction inverse to the mole-man’s initial tunnel boring, his Guwa
begins at the Arjuno temples as an unpretentious drain and runs, for about half a
mile, slanting toward the source of the river Dolok, where Junghuhn has set up
two lingas.
IV. CHANDI BIMO OR WERGODORO ON THE DIËNG PLATEAU
(Archaeological Service through Charls and van Es.)
The largest remaining and most beautiful temple on the Diëng is the chandi
Wergodoro or Bimo,[31] where the Pangonan rises out of the Rawa Glonggong.
Notwithstanding Fergusson’s opinion, competent critics, deriving their
conclusions from the horizontal lines of the roof-storeys, maintain its Dravidian
or Southern Indian instead of Chalukyan character.[32] The niches with busts,
which impress one as windows with people poking out their heads to see who is
disturbing their quiet, suggest an approach to ideas further developed in the
architecture of the plain of Prambanan. These curious persons look out only at
the back and at the sides; the niches of the roof in front, over the projecting
porch with kala-makara ornament, are all empty. With its entrance facing east, in
contradistinction to those of the other temples on the plateau, which face west,
the chandi Bimo possesses also notable peculiarities in the details of its
sculpture: the double lotus of the cornice, lotus-buds and diminutive bo-trees of
uncommon shapes, etc., while the upward tapering structural design displays a
tendency to the slightly curved lines so dearly loved by Greek builders of the
best period and adapted by the masters of early Gothic. The larger, lower niches
have been despoiled; architraves and mouldings, festooned with foliage, flowers
and seed-pods, divide the open spaces round about in a tasteful, sober manner,
exciting without fatiguing the eye. From the fact that the decoration has not been
completed, it is inferred that the sculptors were interrupted like their comrades at
work on other monuments of Central Java, overwhelmed perhaps by the
catastrophe of volcanic or martial nature, which depopulated the Diëng and
coincided with the decline of the ancient empire of Hindu Mataram. The
miraculous voice heard in the chandi Bimo at dead of night, is silent on this
point. All temples have their shetans, their bad, rarely good spirits, but the
genius loci of the Bimo excels the whole Arjuno crowd of them in efficacy and
unfailing attention to the business of the seekers of advice, who arrive from far
and wide to consult the oracle. Entering after dusk the gate of the Dread One,
Kala, one with Rudra, the Roarer (the Kawa Kidang) near by, they have but to
wait in prayer at the altar of the wondrous fane. A strange whisper, mounting like
the odour of melati and kenanga, tells them how to avoid the grim giant Danger
if, on leaving, they are firmly determined to pursue the road of Good Desert.
The chandis Gatot Kocho and Andorowati, falling into hopeless ruin, will soon
be remembered only by their location, like the chandi Parikesit, and it is a pity to
think of those which left no trace at all, whose very names are forgotten. The
state of affairs on the Diëng plateau, said Captain, now Major T. van Erp,[33]
commissioned for the restoration of the Boro Budoor, leaves everything to be
desired.... Villages came into existence and expanded. The inhabitants need
stone substructures in building their houses and it is a matter of course that they
use temple stones for that purpose; these are here much smaller than those of the
monuments in the valley of the Progo and the plain of Prambanan, easily carried
off and exactly of the right size.... This is the case of the spoliation of the
temples on the Diëng in a nutshell. But it should be added that the natives are not
the only offenders. So much, indeed, is implied in Major van Erp’s anecdote of a
tourist who, examining the statuary adorning the grounds of the pasangrahan, a
remarkable collection formed from miscellaneous loot, was invited to make his
choice, the selected plunder to be delivered at Wonosobo in consideration of five
guilders (a little over eight shillings). Many others had the same experience:
numberless statues and stones carved into ornament have been appropriated by
official and unofficial visitors to enrich museums and private collections. The
appointment of Wielandt Sr., later of Wielandt Jr. as keeper of the pasangrahan
and of the antiquities in a region of archaeological interest equal to Pompeii and
Herculaneum, without any funds whatsoever at their disposal, was only an
incident in the continuous farce performed by the Dutch East Indian Government
in all its relations to monumental Java up to the date of its laborious confinement
of the Archaeological Commission—and after, as I shall have abundant occasion
to show: a farce with consequences sad to contemplate. This applies to
antiquities of every description. I turn to my diary: In different places, when
digging, layers of ashes are found with charred human bones imbedded, and
often trinkets. The natives, however, keep their treasure-troves secret for fear of
the Government, which has decreed, and rightly, reserving its rights, that they
may not sell without asking for and obtaining permission, but appropriates
everything it hears of, at ridiculously low prices; a good deal is therefore sold
and bought privately, notwithstanding the prohibition, even by officials; a
systematic search never having been attempted, none the less fine trifles are
unearthed and not always trifles either; last night, in the pasangrahan, some
rings were shown to me; the owner, acting very mysteriously, produced at last a
statuette from under his baju, about six inches of solid gold, beautifully wrought;
its mate, equal in height, material and workmanship, he had been forced to sell,
according to his story, for seventy guilders (less than £6); he wanted more to part
with this one and it is certainly worth many and many times that sum; a change
in the usual sordid Government practice would result in remarkable discoveries;
recently, as Dr. L. told me, an inscribed stone was laid bare; when trying to have
a look at it the same day, his informant told him that it had already been spirited
away to prevent susah (trouble); not much is necessary to be sentenced to krakal
(hard labour in the chain-gang) at Wonosobo.
It is true the Government sent some one to the Diëng, about fifty years ago, to
photograph the temples as they then existed and, fortunately, the operator chosen
was I. van Kinsbergen who, having made his début in Java as a member of an
opera-troupe, developed a rare artistic sense in portraying the deteriorating
outlines of the ancient fanes of the island. But there the matter rested until the
complaints became too loud and in 1910 hopes were held out that steps would be
taken to clear the ruins of parasitic vegetation, to drain the plateau by repairing
the trenches and conduits still in working order since the Hindu period,
incidentally to consider the possibility of restoring the sanctuaries not yet
tumbled down. Names I heard in connection with this charge, make me tremble,
writes a correspondent from Batavia, for a repetition of the vandalism committed
in the plain of Prambanan, particularly the criminal assaults on the chandi
Plahosan and the chandi Sewu, where a Government commissioner tried to
arrest further decay on the homoeopathic principle: similia similibus curantur.
Government solicitude for conservation proves often more destructive than
simple neglect and, to take an illustration from the Diëng itself (others will be
culled in the course of my observations, from a plentiful supply of official
bêtises and bévues, if not worse, in other localities), no sooner was general
attention drawn to the enigmatic sign, described by Junghuhn and copied in his
standard work from a rock between the lakes Warna and Pengilon, than it began
to fade. Still quite clear in 1885 and up to 1895, despite its having been exposed
to wind and weather during ten centuries (as surmised), it became fainter and
fainter after that year, the process of a gradual loss of colour being duly noted at
subsequent visits, until in 1902 I found it hardly distinguishable. To make up for
the injury, a Contrôleur discovered, in 1889, supplementary tokens, not black but
red, on the same Batu Tulis, or Watu Ketèq as the natives rather call it, “monkey-
stone”, because they recognise in the figure recorded by Junghuhn, a likeness to
the animal referred to. The smaller red letters, or whatever they were intended
for, steadily increasing in number, appearing in places where I had never noticed
anything before, I could not help suspecting the little shepherds who look so
innocent and shy and hardly venture an answer when spoken to, of knowing
more about this miraculous growth of a hieroglyphic inscription than their
artlessness implied. For all their stolid mien, the natives are exceedingly fond of
a joke and what greater sport can be imagined than to get the wise men of
Batavia and of European centres of erudition by the ears, inciting them to raise
always more learned dust in their efforts to decipher the undecipherable
characters of an impossible language, each being cocksure of the infallibility of
his individual interpretation? If, however, we have not to do with Kromo or
Wongso his mark, the ghost of the Batu Tulis must be held responsible for,
among the incorporeal inhabitants of the many caves in this neighbourhood, the
dweller beneath the monkey-stone is of greatest occult potency and the good
people who come from the adjoining lowland districts, even from Surakarta and
Jogjakarta, to hear and translate the voices of the Diëng, repair hither, after
partaking of good advice in the Bimo temple, to sembah (make their salutation)
before the entrance and ask slamat (blessing and success) on their foreshadowed
undertakings. Nocturnal devotions inside the cave of the Watu Ketèq on a lucky,
right lucky, carefully calculated night, means untold wealth, and whoever dares
to brave the resident sprite of darkness with that desire in his heart, as very few
do, and still remains a poor devil, has doubtless skipped a word of power in
muttering his incantations or disregarded some other essential observance.
To the lover of mountain scenery it is far more profitable to wait for dawn near
the triangulation pillar and point of junction of four residencies: Samarang,
Pekalongan, Banyumas and the Bagelen, with a fifth, the Kadu, only a few paces
off, when the Eye of Day rises to divide the waters behind the mountains and the
rack of clouds, and, to the north and the south of the island, the sea begins to
glimmer in the azure and orange tints sent before to meet the melting gray of
vanquished darkness. Following its course in all-compassing space, the soul
enters into silent communion with nature, the divine creation of the supremely
divine which teaches feeble men how to worship. Such moments bring a
wholesome chastening of the flesh and as we descend, goaded by the fierce darts
of the conqueror overhead who makes the earth wrap herself in her vapoury robe
of protection, veiling the grand vision,—as we descend where the runnels
descend that feed the Serayu and the Tulis winding its way to the Kawah
Kidang, we find the plain with the chandis one immense temple of adoration.
The Vedic subtle body yearns to enter the sheath of prayer, to be moulded by its
creator into the form fit for union with the spirit of the world; respiration
becomes aspiration to the beatitude of manifest truth, of final rest in extinction of
sin and shame and sorrow. So pass the hours in purification, in desire of a spark
of the thought which breathes life into mortification of self. Then, at the passing
of the light with the last flush from the West, in awe-inspiring stillness, the
quivering stars lift their heads to watch the holy city of the dead; in clear-toned
stillness, the night-wind moaning, the Rawa lamenting the lost civilisation of a
lost religion whose symbols remain but are not understood, a mourning for
humanity labouring in vain. The Diëng has been repopulated with a race
between whose fanciful ideals, rooted in a forgotten past, and the rapacity of
foreign rulers no lasting accord seems possible. Is it ordained that they, the
thralls and the masters, shall continue in their present relations? Or will they
disappear in their turn and, to quote Junghuhn, this mountain region revert to its
free, natural state? Perhaps in the hour of upheaval native seers prophesy, when
safety shall be found by none except to whom the Just Reckoner grants it. And
mingling in one measure, which comprises the jaman buda, the time of bondage
and the future, their dim notions of Mahadeva, the Beneficent Destroyer, and
their conception of the dispensation of the Book, the leaders of religious exercise
in the villages abide by their advice of submission until the true believers win the
day, a day of glory for Islām, sure to arrive in the circular course of existence,
which is nothing but Sansara, in attainment of Moslim brotherhood, which is
nothing but Brahma Vihara, the sublime condition of love. Meanwhile, hearing
is to be practised; haply it will lead to the comprehension of a lesson inculcated
by each of the three creeds amalgamated in the Javanese mind and best
expressed in the form borrowed from a fourth: The thing that hath been, is that
which shall be; and that which is done, is that which shall be done,—or, in the
version of the greatest poet of our own age: Ciò che fu, torna e tornerà nei
secoli.[34]
Decoration
 Decoration
CHAPTER IV
PRAMBANAN

Queen Gertrude....

..., all that lives must die,

Passing through nature to eternity.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, I., ii.

The vast plain of Prambanan, which extends southward from the foot of the
Merapi, one of Java’s most active volcanoes,[35] is, or rather was, studded with
Sivaïte and Buddhist temples. Called, in the later days of ignorance regarding
their signification, after some outstanding feature (Sewu, Loomboong, Asu),
after gods, demi-gods and heroes of romance (as on the Diëng), after the villages
near which they were found (Kalasan or Kali Bening), or after their general
position, a good many might share the appellation Prambanan. In speaking of the
Prambanan temples, however, the group is meant which lies beside the main
road between Surakarta and Jogjakarta, where the two residencies meet, but still
within the boundaries of the latter. Excepting the Boro Budoor and Mendoot, it
comprises the finest and most famous monuments of Central Java, which from
olden times have been held in great veneration by the population, even in their
neglected condition, when reduced to little more than heaps of overgrown debris,
lairs of wild animals. Freed from their luxurious vegetation and excavated,
architectural remains of the first order came to light with sculptured ornament
nowhere else surpassed in richness of detail and correctness of execution.
Surrounded by ruins of a mainly Buddhist character, these buildings were
consecrated to the Hindu Trinity with Siva leading the Trimoorti as Bhatara
Guru, Master and Teacher of the World. A date recently discovered, 886 Saka
(A.D. 964), or, according to another reading, 996 Saka (A.D. 1074), points to the
period when Sivaïsm in Java had already become strongly impregnated with
Buddhism, a circumstance fully borne out by the external decoration.
 IV. EAST FRONT OF THE SIVA (LORO JONGGRANG) TEMPLE OF THE
PRAMBANAN GROUP IN 1895
(Cephas Sr.)
Among the natives, the Prambanan ruins go by the name of chandi Loro[36]
Jonggrang because of the legend connected with their origin. Once upon a time
Prambanan was ruled by a giant-king, Ratu Boko, possessed of an only daughter,
Princess Jonggrang, and an adopted son, Raden Gupolo, whose father had been
killed by command of the King of Pengging. Having sworn revenge, Raden
Gupolo feigned love for the beautiful daughter of that monarch and asked Ratu
Boko to assist him in making her his wife. Ambassadors were despatched with
instructions to negotiate the marriage. His Majesty of Pengging received them in
a friendly manner and entertained them at his Court but, not wanting Raden
Gupolo for a son-in-law, he sent secret agents in all directions to seek and bind
to his service a hero with power to resist and subdue the giants, Ratu Boko’s
subjects, of whom he was in mortal fear. One of those emissaries, searching the
slopes of the Soombing, met with the recluse Damar Moyo of the children of
Sumendi Petoong, the chief of the legèn-drawers.[37] Damar Moyo’s wife had
blessed him with two sons, Bondowoso, a tall and strong fellow, and Bambang
Kandilaras, less muscular but more favoured in outward appearance and of a
gentler disposition, whom he recommended as just the man needed for the
rescue of the Princess of Pengging and ready for the task, provided her royal
father would consent, in consideration of the defeat of the giants, to give his
daughter to the young man with half his kingdom as dowry and the other half to
follow after his death—which conditions prove that even in those remote days
the saintly did not despise worldly advantage. The King of Pengging consented
and Bambang Kandilaras marched against Prambanan, but no weapon could
harm Ratu Boko, who roared so dreadfully that the sound and his breath
combined were enough to knock any human foe down at a distance too far to
distinguish a man from a woman or a giant from a waringin-tree. Bambang
Kandilaras fled, reporting at Damar Moyo’s cave, and was commanded to try
once more with the assistance of his brother Bondowoso. They accomplished
nothing. Bambang Kandilaras ran away even before the battle commenced, to
hide himself in a ravine where the troops of Prambanan could not follow him,
and Bondowoso, blown off his legs by a puff from Ratu Boko’s formidable
lungs, sought safety in precipitate retreat to the mountain Soombing. Then
Damar Moyo taught him a magical word which, pronounced twice, would make
him big and heavy as an elephant, and give him the strength of a thousand of
those animals. Thus armed, Bondowoso returned to Prambanan, where he killed
half of Ratu Boko’s warriors in their sleep, while the other half, waking up,
concentrated backward, with the enemy in hot pursuit, to tell their king what had
happened. Nobody shall stir, said he; I myself alone will settle this little
business. Meeting Bondowoso near the village Tangkisan,[38] he began to roar as
loud and fume as hard as he could but, to his astonishment, his breath lacked the
accustomed power and so he had to fight for his life hand to hand. It was a
terrible fight: houses and gardens were trampled down, forests rooted up and
mountains kicked over, while the perspiration dripping from the bodies of the
enraged combatants formed a large pool, the Telaga Powiniyan.[39] To end the
struggle, Bondowoso, in a supreme effort, seized Ratu Boko round the middle
and threw him into that pool, where he sank and, drowning, made the earth
tremble with a last roar of anger and distress.[40] Raden Gupolo, hearing the
noise, hastened to his assistance with a few drops of the water of life in a cup, an
elixir prepared by Mboq Loro Jonggrang,—only a few drops, but enough to
resuscitate the dead giant-king if put to his lips. Bambang Kandilaras, however,
drew his bow and, from the place where he had watched the fight, shot the cup
out of the hand of Raden Gupolo, who thereupon attacked Bondowoso.
Bambang Kandilaras let more arrows fly at the giant-warriors of Prambanan,
who now rushed up to avenge their king’s death. In the general mêlée
Bondowoso killed also Raden Gupolo and cut off his head, which he threw away
in an easterly direction, changing it into a mountain, the Gunoong Gampeng; but
his brains and heart he threw away in a southwesterly direction, changing them
into another mountain, the Gunoong Woongkal. Thereupon he defeated the
remaining half of the army of Prambanan and repaired to Pengging, claiming the
reward for his brother. The king of that country, glad to be rid of the giants, was
as good as his word, wedded his beautiful daughter to Bambang Kandilaras and
appointed Bondowoso his viceroy in Prambanan, with the rank and title of
bupati. Taking up his abode in the palace of the late Raden Gupolo, Bondowoso
happened to see Mboq Loro Jonggrang, who continued living in the kraton of
Ratu Boko, and fell in love with her. He asked her hand in marriage and she,
abhorring the man who had killed her father, and one so unprepossessing in
countenance too, but afraid to provoke his displeasure by a blank refusal,
answered that she was willing to become his wife on condition of his providing a
suitable sasrahan or wedding-present, nothing more nor less than six deep wells
in six buildings, the like of which no mortal eye had ever seen, with a thousand
statues of the former kings of Prambanan and their divine ancestors, the gods in
heaven, all to be dug and built and carved in one night. Bondowoso called in the
help of his father, the recluse Damar Moyo, of the King of Pengging and of his
brother Bambang Kandilaras, all three of whom responded, going to Prambanan
and uniting in prayer on the day before the night agreed upon by the spirits of the
lower regions, who had been commandeered for the task by the saint of the
mountain Soombing. The evening fell and as soon as darkness enveloped the
earth a weird sound was heard of invisible hands busy laying foundations,
erecting walls and sculpturing statuary. By half past three o’clock the six wells
were dug, the six buildings completed and nine hundred and ninety-nine statues
standing in their places. But Mboq Loro Jonggrang, roused from her slumbers by
the hammering and chiselling, and suspecting what was going on, ordered her
handmaidens out to stamp the padi[41] and to strew the ground, where the noise
was loudest, with flowers and to sprinkle perfume. The spirits of the lower
regions cannot bear the odour of flowers and perfumes, as everybody knows; so
they had to desist and deserted their almost finished work in precipitate flight, to
the consternation of Bondowoso, who pronounced this curse: Since the girls of
Prambanan take pleasure in fooling a faithful suitor, may the gods grant that they
shall have to wait long before they become brides![42] Having said this, yet
hoping against hope, he called on his lady, who asked tauntingly whether the
honour of his visit meant the announcement that the task imposed upon him by
way of testing his love, had been completed. This filled the measure and he
answered: No, it is not and you shall complete it yourself. The threat was
immediately realised: Loro Jonggrang changed into a statue of stone, the
thousandth, which terminated the labour of the spirits and is still to be seen in a
niche on the north side of the principal edifice.
The reader will recognise in this legend the hoary eastern material of many
others current also in western lands. It pervades the legendary lore connected
with the plain of Prambanan in widest sense, and one of its many variations, to
be recorded farther on, applies specially to the Buddhist chandi Sewu or
“thousand temples”, only a little distance from the Loro Jonggrang group;[43] in
fact, originally adapted to account for the many ruins scattered over a vast area
in that region, it has taken separate forms to meet the requirements of separate
localities. Apart from tradition, we owe the oldest extant description of the
Prambanan antiquities to the East India Company’s servant Lons at Samarang,
who wrote in 1733. The Governor-General van Imhoff referred to them in 1746
and Raffles, his successor during the British Interregnum, not satisfied with
writing and talking alone, commissioned Cornelius with Wardenaar to survey
them and make plans for reconstruction. After 1816 things returned to the
accustomed neglect: A short stay in the plain of Prambanan, says an authority
already quoted,[44] is sufficient to note that thousands of valuable hewn and
sculptured stones have been and still are used for all sorts of purposes ...; from
time immemorial, great quantities of stone have been (and still are) taken from
Prambanan by his Highness the Sooltan of Jogjakarta, generally once or twice a
year ...; this happens, if I am well informed, in compliance with a written
demand, fiated by the local authorities. The foundation, in 1885, of the
Archaeological Society of Jogjakarta, which undertook the excavation of the
parts of the Loro Jonggrang group covered with debris and vegetation, and the
clearing of the whole, did little to ameliorate the situation with respect to the
carrying away from the Prambanan temples, speaking collectively, of stones for
the building of houses, factories, etc., and of ornament for the decoration of
private grounds and gardens. Though bills were posted all over the ruins,
including Doorga’s, alias Loro Jonggrang’s sanctum, prohibiting, by order of that
Society, the salving of gods and goddesses with boreh and the defacing of the
walls with inscriptions, its members themselves dragged statues away to fill a
so-called museum of their contrivance at the provincial capital, dislocating
things of beauty, ranging the disjecta membra on scaffoldings in a shed as
crockery on the shelves of a cupboard. The monuments of Prambanan being
primarily mausolea, their first concern was to dig for the saptaratna, the seven
treasures buried with the ashes of the dead under the images of the deities
hallowing those perishable remains. The plunder consisted in urns containing,
besides the ashes, coins, rubies and other precious stones, pieces of gold- and
silver-leaf with cut figures (serpents, tortoises, flowers), strips of gold-foil
inscribed with ancient characters, fragments of copper and glass, etc. The
mortuary pits easiest to rifle, had already been emptied before the semi-official
spoilers turned their attention to them. This chapter is not the most glorious in
the history of the Archaeological Society of Jogjakarta which, on the other hand,
started a work too long neglected by the Dutch Government, even after Raffles’
vigorous initial effort. Incidentally it promoted the schemes of the superficial yet
very ambitious, pushing to the front on the strength of what should have been
put to the credit of more capable but, to their detriment, more modest labourers
in the archaeological field: It is not always the most deserving horses that get the
oats, says a Dutch proverb.
VI. SIVA (LORO JONGGRANG) TEMPLE OF THE PRAMBANAN GROUP
IN 1901
(Cephas Sr.)
The Sivaïte character of the temples of Prambanan would be sufficiently
indicated, if there were no other proofs, by the sepulchral cavities they inclose
and which define them as the monuments of a graveyard consecrated to the
memory of the great and mighty of Hindu Mataram, who worshipped Siva as
Mahadeva, the Supreme God, Paramesvara, the Maker, the Maintainer, the
Marrer to make again. Sepulchral pits or wells are, indeed, the Sivaïte hall-mark
in the architecture of Java and here, at Prambanan, we find, in so far as
preserved, the finest of the edifices raised to encompass and revet such pits,
temple-tombs built for the glorification of the Creator in creative consciousness,
highest boon granted to humanity, a glimmering of his All-Soul which, leaving
the dust to return to dust, aspires to union with the Uncreated. A central group of
eight shrines, once surrounded by numberless smaller ones, witnesses, in
soberness of well-balanced outline, in precision of detail, to the exquisite art of
those Hindu-Javanese master-builders who, like the architects of our old
cathedrals, were unconcerned as to the opinion of man, but had the adoration of
the godhead in mind and made the whole world partake of the divine blessing
which quickened heart and hand, whether then descending from Siva’s nature as
the essence of the Trimoorti, or from the sublime truth symbolised in the
Christian Holy Trinity. The marvels of design and execution still standing at
Prambanan in their dilapidated state, on a terrace excavated in 1893-4, were
arranged, with the smaller ones now altogether gone, in a square whose sides
faced the cardinal points. The material used in their construction was a kind of
trachyte which, originally yellowish and hard to chisel into shape, has assumed a
dark gray colour and by the richness of the sculptured ornament gives an
impression as if easily moulded like wax. The three western temples, of which
the one in the middle, consecrated to Siva or, according to the natives, the chandi
Loro Jonggrang proper, is the largest, correspond each with a smaller structure to
the east; still smaller chandis bound the space between the two rows to the north
and south. The buildings dedicated to the Trimoorti, set squarely with a square
projection on each side, rest on basements of the same polygonous
conformation, so much in favour with the architects of that period; the inner
rooms are on an elevated level because of their position over the vault-like
compartments saved out in the substructures, and can be reached by staircases,
once provided with porches, leading to the storeyed galleries. Vestiges of 157
diminutive chandis outside the rampart which encircled the central group, testify
to the former existence of many and many more, shut in by a second and a third
demolished wall. A closer inspection of the ruins, revealing beauties not yet
departed, leads to an apprehension of what has been irrevocably lost. These
temples of the three gods who are but one, always reminded me in their pathetic
desolation of the capellas imparfeitas of Santa Maria da Victoria; what is
incomplete, however, unfinished at Batalha, has run to decay at Prambanan—
there the budding promise and arrested blossoming of an artistic idea, here the
scattered petals of the full-blown flower rudely broken off its stem.
VII. PRAMBANAN RELIEFS
(C. Nieuwenhuis.)
Siva is the keynote of the Prambanan group, Siva, the Jagad, the Bhatara Guru,
according to his prevalent title in the island. In the temple which bears his name,
he appeared as the leader in the exterior chapel looking south; his wife, Doorga,
looks north; their first-born, Ganesa, looks west. The latter, sitting on his lotus
cushion, is represented as the Ekadanta, the elephant deprived of one of his tusks
when fighting Parashu Rama; a third eye in his forehead betokens his keenness
of sight; he wears in his crown the emblematic skull and crescent of his father;
one of his left hands brandishes his father’s battle-axe; one of his right hands
holds the string of beads suggesting prayer; his father’s upawita, the hooded
snake, is strung round his left shoulder and breast. Doorga, his mother, born
from the flames which proceeded from the mouths of the gods, stands on the
steer she killed when the terrific animal had stormed Indra’s heaven and
humiliated the immortals; her eight hands[45] wield the weapons and other gifts
bestowed upon her by the deities at their delivery: Vishnu’s discus, Surya’s
arrows, etc. etc., while her nethermost right hand seizes the enemy’s tail and her
nethermost left hand the shaggy locks of the demon Maheso, who tries to escape
with the monster’s life. This magnificent piece of sculpture, highly dramatic and
yet within the limits of plastic art, the unknown maker having instinctively
obeyed the rules formulated in Lessing’s Laokoon, some thousand years after his
labours were ended, is the petrified Lady Jonggrang, victim of Bondowoso’s
revengeful love. It does not matter to the native that Siva has always claimed her
as his consort, if not under the name of Doorga then under that of Kali or Uma,
ever since she, Parvati, the Mother of Nature, divided herself into three female
entities to marry her three sons, who are none but he who sits enthroned as
Mahadeva in the inner chamber, looking east, with his less placid
personifications, the dvarapalas (doorkeepers) Nandisvara and Mahakala, the
wielders of trident and cudgel, guarding the entrance, supported by demi-gods
and heroes. The colossal statue of their heavenly lord, broken into pieces by the
falling roof, has been restored and replaced on its padmasana (lotus cushion). In
this shape the god wears the makuta (crown) with skull and crescent, has a third
eye in his forehead and a cobra strung round his left shoulder and breast; his
body, decked with a tiger’s skin, rests against the prabha, his aureole; one of his
left hands holds his fly-flap, one of his right hands his string of beads; of his
trident only the stick remains.
Siva, the one of dreadful charm, is everywhere, either personified or in his
attributes: he dominates the external decoration of the Vishnu and the Brahma
temples too, in the latter case as guru, even to the exclusion of all other gods; the
middle chandi of the eastern row, facing his principal shrine, has his vahana, the
bull; the one to the north his smaller image, while in the third, to the south,
wholly demolished, no statuary can be traced. The inner chambers of the
subordinate buildings show more plainly than that of Siva, which is adorned
with flowery ornament, that the Sivaïte style concentrated ornamentation rather
on the exterior than on the interior. The four statues of Brahma, the master of the
four crowned countenances, who lies shattered among the debris of his temple,
and the four statues of Vishnu in his (a large one with makuta, prabha, chakra
and sanka, and three smaller ones, representing him in his fourth and fifth avatar
and in his married state with his sakti Lakshmi in miniature on his left arm), are
chastely conceived in the chaste surroundings of their chapels. In addition to the
sorely damaged Ramayana reliefs, presently to be spoken of, they dwell,
however simple the interior arrangement of their cells may be, among richly
carved images of their peers and followers stationed outside: Vishnu among his
own less famous avatars and supposed Bodhisatvas between female figures;
Brahma, as already remarked, among personifications of the ubiquitous Siva in
his quality of teacher, accompanied by bearded men of holiness. Siva’s nandi, a
beautifully moulded humped bull, emblem of divine virility, watches his
master’s abode, attentive to the word of command,—watches day and night as
symbolised by Surya, the beaming sun, carrying the flowers of life when rising
behind her seven horses, and by Chandra, the three-eyed moon, drawn by ten
horses, waving a banner and also presenting a flower, but one wrapped in a
cloud. The chandis of the eastern row, fortunately not yet despoiled of these
striking specimens of Sivaïte sculpture, the statue of Siva opposite the Vishnu
temple and enough to enable one to recognise that they too had once a band of
ornament in high and low relief, emphasise even in the ruinous condition of their
substructures, polygonous like those of the larger temples but on square
foundations, the mystery attaching to the fascination exercised by the main
building they supplement, and whose decoration, strictly Sivaïtic on the inside
while partaking of the Buddhistic on the outside, has racked many brains for an
explanation. The bo-trees and prayer-bells, profusely employed in its external
embellishment, together with figures agreeable to the Bodhisatva theory, have
led some to advance the opinion that it is a purely Buddhist creation, though
perhaps tinged with Sivaïte notions. They were met with the objection that there
is no sign of a dagob as distinguishing Buddhist feature; that the riddle of the
resemblance between the statuary on the outside of the Siva temple and the
conventional representation of Bodhisatvas, could find its solution in the
canonisation or deification of kings and famous chiefs, a practice as old as
ancestor-worship, which held its own in Java from pre-Hindu days up to our
own. However this may be, if the Prambanan temples, and especially the one
particularly dedicated to the great god of the Trimoorti, preached orthodox
Sivaïsm to the elect of its innermost conviction, while tainted externally with the
heresy of the deniers of the existence of gods, the indubitably Buddhist Mendoot
reverses the process. This and the syncretism discernible in nearly all the
chandis of Java, shows the religious tolerance of the Javanese in the Hindu
period. And religiously tolerant they are still as true believers in the true faith of
Islām; the fanaticism one occasionally hears of, roots rather in discontent from
economic causes than in bigotry or over-zealous devotion to a creed which
declares rebellion for conscience’ sake against a firmly established rule that
recognises it, to be unlawful.
VIII. PRAMBANAN RELIEFS
(Cephas Sr.)
The demi-gods and heroes with their followers on the outside of the Siva temple,
occupy, counting from the base upward, the third tier of ornamentation, also the
highest in the roofless condition of the building: the few niches left above are
empty. Beneath, the story of Rama, an incarnation of Vishnu, is told in bas-
reliefs which belong to the very best Hindu sculpture discovered in Java or
anywhere else. The division of the casements is effected by bo-trees, sitting lions
and standing or dancing women in haut-relief, especially the last being of
exquisite workmanship. In endlessly varying attitudes, embracing one another or
tripping the light fantastic toe, retreating and advancing, their measured steps
being regulated by the musicians on interspersed panels, they represent the
apsaras, nymphs of heaven, adorning the house of prayer to acquaint mortal man
with the joys in store for the doer of good. The human birds and other mythical
animals under the bo-trees, the prayer-bells and flowers in the garlanded foliage,
enhance the charm of this ingenious decoration, the splendidly limbed virgins
disporting themselves in a frame of imposing magnificence, their graceful
movements being worthily seconded by the sumptuous setting. Nor does this
wealth of detail, this marvellous display of artistic power, of skill perfected by
imaginative thought, divert the attention from the divine idea embodied in Siva
or from the introduction to its understanding provided by the Ramayana,
initiating the beholder’s intelligence by degrees. All is so well balanced that the
lower guides to the higher in whetting comprehensive desire. First, on reaching
the terrace, starting from the low level of vulgar interest, curiosity and sympathy
are awakened by the epic which shared popular favour with the Brata Yuda. It is
not known who enriched the literature of Java with a version of the Ramayana
adapted to Javanese requirements; as in the case of the Mahabharata he was
probably one of the poets living at the cultured courts of the eastern part of the
island. Whatever his name, he made a hit with his tale of the god who descended
from heaven, bent on flirting with the daughters of men, and won a wife, the
tenderly loving Sita, by drawing Dhanusha, the mighty bow of Siva. His success
may be appraised by the circumstance that scenes taken from his poem were
deemed suitable to embellish the tombs of sovereign rulers. Can it be called an
improvement after more than a thousand years of progressive western
civilisation that we, to honour the memory of our dead, make shift with inflated
epitaphs advertising virtues in life often conspicuous by an absence which the
maudlin angels of our cemeteries, rather than shedding undeserved, vicarious
tears, perpetually seem to bemoan on their own account?
 IX. PRAMBANAN RELIEFS
(Centrum.)
The adventures of Vishnu in his Rama guise are told from the moment of
Dasharatha, King of Ayodhya, invoking his aid to make the royal consorts
partake of the blessing of motherhood. Vishnu, resting on the seven-headed
serpent of the sea, Sesha or Ananta, the one without end, dispenses a potion
which makes Kantalya, who drinks half of it, conceive Rama; Kaykaji, who
drinks a fourth part of it, Bharata; and the third spouse, who drinks the rest, the
twins Lakshmana and Shatrughna. We can follow Vishnu, reborn from mortal
woman, on the reliefs of the Siva temple, which are tolerably preserved, through
the first stages of his earthly career as Rama, but must renounce studying his
subsequent story on the exterior of the temples dedicated to himself and Brahma,
where the third tier of sculpture has altogether disappeared, save a few mutilated
bas-reliefs. That is a great pity, for the illustration of the Ramayana by the artists
entrusted with the decoration of the chandi Prambanan, judging from what we
still possess, marks the apogee of Hindu-Javanese art; revelling in accessory
ornament, it never surfeits, keeping the leading idea well in view, every
embellishment adding to its intrinsic value. The heavy moulding above the
lowest band of chiselled work of the Siva temple has fortunately protected it
from being damaged by falling stones; here we are able to discover the sculptor’s
technique at close quarters and it is worthy of note that some of the curly lions
are wanting in their appointed places. This, coupled with the fact that a few of
the apsaras remained unfinished, while others, like statues of gods on higher
planes, have only been outlined, and spaces, evidently contrived for ornament,
present flat surfaces, has led to the conjecture of a catastrophe which surprised
the builders and made them suspend their labours as in the case of the Bimo
temple of the Diëng plateau.
X. PRAMBANAN RELIEFS
(Centrum.)
One of the salient features of the decoration at Prambanan, indeed of all ancient
Javanese art, Sivaïte and Buddhist, is the representation of animal life as an
important factor in human destiny. If the Buddha was called the Sakya Sinha, the
Lion of the Sakyas, and his sylvan embodiment adorns in many reproductions
the Boro Budoor, his stateliest temple, at Sivaïte Prambanan we find the king of
the desert extensively utilised in the general decoration, together with the beasts
of the field under the bo-trees and fanciful combinations of man and his lowly
friends, not dumb but of different speech, like the kinnaris, the bird-people. The
Ramayana bas-reliefs echo the kindness[46] shown to those humble companions
in Indian myth, history and present-day asylums for the aged and infirm among
them. Attending the monkey warriors with whose help the simian deity
Hanoman restored King Sugriva to the throne of his forefathers at Kishkindhya
(an allusion, it is thought, to the doughty deeds of the aborigines of the Deccan),
bajings[47] and bolooks[47] are gambolling round the house of the Most Awful
and Mysterious, once worshipped here by great nations whose very names are
lost, but whose art, giving a place to all creation in symbolic expression of the
divine, still teaches us the lesson that the animals are also children of the gods,
endowed with life not to be exterminated to serve our pleasure and our vanity, or
to be abused for our profit, but to enjoy the fullness of the earth and the good
gifts of heaven as we do ourselves, or might do if we were wise. Mother Nature,
Siva’s sakti Doorga, nurses at her bosom all her husband’s offspring, without
distinction, and at Prambanan she superintends the growing world, as the
mistress of his household, in the highly finished form the artist has given her:
Loro Jonggrang, daughter of Ratu Boko of the Javanese legend. Not in her
outward character of the demon-steer subduing virago does she attract her
worshippers here, nor in that of the woman of the golden skin riding the tiger,
full of menace, but in that of Uma, the gentle goddess who sheds light on
perplexing problems of conduct, to whom one turns in distress. Ideal of high-
born loveliness, Loro Jonggrang is especially venerated by those of her own sex
who are in trouble or have a desire to propound in the fumes of incense they
burn: barren matrons praying for issue from their bodies to their lords and
masters, like the wives of King Dasharatha; virgins anxious to get married;
pseudo-virgins who have trusted too much in the promises of their lovers,
following the hadat established by herself at Prambanan and diligently observed
(not only, it should be noticed, in that neighbourhood, but likewise where no one
ever heard of Loro Jonggrang and her escapades d’amour), insisting that, in the
name of the precedent she set, consequences shall be warded off. When pasar,
i.e. market, falls on a Friday,[48] her votaries are exceptionally numerous, mostly
native women entreating deliverance from female ills or help in the attainment of
feminine wishes. Chinese, half-caste and occasionally European ladies may,
however, be observed among them: it is said that several happy mothers of the
ruling race at Jogjakarta and Surakarta owe their husbands and children to Notre
Dame de Bon Secours of Prambanan; that brides having obtained their heart’s
desire in union with the beloved, the bridegrooms in their turn repair to her
shrine, after a honeymoon ended in storm-clouds, with an earnest supplication
for means of release. This explains the sprinkling of males among the fair
devotees on Fridays, dejected looking persons who smear the statue of Doorga
with boreh, despite notices to desist, supplicating her to repeal former decrees,
having different objects in view, of course, with their salvings of Ganesa and
Siva’s nandi. Favours are requested, pledges are given, votive sacrifices are
performed, the gods and their attributes, Mboq Loro Jonggrang in the first place,
are wreathed and festooned with flowers in compliance with an old Hindu
custom so deeply rooted that we may notice grave, turbaned hajis yielding to it,
unheedful of the Prophet’s anathemas against those who commit the
unpardonable sin of idolatry, straying more widely from the right path than the
brute cattle, wicked doers, companions of hell-fire whose everlasting couch shall
be on burning coals.
XI. PRAMBANAN RELIEFS
(Centrum.)
As the exhalations of the incense rise to the dying rays of the sun and mix with
the scent of the kembangan telon, the flowers of sacrifice, melati, kananga and
kantil, the soughing of the trees in the evening breeze repeats the lessons taught
by an ancient inscription found near the temples of Prambanan, and a summary
of which Hindu-Javanese Libro del Principe, taken from a translation by a
Panambahan of Sumanap, may be acceptable: What has been here set down, was
in the beginning an ancestral tradition, very useful if observed, but, if
disregarded, it becomes a curse. This inscription was made in the year 396 (?), in
the third month, on a Friday in the sixth era. Let it inform you of the most
exalted, of the road to enlightenment and happiness, to attain your country’s
progress and prosperity. Proof thereof will be cheap food and raiment, and
universal peace, that those who honour the gods may lead tranquil lives.
Honouring the gods is the perfection of conduct. Whosoever strives after that
will be smiled upon by them, for the practising of virtue provides access to
heaven, which shines in splendour, and all gods will unite with the supreme Siva
Bathara Indra to assist the practiser of virtue. But whosoever does wrong will go
to perdition and his appearance will be monstrous, his shape like the shape of a
dog; such a one acts unwisely because he turns away from virtue and obeys his
passions, which are his enemies. It seems good to know this in life, in order to
practise virtue and praise the godhead, believing in Bhatara, who has power over
the world, possessing heaven and earth. The teachers must also be respected,
without exception, because of their venerable charge, and you must learn of
them to honour Bathara above all gods, the Omnipotent, the Ruler and
Maintainer of everything. Praise him in order that you may gain happiness and
bliss even while you live on earth. Honour your parents and the parents of your
parents and their teachings, which are inviolable, as they before you considered
inviolable the teachings which came to them from their parents and ancestors as
received from the god Bathara, who opened their hearts to probity. Know that
they were allowed to adorn themselves with fragrant flower-buds wherever their
influence penetrated: this will also be your privilege after the purification of your
minds. Conduct yourselves honestly according to divine direction, acquire
discretion and try to resemble the illustrious kings of the past who compassed
the felicity of their subjects. Be no regarders of persons either among the good or
among the bad; all are mortals in a fleeting world. This consider: Bathara is the
King of Kings who ordains the holy institutions. Fill the place of a father among
his children. If there are any of your subjects who act wickedly, command them
to mend their ways; if they persist in evil, teach them to distinguish between
what is good and what is bad in their souls, to the advantage of the living.
Excellent men must be appointed to manage the affairs of the people. These
three things are of highest importance: that proper instruction be given; that your
subjects become prosperous instead of poor through oppression; that every one
of them know the boundaries of his fields. Persevere in honouring Bathara!
Glorify him and inherit joy! Dress cleanly and keep your bodies clean.
Acknowledge the omnipotence of Bathara Giri Nata and, protected by him, no
one can harm you. May his superiority be reflected in you to confound the
wicked doers. If you desire a change of station, seek seclusion to do penance in
order that Bathara’s brilliancy may become visible in you. Nothing is so
beautiful and so profitable to you as the conquest of your passions, subduing
them to a pure mind and lofty aspirations, vanquishing the enemies of virtue who
reveal themselves: it will help to proclaim your lustrous righteousness. Glorify
Bathara! He will descend in his beneficence to show you the way. Reflect
seriously: some day you must die; ponder over the mystery of life and make the
ignorant understand for their own salvation. Behaving in this manner, happiness
cannot escape you, kings of good rule, all of whose prayers will be listened to
and with whom no one can be compared: this is the sign of the eminence of the
sovereign who dominates men as the tiger dominates whatever breathes in the
forest. The gods will protect such kings to the benefit of their subjects, traders
and carriers of merchandise and labourers in the fields. Nothing is denied to the
obedient, for the gods ward off evil from their thrones; evil is known in heaven
before it touches the mortals on earth. Glorify Bathara! The men of rank and
high birth who serve kings, must be of middle age. In their fiftieth year it
behoves them to retire from the world into prayerful solitude to die as a child
dies; let the body suffer for the soul, crowning the end of life. As you grow in
knowledge your wishes will be fulfilled and your soul will leave its prison. The
token of higher knowledge is evident. Where does the soul go? It gains in
beatitude or, if no progress has been made, it seeks a refuge in the bodies of
animals and people of mean appetites. Gaining in beatitude, it reaches heaven,
the garden of rest, but hell is the abode of sin. Cleanse, therefore, your thoughts;
eschew impurity! Do not favour the wealthy, nor despise the poor; all are equally
confided to your care. O ye, who are kings and represent the gods in your
kingdoms, listen to this admonition and know your responsibility for the ultimate
lot of your subjects. Bathara, the lord of life and death, will call you to account.
Woman has been created inferior to man; but many men are enticed to wrong-
doing by the smooth speech of their women-folk, who lack perception by the
inscrutable decree of the gods. Woman wishes to control man, taking her caprice
for wisdom, always pressing him to follow her fancies. The chronicles, however,
mention the names of queens like Sri Chitra Wati, Sinta Devi and Sakjrevati
Drupadi. In the days of Dhipara Jaga, Tirta Jaga, Karta Jaga and Sang Ngara
bloody wars devastated the land; kings were bewitched and changed into
dragons and elephants because they disregarded the ordinances of Bathara and
also because they were weak, not able to restrain their burning passion for
beautiful women, acting differently from that which behoves those in authority.
Possess your souls in continence! Bathara watches and you are unacquainted
with the hour of your death.
XII. PRAMBANAN RELIEFS
(Centrum.)
The shadows of evening thicken; darkness gathers, darkness in the train of Rahu,
the devourer of sun and moon, robing the temples in gloom. Fire-flies, darting
from between the sculptured bo-trees and festooned foliage, begin to hold their
nocturnal feast but subside before a red glare, nascent in the holy of holies. They
return, as if borne by strange, wild melodies, and grow into the luxurious forms
of luminous nymphs, the apsaras, who leave their stations round the house of
fear to dance their voluptuous dance of death, renouncing their allegiance to the
Mahadeva to court Kama of the flowery bow, consumed by the desire to enjoy
life and life’s best before the approach of the mower cutting them down. Their
mates, the gandharvas, excite them in their weird revelry with songs and the
musicians urge them with the clang of tabors and cymbals. Shaped for the
enchanting arts of love, skilled in the wiles of female magic, they move in a
whirl of passion, like flames of fire, more redoubtable to man than the sword and
arrows of his bitterest foe. Luring the unwary who tarry at Prambanan when the
fates, weaving the web of the world, change the colours of day into night’s
blackest dyes, when the lotus-blossoms hang heavy on their stems and the air is
burdened with the odour of incense and sacrificial wreaths, they intend his
subversion by a mirage of delight, a hallucination of the senses, and present the
gratification of carnal desire as the triumph of reason. Woe to him if he does not
resist in the delirium of his infatuation! The moment he tries to grasp their
flitting forms, they evade him as a mountain stream in spate, as the spray of its
water dashing down the rocks, as foam on the surging brine. The apsaras mock,
the gandharvas hiss him, the musicians howl, all turning again to stone, having
instilled their subtle poison into his heart. He seeks in vain the joy they held out
to him, begs in vain for a draught of the soma, the nectar of the gods. Then,
shooting out from the great god’s abode as a flash of lightning, the red glare
takes substance and Siva appears in his most terrible aspect, Kala, destroying
time, waving the skull which springs from the lotus stem, menacing men and
cattle, the wild beasts of the woods, the fowl of the air and the fish of the sea,
with the trishula, the trident of desolation. Behind him the Devi, his spouse,
emerges from her niche, riding Vayu, the stormwind, not Doorga or Uma
disguised as Loro Jonggrang, but Kali, the furious, of hideous countenance,
crowned with snakes, dripping with blood. Lifting up her voice above the
roaring of her steed, she joins the Dread One, Rudra, the Thunderer, and passion
and baffled desire become a portion of the tempest she raises, the odour of the
kembangan telon breathing agony. Mahakala, the Almighty Overthrower, deals
death under his veil. But if the night of terror begins in darkness, it will end in
dawn and light of day: all that lives, is born to die for new life to succeed, and so
teaches Siva himself, the Bhatara Guru. In adoration of Ganesa, the fruit of his
union with Parvati, wisdom will accrue to him who learns the lesson;
enlightenment from the spectacle of time, the demolisher, fortifying fecund
nature, reanimating the universe in anguish of decay. Wisdom is the great gift,
purification of the soul in abstinence from the pleasures which drag it down, to
keep the spark of the divine undefiled in its earthly sheath with the aid of the
father and the son, whose distinctive qualities merge in Wighnesa, the
vanquisher of obstacles. Drinking their essence, man’s hearing and knowing
leads to affection and commiseration, to the second Brahma Vihara, the sublime
condition of sorrow at the sorrow of others, and when dissolution arrives as a
reward, Yama, the judge of the dead, will find no cause for reproach. The good
will enter the diamond gate, but grievous torment awaits the foolish who pamper
the flesh and are ensnared by the daughters of lust.
Decoration
 Decoration
CHAPTER V
MORE OF CENTRAL JAVA

Le bon sens nous dit que les choses de la terre n’existent que bien
peu et que la vraie réalité est dans les rêves. CHARLES BAUDELAIRE,
Les Paradis Artificiels (Dédication).
Except during a period of some four centuries and a half, from about 940 till the
palmy days of Mojopahit, when declining Hindu civilisation, for reasons as yet
unexplained, sought a refuge farther east, Central Java and especially that part of
it known in our time as the Principalities, i.e. Surakarta and Jogjakarta, has
always been the heart of the island. There lived and live the true Javanese, the
people of heaven’s mercy, cherishing their old traditions; these and the beautiful
scenery of their fire-mountains and fertile valleys are still theirs, whatever else
may fail: glory, power and freedom. They lived and live in their world of custom
and formality a life unintelligible in its inner workings to the western brain,
impenetrable to the western eye. There are forces hidden in the Javanese mind,
the resultant of a strangely moved past, which we can never understand, though
we may admire their creative energy, revealed in the now conventional designs
guiding the hand of the potter, the wood-carver, the goldsmith, the armourer, the
batikker,[49] hereditary practisers of dying arts and crafts; in the remains of a
marvellous architecture long since altogether dead. No chapter in the whole
history of eastern art, says Fergusson, is so full of apparent anomalies or upsets
so completely our preconceived ideas of things as they ought to be, as that which
treats of the architectural history of the island of Java ...; the one country to
which they (the Hindus) overflowed, was Java, and there they colonised to such
an extent as for nearly a thousand years to obliterate the native arts and
civilisation and supplant it by their own ...; what is still more singular is, that it
was not from the nearest shores of India that these emigrants departed but from
the western coast.... A linga, erected in the Kadu in the year 654 Saka (A.D. 732),
a Sivaïte symbol of generation, marks the origin of an artistic activity whose
most brilliant period, the classical one of central Javanese architecture, as G. P.
Rouffaer styles it rightly, begins with the construction of such buildings as the
Buddhist chandi Kalasan or Kali Bening. The inscription of King Sanjaya in
Venggi characters, and vestiges of Vaishnav tendencies in the Suku and Cheto
temples of a much later date, point to the worship of Vishnu, while Brahma’s
four sublime conditions and more subtle transcendentalism do not seem to have
attracted the Javanese converts to Hinduïsm. They could grasp the unity of
Siva’s threefold functions much better and accepted him as Mahadeva at the
head of the Trimoorti. The advent of Buddhism in its mahayanistic form, the
creed of the northern church so called, served to emphasise native tolerance.
Sivaïsm and whatever there was of Vishnuïsm, harmonised with Buddhism to
the extent of borrowing and lending symbols, emblems and divine attributes;
Hindu gods played puss in the corner with Bodhisatvas, as already remarked
upon in the preceding chapter; the chandi Chupuwatu surprises us with a stupa-
linga;[50] a Javanese prince of the thirteenth century bears the expressive name
of Siva-Buddha; the old Javanese Sang Hiang Kamahayanikan contains the
dictum: Siva is identical with Buddha.[51] If more inscriptions had been found,
more light might have been thrown on the anomalous ornamentation of, for
instance, the Prambanan temples and the Mendoot; but Sivaïte records of the
kind leaving the matter unexplained, Buddhist information is still scantier,
perhaps a consequence of Baghavat’s followers not excelling in epigraphy or
literary labours of any description.
If the backwash of great political events or religious discussion when the Islām
superseded older creeds, may have aided Kala, the Destroyer, in demolishing a
good many buildings of the classical period, whose sites even are sought in vain,
it is certain that the pioneers of western civilisation, proud of their superiority,
willfully and wantonly undid in many places work that had been spared by time
and earthquakes and volcanic eruptions and enemies born of the soil, devastating
with fire and sword their brethren’s hearths and houses. Christian zealots
regarded the ancient monuments as assembly-rooms of the Devil where the
benighted heathen used to foregather in idolatry, lodges of abomination the
sooner razed the better, a pious feeling often translated into action on grounds of
utility: the stones offered excellent building material. Officials and
particulieren[52] of broader views, besides acknowledging the serviceableness of
chandis in this respect, went recho-hunting[53] for the adornment of their houses
and gardens. Quite a collection has been formed in the residency grounds at
Jogjakarta, the nucleus of which was moved thither from the estate Tanjong
Tirta, whose former occupants, like most of the landed gentry, made exceedingly
free with the temples and monasteries in that neighbourhood. As neither they nor
the others bothered about noting where they got this or that piece of sculpture,
we are entirely at sea concerning the meaning of several beautiful statues. This is
the case, e.g., with one of remarkably fine execution, a crowned goddess, sitting
on a lotus cushion and encircled by a flaming aureole, pressing her hands to her
bosom. She has been fortunate enough to escape the fate of some deities who
shared her sequestration and were left to the care of the convicts detailed to keep
the Resident’s compound in trim, a duty performed by whitewashing or daubing
them with a grayish substance, excepting the hair of the head, the eyebrows, the
eyeballs and the prabha, which the gentlemen-artists of the chain-gang are in the
habit of painting black, enhancing the general effect by “restoring” lost hands
and feet and damaged faces after methods nothing short of barbarous, but
therefore the better in keeping with the traditional attitude of those in authority.
For this infamous disfiguration and desecration, which makes any one
unaccustomed to Dutch East Indian processes shudder with horror, never
disturbed the aesthetic sense or equanimity of the several occupants of the
residency who, during the last thirty-five years, saw it going on under their very
eyes, the eyes of the representatives of a Government lavish in circulars[54]
recommending the country’s antiquities to their care. Neither are those eyes
shocked by the “museum” adjoining the residency, a jumble of plunder from
chandis far and near; nor by the chaotic mass of torsos, arms and legs,
fragmentary evidence of wholesale spoliation behind that pitiful exhibition of
archaeology turned topsyturvy.
So much for the statuary removed from the chandis, as far as it can be traced.
Concerning the chandis themselves, it should be remembered that the greater
part has wholly disappeared. Hillocks, overspread with brushwood, sometimes
awaken hopes that by digging foundations and portions of walls may be
discovered; heaps of debris, tenanted by lizards and snakes, point to structures of
which nothing that is left, indicates the former use; shattered ornamental stones
speak of magnificent buildings fallen or pulled down—glimmerings of
splendour that was. The temples still standing are reduced to ruins and diminish
almost visibly in attractiveness and size. Rouffaer[55] gave an interesting
example of their fate in the story of the spiriting away of the chandi Darawati: in
1889 tolerably well preserved, though two large statues of the Buddha had been
dragged off to the dwelling of a European in the dessa Gedaren, it was gone in
1894—vanished into air! The temples constructed of brick, like the chandi
Abang, have suffered even more, of course, than those of stone, the memory of
whose grandeur is retained in a few ghastly wrecks. Reserving the Buddhist
remains for later treatment and passing by the Sivaïte caves with rectangular
porches in the Bagelen, mentioned by Fergusson, I shall deal here with the
chandis Suku and Cheto, and the most noteworthy ruins in the southern
mountains. The latter comprise the kraton of Ratu Boko, Mboq Loro
Jonggrang’s father, as the natives call it, and the temple group of the Gunoong
Ijo. Of the legendary kingly residence little more is left than a square terrace
with portions of a wall and the sill of a gate. The chandi Ijo consists of a large
temple of the usual polygonal form with ten smaller ones and a pit which
contained two stone receptacles and strips of gold-leaf with the image of a deity
and an inscription; the buildings are in a sad condition, but decay has not
impaired their beauteous dignity and the landscape alone repays a visit to Soro
Gedoog, an estate whose gradual reclamation of the jungle led to their discovery
in 1886 when ground was cleared for an extension of the plantations.
The chandis Suku and Cheto are situated respectively on the western and
northern slope of the Gunoong Lawu, a volcano on the boundary between
Surakarta and Madioon, not less expressive in its scenery of what heaven has
done for this delicious island. Shortly after the mysterious pyramids of Suku had
drawn the attention of Resident Johnson, in the British Interregnum, Thomas
Horsfield visited them and made some drawings. The inscriptions and the
sculptured ornament of Cheto were reported upon by C. J. van der Vlis, in 1842.
The groups belong to the latest, most decadent period of Hindu architecture in
Java and their foundation, Suku being a few years older than Cheto, must have
coincided with the introduction of the Islām. Bondowoso, the son of the recluse
Damar Moyo, who assisted the King of Pengging against Ratu Boko and took
such signal revenge upon the latter’s daughter, Loro Jonggrang, for rejecting
him, the uncouth slayer of her father, is supposed to have erected the buildings at
Suku. Those at Cheto owe their origin to a prince of Mojopahit, who quarrelled
with his brother, the ruler of that empire, or, according to another legend, to a
certain Kiahi Patiro, who refused to become a convert to the new faith and
repaired to the Lawu, where he lived as a hermit and was killed by Pragiwongso,
an emissary of the Moslim King of Demak. Linga-worship returned in the
temple groups of the Lawu to its crudest modes of expression, and Fergusson,
who mentions the dates 1435 and 1440, speaks of a degraded form of the
Vishnuïte religion, the garuda,[56] the boar, the tortoise, etc., being of frequent
occurrence in the ornamentation. Junghuhn described the staircases he found,
which connected the terraces, and the statues, which hardly came up to the
artistic standard of Prambanan and the Boro Budoor, one of them distinguishing
itself by a colossal head whose measurement from chin to crown was three feet,
half of the whole height. Comparing his description with the actual state of
things, much must have been removed, heaven knows whither! Notwithstanding
the obvious truth of Fergusson’s remark that a proper illustration of Suku and
Cheto, and, I may be permitted to add, of the remains on the summit of the
mountain, whether originally tree-temples or consecrated to devotional exercises
in the open, à l’instar of West Java, promises to be of great importance to the
history of architecture in the island, very little has been done in that direction or
even for the conservation of the ruins where recho-hunters and a luxurious
vegetation vie in obliterating the traces of most interesting antiquities. Junghuhn
sounded a note of warning apropos of the falling in of the peculiarly constructed
pyramidal temple, May 1838, but this and the other monuments have been
suffered since, as before, to crumble quietly away and the easily removable
sculpture to be carried off. Ganesa, in his manifold reproductions, seconds on the
Lawu his father Siva, head of the Trimoorti, continuing the lead obtained seven
centuries earlier in the plain of Prambanan, and a systematic study of the reliefs,
now covered with moss and lichens, might shed a good deal of light on several
unsettled questions. One of those reliefs, blending the human and the divine in
the manner of the allusions to the Brata Yuda on the Diëng plateau and the Rama
legend on the walls of the chandi Loro Jonggrang, represents a complete
armoury, with Ganesa, protector of arts and crafts, between the armourer himself
and his assistant who works the bellows. If, with Rouffaer, we divide the long
era during which the Hindus, first as immigrants and then as rulers, merged
gradually in the aboriginal population, into a Hindu-Javanese period of Central
Java and a Javanese-Hindu period of East Java, the monuments of Suku and
Cheto belong evidently to the epoch of Javanese-Hindu decline, decadent art
flowing back to its classical source, tarnishing original Hindu-Javanese
conceptions. Leaving Buddhist architecture to be dealt with in the last chapters,
and before turning to the chandis of East Java, a short historical review may aid
in the appreciation of this decline and subsequent paralysis of the creative
faculty. Kartikeya, the god of war, a younger son of Siva and Parvati, had his
strong hand in this, and how he invested and divested mighty princes, who
conquered or were defeated and finally passed away, causing the rise and fall of
glorious kingdoms, is written in the babads, the Javanese chronicles, by no
means such old wives’ tales as Dominee Valentijn tried to make them out, but
containing in their extravagance a kernel of stern reality, not the less explanatory
of the condition of the fairy island Java because the magnanimes mensonges of a
vivid imagination animate the dull facts.
Of the Hindu empire Mataram in Central Java nothing tangible is left except the
ruins referred to, a few objects in metal and stone, accidentally unearthed or dug
up by treasure-seekers, and some inscriptions, title-deeds, etc., the scanty
“genuine charters of Java” as van Limburg Brouwer defined them. The name
Mataram has been preserved on a copper plate, dating from about 900, which
agrees in this respect with four other records, discovered in East Java; the capital
of the Maharaja i Mataram is called Medang. For two centuries, from the
beginning of the eighth until the beginning of the tenth, Mataram seems to have
flourished as the most powerful state in the island, especially aggressive towards
the east. Native tradition, in fond exaggeration of her importance, makes her
sway the destinies of the world. Her star waned suddenly; by what cause is
unknown; but whether it was the invasion of a mightier enemy or a natural
catastrophe, the same as that which overtook the builders of the Diëng and the
plain of Prambanan, forcing them to leave their work unfinished, ancient
Mataram sank into insignificance. From the middle of the tenth until the
beginning of the sixteenth century, the successors of her former eastern vassals,
that is whichever of them happened to be on top in the continual struggle for
supremacy, did in East and Central Java as they pleased, warring, intermarrying,
annexing their neighbours’ domains, only to lose them again and their own
kingdoms to boot, to usurpers, ambitious ministers, popular governors of
provinces, enterprising condottieri or mere adventurers favoured by Dame
Fortune. In that overflowing arena of high rivalry, dynasties succeeding one
another with amazing rapidity, Daha, situated in what is now Kediri, secured
paramount influence after Kahuripan, situated in what is now Southern
Surabaya; then Tumapel, situated in what is now Pasuruan, became ascendant;
then Daha once more and, last of the great Hindu empires, Mojopahit, about
1300, to be overthrown, after two centuries of preponderance, by the sword of
Islām. Jayabaya, King of Daha, from about 1130 till about 1160, has been
called[57] the Charlemagne of Java, in whose reign learning and letters were
encouraged; or the Javanese King Arthur, whose life among his heroes, in peace
and war, is reflected in the idylls of the Panji-cycle, at whose Court the famous
poet Mpu Sedah began his version of the Mahabharata, the Brata Yuda, finished
by Mpu Panulooh, author of the Gatotkachasraya, while Tanakoong wrote the
Wretta-Sansaya, a sort of Epistola de Arte Poetica. When Tumapel expanded,
especially under Ken Angrok, troublous times arrived for Daha, which could
hardly hold her own against the encroachments of that unscrupulous monarch.
Ken Angrok or Arok, born in 1182 at Singosari, had seized the royal power after
assassinating the old King in 1222 or 1223. The kris he used, had been ordered
expressly for that deed from the famous armourer Mpu Gandring, who was its
first victim because he tarried in delivering it, the tempering of the steel having
taken more time than suited the usurper’s patience. Dying under the murderous
stroke, Mpu Gandring uttered a prophetic curse: This kris will kill Ken Angrok;
it will kill his children and grandchildren; it will kill seven kings. The prophecy
came true with wonderful exactness. Ken Angrok having married Dedes, the
widow of the old King he had despatched, was himself killed as the third victim
of Mpu Gandring’s kris in the hand of a bravo commissioned by their son
Anusapati, the Hamlet of Javanese history. And how blood followed blood
during the hundred years of Tumapel’s hegemony, how Ken Angrok’s
descendants harassed their neighbours before the curse took effect upon each of
them, appearing like luminous stars in the sky of politics and war, and then
disappearing behind the shadowy cloud of untimely death, is it not written in the
Pararaton or Book of the Kings of Tumapel and Mojopahit?
The foundation of Mojopahit has been attributed to scions of several royal
families, among them to Raden Tanduran, a prince of Pajajaran in West Java
which, it will be remembered, owed its origin to princes of Tumapel. The most
widely accepted reading is, however, that a certain Raden Wijaya, commander of
the army of King Kertanegara, great-grandson of Ken Angrok, profiting from his
master’s quarrels with Jaya Katong, ruler of Daha in those days, carved out a
kingdom for himself, reclaiming, always with that end in view, a large area of
wild land, Mojo Lengko or Mojo Lengu, near Tarik in Wirosobo, the present
Mojokerto. King Kertanegara who, by branding the Chinese envoy Meng Ki,
had stirred up trouble with the Flowery Empire, was unable to punish this act of
arrogance, and his violent death in a battle won by the legions of Daha, meant
the inglorious end of Tumapel. This happened in 1292 and the expeditionary
force sent from China to chastise him for his ungracious treatment of
ambassadors to his Court, consequently found their object accomplished or,
more correctly speaking, unaccomplishable when landing in 1293. But its leader
indemnified his martial ardour by entering the service of Raden Wijaya who,
with his assistance, subjugated Daha, which had tried to reassume her former
precedence. Firmly established on the throne of the realm he had fashioned out
of Daha, Tumapel and his own territory near Tarik, he refused, however, to pay
the price stipulated by his Chinese ally and when the auxiliary troops asked the
fulfilment of his promises, arms in hand, he proved to them that superior
strength is the ultimate arbiter of right and sent them home much diminished in
numbers and pride. The Emperor of China, wroth that the beautiful princesses of
Tumapel, daughters of the late King Kertanegara, whom he had deigned to
accept as concubines, were not forthcoming, but stayed behind to adorn the
harem of the self-made King of Mojopahit, ordered his unsuccessful
generalissimo to be flogged by way of example to other commanding officers.
Raden Wijaya who, with the kingly title, had assumed the name of Kertarajasa,
enjoyed his royal dignity only until 1295 and his ashes were entombed in two
places not yet located: in the dalem (the inner, private part) of his palace
conformably to the Buddhist, and at Simping conformably to the Sivaïte ritual,
not otherwise than King Kertanegara received last honours in the guise of Siva-
Buddha at Singosari and in the guise of a Dhyani Buddha at Sakala, and the
remains of King Kertarajasa’s successor were interred in three places according
to the Vishnuïte ritual, circumstances from which we may conclude that in East
as in Central Java the different creeds lived together in most amiable harmony.
The kris of Mpu Gandring might limit the earthly term of the descendants of Ken
Angrok, it could not check their prowess while they were still up and doing.
Overlords of East and Central Java, extending their rule to Pajajaran, they even
looked for conquest to the other islands of the Malay Archipelago. Under Hayam
Wurook or Rajasa Nagara, in the latter half of the fourteenth century, Mojopahit
reached her zenith; a record of 1389 mentions Bali as being tributary since about
1340; Aru, Palembang and Menangkabau in Sumatra, Pahang with Tumanik in
Malacca, Tanjong Pura in Borneo, Dompo in Soombawa, Ceram and the Goram
islands acknowledged Nayam Wurook’s suzerainty too. Seeing no more worlds
to subdue, he died and, as in the case of Alexander the Great, his empire fell to
pieces; in East Java itself Balambangan seceded from Mojopahit proper and the
Muhammadan propaganda, fanning discord between the Hindu princes of old
and new dynasties, prepared their common doom. The beginnings of the Islām in
East Java have already been spoken of, with Gresik as a missionary centre,
Maulana Malik Ibrahim as the first wali in that region and the conversion into
Moslim vassal states of the dependencies of Mojopahit, whose princes,
combining under the auspices of Demak against their liege lord, sealed his fate.
Raden Patah of Demak was a man of war and destiny. The fire of the new faith
burning fiercely within him, he hurled his defiance at the stronghold of the
heathen, speaking to the last King of Mojopahit, his father or grandfather
according to tradition, as Amaziah, King of Juda, spoke to Joash, the son of
Jehoahaz, the son of Jehu, King of Israël: Come, let us see one another in the
face,—but with a different result: the challenger from Demak came out
victorious and Mojopahit ceased to exist, an issue fraught with grave
consequences. This occurred about the year 1500[58] and Raden Patah, pursuing
the royal family on their flight, defeated the King or one of his sons again at
Malang, where a last stand was made. But Gajah Mada, the Prime Minister of
Mojopahit, founded a new empire, Supit Urang, which comprised much of the
territory once belonging to Singosari. The Saivas also held out at Pasuruan,
which was invested by Pangeran Tranggana, a successor of Raden Patah, but
after his assassination by one of his servants, the troops of Demak returned
home. Pasuruan and Surabaya reverted, later on, to the Regent of Madura, a son-
in-law of Pangeran Tranggana. Yet, Hinduïsm lingered on in the island; its
political power was only broken with the conquest of Balambangan by the East
India Company in 1767, and the population of the Tengger mountain region did
not commence to accept the Islām until very recently.
In the confusion which resulted after the death of Pangeran Tranggana from the
disruption of his domains into Cheribon, Jayakarta and Bantam in the western,
Gresik and Kediri in the eastern, and Demak proper and Pajang in the central
part of the island, the latter territory absorbed Jipang and its Prince Tingkir, a
scion of the royal family of Mojopahit, was proclaimed Sooltan by the spiritual
authority of Gresik, the first time we find that title mentioned in the history of
Java. Sooltan Tingkir appointed one of his trusted servants, Kiahi Ageng
Pamanahan, governor of the tract of land which had preserved the name of
Mataram. Kiahi Ageng Pamanahan improved the condition of the people and his
son Suta Wijaya, who had married a daughter of the Sooltan, making himself
independent by rebelling, by poisoning his father-in-law after his having been
captured and pardoned, finally by taking possession of the regalia in the
subsequent war of succession, became master of the situation and laid in New
Mataram the foundation of another state which, in the reign of his successor
Ageng, 1613-1646, gained the ascendency over the rest of Java with Madura,
subjugating even Sukadana in West Borneo. Not, however, without strenuous
exertion for Balambangan gave a good deal of trouble in the East and the
conquest of Sumedang in the West, in 1626, taxed the military strength of the
rising empire to its utmost. When the East India Company began to make its
influence felt, Moslim solidarity proved a valuable asset as, for instance, in the
relations with Bantam and Cheribon, whose Pangeran proposed the title of
Susuhunan for Ageng (1625) before Mecca promoted him to the Sooltanate
(1630). In 1628 and 1629 he ventured to attack Batavia, the new settlement of
the Dutch, but had to retire and, what was even worse, by provoking those
upstart strangers, he damaged his trade: they closed the channels of export to
Malacca and other foreign ports of rice, the principal produce of the land.
“Mataram must now become our friend,” wrote the Governor-General to his
masters, the Honourable Seventeen, and, indeed, Mangku Rat I., Ageng’s son,
found himself obliged to sign a treaty of friendship with the Company—a
dangerous friendship! Differences between their “friend” and Bantam with
Cheribon were sedulously fostered by the authorities at Batavia; the Company
took a hand in the putting down of disturbances created in East Java by Taruna
Jaya of Madura and Kraëng Galesoong of Macassar; the Company patronised
and protected the reigning Sooltans, who moved their residence from Karta to
Kartasura, against pretenders and exacted payment in land, privileges,
concessions, monopolies, etc., shamelessly in excess of the real or pretended
assistance afforded in quelling purposely manufactured anarchy—precisely as
we see it happen nowadays wherever western civilisation offers her
“disinterested” services to eastern countries of promising complexion for
exploitation by western greed.
Mataram, trying to escape from the extortionate friendship of the honey-tongued
strangers at Batavia, whose thirst for gold seemed unquenchable, has its
counterparts in benighted regions now being “civilised” after the time-honoured
recipe: interference which upsets peace and order, more interference to restore
peace and order with the naturally opposite result, occupation until peace and
order will be restored, gradual annexation. The East India Company’s mean
spirit of haggling was held in utter contempt by the native princes, grands
seigneurs in thought and action, too proud to pay the hucksters with their own
coin, though bad forebodings must have filled the mind, for instance, of
Susuhunan Puger, recognised at Batavia as Mataram’s figurehead under the
name of Paku Buwono I.,[59] when near his capital a Dutch fort was built and
garrisoned with Dutch soldiers to back him in his exactions for the benefit of
alien usurers and sharpers. Like the rat of Ganesa, they penetrated everywhere
and the tale of their relations to the lords of the land is one of tortuous
insinuation until they had firmly established themselves and could give the rein
to their sordid commercialism in always more exorbitant claims. Paku Buwono
II., feeling his end approach, was prevailed upon, in 1749, to bequeath his realm
to the Company, but one of the most influential members of the imperial family
decided that this was carrying it a little too far: Mangku Bumi,[60] brother of
Paku Buwono II., supported by Mas Saïd, son of the exiled Mangku Negara,[61]
and other pangerans (princes of the blood), stood up in arms to defend their
country’s rights and inflicted severe losses on the Dutch troops in stubborn
guerrilla warfare. This led to the partition of Mataram between Paku Buwono III.
and his uncle Mangku Bumi, both acknowledging the supremacy of the
Company, the latter settling at Jogjakarta, the old capital Karta, under the title
and name of Sooltan Mangku Buwono,[62] while Mas Saïd, who did not cease
hostilities before 1757, gained also a quasi-independent position as Pangeran
Adipati Mangku Negara, which in 1796 became hereditary. With three reigning
princes for one, the power of Mataram was definitely broken and Batavia
assumed the direction of her affairs quite openly, the “thundering field-marshal”
Daendels emphasising her state of decline and the British Interregnum bringing
no change.
In 1825 the divided remnant of Mataram, viz. Surakarta with the Mangku
Negaran and Jogjakarta with the Paku Alaman,[63] was deeply stirred by
Pangeran Anta Wiria calling upon his compatriots to chase the oppressors away.
Born from a woman of low descent among the wives of Mangku Buwono III.,
Sooltan of Jogjakarta, it seems that, nevertheless, hopes of his succession to the
throne had been held out to him when he assisted his father against the
machinations of his grandfather, Sooltan Sepooh (Mangku Buwono II.),
banished by Raffles in 1812. However this may be, he resented the settlement of
the Sooltanate on the death of Mangku Buwono III. upon Jarot, an infant son,
and other circumstances adding to his dislike of Dutch control, he raised the
standard of revolt. The Javanese responded with alacrity to an appeal which bore
good tidings of delivery as the wind, ridden by the Maroots who make the
mountains to tremble and tear the forest into pieces, bears good tidings of
coming rain to a parched earth. Anta Wiria, under his more popular name of
Dipo Negoro, and his lieutenants Ali Bassa Prawira Dirja, or Sentot, and Kiahi
Maja, gave the Dutch troops plenty of bloody work in the five years during
which the Java war lasted, 1825-1830. It was the last eruption on a large scale of
the fire imprisoned in the native’s heart, the last sustained effort at regaining his
independence, crushed by the white man’s superiority in military appliances, but
occasional throbbings, ruffling the surface as in Bantam (1888), the Preanger
Regencies (1902), Kediri (1910), etc., show that the volcano is by no means an
extinguished one. Though “kingdoms are shrunk to provinces and chains clank
over sceptred cities,” the love of liberty, laid by as a sword which eats into itself,
does not own foreign dominion, and the native princes, especially the Susuhunan
of Surakarta and the Sooltan of Jogjakarta, remain objects of worshipful
homage. Their genealogy remounts to the gods whose essence took substance in
the illustrious prophet Adam who begat Abil and Kabil on the goddess Kawa;
the history of their house begins with the arrival in the island, in the Javanese
year 1, of Aji Soko; they are the panatagama and sayidin (shah ad-din),
directors and leaders of religion; their Courts set the fashion in high native
society, Solo[64] being more gay and extravagant, Jogja[64] more sedate and solid,
as a writer at the end of the eighteenth century already remarked.
The Dutch Government recognises the imperial or royal dignity of Susuhunan
and Sooltan by the superior position of its Residents in the capitals of their
Principalities, who, directly responsible to the Governor-General, correspond in
rank to the general officers of the army, while the administrative heads of the
other residencies have to content themselves with the honours due to a colonel;
also by the institution of dragoon body-guards whose ostensibly ornamental
presence can be and has been turned to good account when the mental
intoxication arising from meditation on gilded disgrace, charged with the
lightning of passion, produces effects irreconcilable with the fiction that all is for
the best in this best of worlds. With the Government steadily encroaching on the
native princes’ ancient rights, bitterness grows apace and irritation at the
recoiling weight of bondage lives on, though colonial reports represent it as
dead. Truly, in the three centuries during which it pleased Kuwera, the fat god of
wealth, to inspire the strangers from the West, rich in promise but slow in
performance, exacting and pitiless, to deeds of unprincipled rapacity, the people
have learned to hide their thoughts that worse may not follow, hoping that time
will set things right. But as everything points more clearly to the fixed purpose
of the Dutch Government to avail themselves of every pretext for swallowing the
Principalities as all the rest has been gobbled up, there are those who cherish the
memory of Dipo Negoro and consider the necessity of new man-offerings: the
greater the need, the greater must be the propitiation. On the whole, however,
better counsel prevails, deliverance being sought on planes of mystic exercise,
silent submission being practised in expectation of the consummation of a higher
will, and this is the native’s secret as he repeats the lessons inculcated in the
Wulang Reh, the treatise on ethics written by one of the eminent of the past,
Sunan Paku Buwono IV.: May ye imitate our ancestors, who were endowed with
supernatural strength, and may ye qualify for penitence, heeding closely the
perfection of life; this is my prayer for my children; be it granted! Meanwhile
taxation increases, but who can object to that when in days of old the good
people had to pay for the privilege of looking at the public dancers, whether they
cared to look at them or not; when compulsory contributions to the exchequer
were levied upon one-eyed persons for their being so much better off than the
totally blind; etc.... Fancy a Minister of Finance in Holland defending a
vexatious new assessment on the ground of arbitrary cesses in the Middle Ages!
Hindu art had lost its vitality when the second empire of Mataram arose in
Central Java and the cult of the ideal was effected by modernising currents from
the eastern part of the island. Sanskrit, as the vehicle of thought in Venggi and
Nagari characters, made place for Kawi which, related in its oldest forms to Pali
and in its symbols to the Indian alphabets, evolved soon afterward into a specific
Javanese type. Sivaïte literature paved the way for the Manik Maya, the
Bandoong, the Aji Saka, the Panji- and the Menak- or Hamza-cycles, the Damar
Wulan; as to Buddhist literature, Burnouf’s comment upon its inferiority holds
also good for Java: no trace exists even of a life of the Buddha, of jataka-tales,
except such as have originated in the eastern kingdoms at a comparatively late
date. Literary culture in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries was a
continuation of and throve on the efforts of the great authors hospitably
entertained at the Courts of Mojopahit and Kediri. The Javanese language with
the wealth of words it acquired and the diversity of expression it developed,[65]
exercised and still exercises in its four dialects[66] a vivifying influence upon the
Soondanese speech in the west and the Madurese in the east. Its script, like the
people who speak and write it, and cling to their hadat, the manners and customs
of the jaman buda, which, notwithstanding their Islāmitic veneer, they prefer to
the law of the Prophet,—its script rejects Moslim interference and refuses to
employ the Arabic characters, sticking to its equally beautiful aksaras and
pasangans. Religions succeeding one another, generally without discourteous
haste, Muhammadanism penetrated Central Java but slowly from the north, first
by the conversion of the great and mighty who profited by the example of
Mojopahit, then by grafting the idea of the one righteous god upon the godless
Buddhist or pantheistic Hindu creed of the orang kechil, the man of slight
importance who, up to this day, though fervent in his outward duties as a
Moslim, shows in every act that his individual and national temperament is
rooted in pre-Islāmic idiosyncrasies. The heroes of the Brata Yuda and
Ramayana are just as dear to him as the pre-Islāmic saints whose legends are
gathered in the story of Raja Pirangon and the Kitab Ambia, as the forerunners,
companions and helpers of the Apostle of God.
The sacred waringin, never wanting in the aloon aloon, the open places before
the dwellings of the rulers of the land and their deputies, what is it but the bo-
tree, the tree of enlightenment? One of venerable age in the imperial burial-
ground of Pasar Gedeh, planted, according to tradition, by Kiahi Ageng
Pamanahan or his son Suta Wijaya, announces without fail the demise of a
member of one of the reigning families either at Solo or at Jogja, by shedding
one of its branches. Pasar Gedeh, Selo and Imogiri are silent spots, peopled with
the dead whose lives’ strength made history and is mourned as the strength of a
glorious past. Selo, an enclave belonging to Surakarta, in Grobogan, residency
Samarang, contains the ancestral tombs of the rulers of Mataram; Imogiri and
Pasar Gedeh in Jogjakarta, which latter marks the site of the original seat of
empire and was comparatively recently put to its present use, are the cemeteries
common to the royalty of both Principalities, and guarded by officials, amat
dalam with the title of Raden Tumenggoong, appointed by mutual consent. A
Polynesian bias to ancestor-worship, unabated by Hinduïsm, Buddhism and
Muhammadanism, accounts for the almost idolatrous adoration[67] of the graves
of the Susuhunans and Sooltans, their ancestors and also their progeny that did
not attain to thrones, receptacles of once imperial dust, feeding the four elements
from which it proceeded and to which it returns like meaner human clay. Look,
says Kumala in the Buddhist parable, all in the world must perish! The religious
brethren of his faith used to repair at night to the sepulchres of those taken to
bliss and spend the lone hours in pondering on the instability of conscious
existence, desiring to gain the Nirvana by their undisturbed meditations, but
Sivaïte associations people the old graveyards of Java with raksasas, monstrous
giants, eaters of living and dead men and women, and santons, bent on prayer
amid the last abodes of the departed, have been terrified, especially at Pasar
Gedeh, by weird noises and apparitions signalling their approach, commending
hasty retreat to the wise. It is advisable to distrust darkness there and rather to
choose the day for acts of devotion, even if annoyed by worldlings who come to
consult the big white tortoise in the tank, ancient Kiahi Duda, widower of Mboq
Loro Kuning, presaging the better luck the farther he paddles forth from his
subaqueous habitation. At a little distance is the sela gilang, a bluish stone with a
more than half effaced inscription, only the lettering of the border being legible.
Tradition calls it the dampar (throne) of Suta Wijaya, sitting on which he killed
Kiahi Ageng Mangir, his rival and owner of the miraculous lance Kiahi Baru,
who had been lured into his presence by one of his daughters to do homage by
means of the ujoong, the kissing[68] of the knee; near by are a stone mortar and
large stone cannon-balls, the largest possessing the faculty of granting untold
wealth to those strong enough to carry it three times without stopping round the
sela gilang, whose legend, carved by a prisoner of war, either a spirit of the air
or a magician, reveals in its marginal commentary a philosophic mind coupled
with linguistic talents: zoo gaat de wereld—così va il mondo—ita movet tuus
mundus—ainsi va le monde.
Selo, Imogiri and Pasar Gedeh: so goes the world indeed, and the nameless
prisoner of war’s motto, preserved near the pasarahan dalam, the imperial
garden of rest, would be hardly less appropriate over the gates leading to the
kratons, the residences[69] of the Susuhunan of Surakarta and the Sooltan of
Jogjakarta, where they do the grand in the grand old way, cherishing the
memories of a power gone by. A visit to the Principalities without an invitation
to attend some function at Court cannot be called complete and it is a treat to
watch the ceremonial exercises connected with one of the three garebegs[70] or
with the salutations on imperial birthdays and coronation-days in the roomy
pendopos, the open halls whose general style betrays its Hindu origin no less
than the aspect, the dresses, the movements of the native nobility, officials and
retainers, an assemblage of a fairy tale, betray their Hindu parentage. The
bangsal kenchono, the audience-chamber of the Sooltan at Jogja, is a
masterpiece of construction in wood, the carved beams and joists, richly gilt and
painted in bright colours, forming a ceiling of wonderful airiness and elegance;
in the bangsal witono the Sooltan shows himself to the people on days of great
gala; in the bangsal kemandoongan, a hall in one of the many open squares of
the palace grounds, seated on his dampar or throne, he used to witness the
execution of his subjects sentenced to death, who were krissed[71] against the
opposite wall; another of these open squares was dedicated to pleasures which
remind of the munera gladiatoria, more especially of the ludi funebres, and
kindred amusements with a good deal of local colour: we find it chronicled of
Sunan Mangku Rat I., Java’s Nero, that once he beguiled a tedious afternoon in
his kraton at Kartasura by stripping a hundred young women and letting a few
tigers loose among them. The dining-hall (gedong manis: room of sweets) in the
kraton at Jogja, to the south of the audience-chamber, can easily hold three
hundred guests with the host of servants they require; at Solo the imperial stables
and coach-houses[72] are scarcely inferior in interest to the friend of horses,
riding, driving and coaching, than the Kaiserlich-Königliche Marstall at Vienna
or the Caballerizas Reales at Aranjuez. But of all the sights at the Courts of the
Principalities of Central Java it is the human element that fascinates most, a
waving mass of silent figures in the magnificent setting which reflects centuries
of Sturm und Drang, the new to the visitor’s eye being nothing but the very, very
old; men taught by fate to treasure their thoughts up in their hearts, as their
mountains do the hidden fire, worshipping tempu dahulu, sustained by l’amour
du bon vieulx tems, l’amour antique, even the rising generation remaining
apparently unaffected by the example of western fickleness, an inconstancy ever
more pronounced since the illustrious citizen of Florence, of the Porta San Piera,
commented on it:
 Che l’uso de’ mortali è come fronda
In ramo, che sen va, ed altra viene.
[73]

The country-seats of Susuhunans and Sooltans, where they sought repose from
cares of state, often contained temples erected, if not in the name then in the
spirit of their kind of sacrifice, to Kama, the god of love, smuggled into the
practice of a later creed. They had no wish to become the victims of their virtue
like the excellent King Suvarnavarna; they did not aspire to the fame accruing to
Rama in his relations to the female demon Shoorpanakha, personification of
sublunar temptations. And the manifold functions assigned to water in their
pleasances, to the limpid, running water of the cool mountain rills, are
characteristic of an island where a bath, at least twice a day, preferably in the
open, is both a necessity and a luxury which the poorest does not dream of
denying himself. Observe the crowds of men, women and children, always
chaste and decent, disporting themselves in lakes and rivers, every morning and
every evening; note the names of Pikataän, Kali Bening, Banyu Biru, idyllic
spots and equal to the classic chandi Pengilon, Sidamookti and Wanasari to the
lover of a plunge and a swim, screened by flowers and foliage, with the blue
heaven smiling on his joy. Passing by Ambar Winangoon and Ambar Rookma,
the remains of the so-called water-castle at Jogjakarta convey some notion of the
manner in which royal personages sought recreation, amusing themselves in
their parks of delight, fragrant and tranquil like the restful Loombini, where
Maya gave birth to the Buddha; toying with their women in and round the
crystalline fluid. An abundant spring within the boundaries of the palace grounds
led to the conception of this retreat or, rather, these retreats, for there were two,
connected by a system of canals which speaks highly for native hydraulics,
though the buildings erected to obey a capricious will, show in their present
ruinous state how architecture had degraded since the Hindu period, its flimsy
productions being unable to withstand the first serious earthquake. Of Pulu
Gedong, to the northeast of the aloon aloon kidool, nothing is left but crumbling
portions of the walls which jealously guarded the privacy of the Sooltan’s
watersports. Of Taman Sari and Taman Ledok, situated in the western part of the
kraton, a good deal is still recognisable, especially the structures on Pulu
Kenanga in the largest of the artificial lakes which are now dry ground, the one
here meant being incorporated into a kampong, one of the several groups of
native dwellings inhabited by the Sooltan’s numerous retainers. The whilom
islands convey in quite a picturesque way the lesson that human works must die
like the hands that fashioned them.
XIII. WATER-CASTLE AT JOGJAKARTA
(Centrum.)
The building of the “water-castle”, whose pavilions, artificial lakes, tanks and
gardens spread over an area of about twenty-five acres, was begun in 1758 by a
Buginese architect under the orders of Mangku Buwono I., a great raiser of
edifices, as Nicolaas Hartingh[74] wrote in 1761, and maker of “fountains, grotto-
work and conduits which, though completed, he orders immediately to be pulled
down, not finding them to his taste, thus squandering some little money.” We
possess a description[75] of the kraton at Jogjakarta, dated September 1791, from
the hand of Carl Friedrich Reimer,[76] who speaks of “a collection of gardens,
fish-ponds and pleasure-pools.” He probably visited Pulu Gedong before
proceeding to Taman Sari[77] and expatiates on the spaciousness of the dwelling
room in Pulu Kananga, where it seems that the Court could find plenty of
accommodation. But what made the greatest impression on the expert in
hydraulics was the arrangement of passages and an apartment for prayer and
meditation under water, as if the Sooltan deemed it an advantage to worship
surrounded by the babbling stream, light and fresh air being provided through
turrets rising above the surface. In the place called Oombool Winangoon,
situated on a low level, with three tanks, fed from the great lake of Taman Sari,
was a cool retreat where the Sooltan used to rest a while after his bath, refreshing
himself with a cup of tea. Alluding to the Sumoor Gumuling, Reimer remarks
that the architect must have chosen a round form for his structure to make it the
better resist the pressure of the water all round. The strange building which went
by that name and consisted of two concentric walls with a flat roof,[78] taken for
a subaqueous house of prayer by the visitor of 1791, has also been very
differently explained: some see in its remains a dancing-school, awakening
visions of the Sooltan’s corps de ballet practising in the first storey to the dulcet
tones of the gamelan, the native orchestra, that ascended from the basement and
aided them in going through their paces; others connect it with functions never
referred to in polite society and which have nothing in common with praying,
either with the heart or with the feet, more correctly speaking: with the arms,
hands and hips, for Javanese dancing is no loose skipping and hopping about,
but a graceful and expressive play of the body and more particularly of the upper
limbs in rhythmic, undulating motion. Passing from one lake to the next, the
Sooltan’s means of conveyance was the prahu Niahi Kuning, a gorgeously
decorated barge, given to him by the East India Company; other boats, plying
between Taman Sari and Taman Ledok, were at the disposal of the ladies of the
royal household desirous of an outing with their babies; two small skiffs left
their moorings every night alternately, at a signal given on a bendeh, to feed the
fishes, which knew the sound and assembled in shoals. The guard-rooms near
the northern watergate, of which the remaining one, i.e. the one not altogether
fallen into ruin, shelters in the morning a motley crowd of sellers of fruit,
vegetables, sweetmeats, etc., witnesses to the Company’s dragoons, protecting
and shadowing their Highnesses of Surakarta and Jogjakarta with the princes of
their blood, already having been entrusted with that task in the days of Mangku
Buwono I.
Of the delicately carved woodwork hardly a trace remains, but some foliage and
birds among flowers, executed in stucco, give evidence of a good taste which
knew how to make old motives subservient to new requirements. Though a
Muhammadan pleasance, designed by a Muhammadan architect for a
Muhammadan prince, the garuda over one of the entrances, the Banaspatis on
gables and fronts in Taman Sari and Taman Ledok, the nagas coping the
balustrades of the staircases, show that Hindu conceptions continued to leaven
Javanese art. The relations with China and the consequent influx of Chinamen
have also borne their fruit in Central Java as in Cheribon and the eastern
kingdoms: Reimer informs us that the galleries and tops (now gone) of the
several buildings were constructed like pointed vaults, and were wrought “in the
manner of Chinese roofs”; Pulu Gedong was famous for the lofty Chinese tower
erected near the spring which furnished the water for the “castle”, its lakes,
ponds, tanks and canals, and for the irrigation of its grounds. The orchards,
renowned for their mangoes and pine-apples, the vegetable-, sirih- and flower-
gardens had a great reputation in the land; assiduous attention was paid to
horticulture on the principle, well understood by oriental gardeners, that flower-
beds, ornamental groves and bowers are like women; that however much art and
pains are bestowed on their make-up, the art of arts is the concealment thereof....
Writing this it occurs to me how properly a western version of that universally
approved maxim has been put in the mouth of Gärtnerinnen, niedlich and
galant:

Denn das Naturell der Frauen

Ist so nah mit Kunst verwandt.[79]

XIV. WATER-CASTLE AT JOGJAKARTA

(Centrum.)
Though Mangku Buwono I. was a contemporary of Goethe, his knowledge of
Faust is extremely doubtful, but being an artist in his own way, he took care that
the natural scenery, assisted by art, should contribute to a pleasant general
impression in the distribution of the dwellings for his retinue: native princes (and
of his rank too!) do not move an inch inside or outside their kratons without
numberless attendants at their heels. In the “water-castle” were apartments, not
only for the Sooltan, for the Ratu, his first legitimate spouse, for his other wives
and concubines, for the little family they had presented him with, but for the
dignitaries of his Court, officials of all degrees, secretaries, servants of every
description, various artificers from the armourers down to the kebon kumukoos,
the makers of tali api (fire-rope), necessary for lighting his Highness’ cigars.
There were reception-, dining-, living- and sleeping-rooms for the Sooltan, his
Ratu and female relatives, each apart; common rooms for the selir (wives of
lower degree); rooms for the instruction of their children; rooms where his
Highness’ daughters spent a few hours every day in batikking; guard-rooms for
the prajurits, the male guards; guard-rooms for the female guards under
command of the Niahi Tumanggoong, a lady of consequence, who kept and
keeps the dalam, the interior of the kraton, under constant observation so that no
illicit amourettes shall occur in the women’s quarters, and yet—! There were
store-rooms, kitchens, workshops, prisons, halls set apart for the dancers, male
and female; the cream of the female dancers, the srimpis and girl bedoyos, were
probably housed in or near the principal pavilion on Pulu Kananga, of which the
Sooltan occupied the eastern and the Ratu the western portion. Above all there
were the bath-rooms, dedicated to Kama and his wife Rati of Hindu memory;
and since the parrot is the vahana of that frivolous god, many are the
unspeakable tales of revived rites of his luxurious worship.
The etiquette at Court is fitly illustrated by the two tea-houses of Taman Sari, the
eastern one for the Grand Pourer-out-of-Tea of the Right, who presided over the
preparation of the delectable beverage for the Sooltan, and the western ditto for
the Grand Pourer-out-of-Tea of the Left, who provided for the Ratu. A
scrupulous punctilio is ingrained in Javanese habits and customs, from high to
low, on great and small occasions, the native’s mentality always reverting to
things which were, but never more can be. The homage done to sacred objects,
arms, gamelans, etc., by giving them a human name and a title,[80] venerating
them as if endowed with supernatural faculties, recalls Polynesian fetishism,
Hinduïsm being blended with it in Siva’s trishula, Vishnu’s chakra, etc., which
are still carried behind the native princes among their ampilan.[81] The
upacharas or imperial and royal pusakas[82] are treated with the utmost
reverence when shown at the appearance in public of Susuhunan or Sooltan, and
their bearers, the koncho ngampil, who hold an honoured position at the Courts
of Solo and Jogja, may be considered direct successors of the envoys of King
Dasharatha on the reliefs of the chandi Loro Jonggrang, who bore his regalia
when meeting Rama and Lakshama. The strange ceremonial, preserved from the
time when gods walked amongst men, seems hardly antiquated, on the contrary
very germane to siti-inggil[83] surroundings. One need not visit the kratons
though, to notice how the spirit of the past permeates all things Javanese; any
well-dressed native getting out of his sado[84] at the railway station or repairing
thither on foot for a journey with the fire-carriage, will do. Even if he cannot
afford the few doits[85] necessary and must impair his dignity by going afoot, he
has his retainers to look after his box and, stuck behind, he has his magnificent
kris in a sheath of gold, with a beautifully carved ivory handle, in nine cases out
of ten a pusaka, cherished like the kris Kolo Munyang of the Prince of Kudoos
or, as others allege, of a Susuhunan of Surakarta, who sent the weapon, which
killed its master’s enemies without human direction, to the assistance of
Pangeran Bintoro, then oppressed by a king of Mojopahit. The chronology of
this legend is evidently a little faulty, but, O! the wonders of Java’s golden age,
and, O! the superstitious honour in which their memory is held by these lovable
people, whose actual existence is a dream of days gone by. And that happy
dream, they ween, is a presage of the future, prophesying the restoration of their
fathers’ heritage. If, nevertheless, the hour draws near of unconditional
surrender, the Dutch Government steadily and surely arrogating to itself the
externals with the substance of power in the Principalities, they will silently
submit to the nivarana of their ancient faith, the hindrance arising from torpor of
mind appointed to them in the sansara, the rotary sequence of the world, and
seek consolation in the promise of their new faith that the Lord will not deal
wrongly with his servants. The life of nations, like the life of men, starts running
as the mountain torrent and meets many an obstacle before it swells to a broad
river in the plains and flows tranquilly and mightily to the sea; also for Java it is
written:

... Non anche,

l’opra del secol non anche è piena.[86]

Decoration
 Decoration
CHAPTER VI
EAST JAVA

cosi da l’ossa dei sepolti cantano

i germi de la vita e degli spiriti.[87]

GIOSUÈ CARDUCCI, Odi Barbare (Canto di marzo).

When, suddenly, for reasons still unknown, the classic period of art in Central
Java closed, about 850 Saka (A.D. 928), East Java awakened and entered on an
era of artistic activity in every direction, which lasted until the fall of Mojopahit
six centuries and a half later. In architecture it offers nothing so grand and
imposing as the ancient temples of the Middle Empire, but much more diversity,
and numerous inscriptions, resembling, after 900 Saka (A.D. 978), in form and
contents, what we possess of old Javanese literature, enable us in many cases to
determine the dates and also the character of the chandis, found principally
along the course of the Brantas in the residencies Pasuruan, Kediri and Surabaya.
Moving eastward, it was there that Hindu civilisation made greatest progress, no
more in the vigorous enthusiasm of a young faith eager to proselyte, but
modified by and finally succumbing to the influences of the soil, the climate, the
idiosyncrasies of the aborigines. The oldest dates (Madioon, Kediri, Surabaya
and Pasuruan) fall between 890 and 1140; then we have a good many again from
Kediri (1120-1240 and 1270-1460) and from Surabaya (1270-1490); also from
Pasuruan, Probolinggo and Besuki (1340-1470), Madura (1290-1440) and
Rembang (1370-1390); finally, the constructive energy returning to Central Java,
from Samarang and Surakarta (1420-1460), Suku and Cheto bringing up the rear.
In the palmy days of Daha and Tumapel a sort of transition style was elaborated;
under Ken Angrok and his descendants on the throne of Mojopahit, East Java
reached its architectural zenith, never equal in the grandeur of its conceptions to
the Boro Budoor or even the Prambanan temples, to the symmetrical richness of
the Mendoot, but making up in fantastic decoration what it had lost in sobriety of
outline. The builders pandered to the unwholesome demand for that perfection at
any cost which Ruskin censures as the main mistake of the Renaissance in its
early stages, the workman losing his soul in exchange for consummate finish.
But, though they bear the impress of decadence, the products of eastern Javanese
constructive efforts are not wholly degenerate, never coarse or vulgar and well
worth looking at from more than one point of view. The evolution of the
ornament alone is exceedingly suggestive: the “recalcitrant spiral” which in
Central Java ascends, decking the supports, topples, as it were, in East Java,
losing its character and becoming a meaningless adornment of the casements of,
e.g., the chandi Panataran; the kala-heads remain but the makaras change into a
flame-like embellishment; where they are altogether dissolved, as in the chandi
Jago or Toompang, it is safe to conclude with Dr. Brandes to late eastern
Javanese influences.[88]
It has been conjectured that the migration of Hinduïsm to East Java was the
effect of Buddhism gaining ground in the central part of the island; that the
pronounced Sivaïte tendencies of Mojopahit were a reaction against Buddhist
innovations. But it remains still to be proved that Mojopahit, though
worshipping Siva as the supreme god of the Trimoorti, adhered to his
overlordship in all its orthodox purity. There are, on the contrary, indications of
Vishnuïte leanings, of Buddhist heresy, of a syncretism no less pronounced than
that of Prambanan and the Mendoot. In the time of Old Mataram’s hegemony,
Buddhism must have ingratiated itself to some extent with her eastern vassals
and, though not one of the temples in East Java is Buddhist after the fashion of
the chandis Boro Budoor, Mendoot and Sewu, vestiges of the Bhagavat’s
doctrine are undeniable in Kediri, Southern Surabaya and Northern Pasuruan. A
fusion of Sivaïsm and Buddhism has continuously controlled the construction of
the larger temples of the later eastern Javanese period, says Rouffaer. Statues
found in many places, e.g. in the chandi Toompang, are distinctly Buddhist and,
what is most remarkable, though of later workmanship than those of Central
Java and of a different style, tainted by decadent methods, they possess high
merits as works of art. In their Sivaïtic surroundings they confirm the statements
of the Chinese traveller Hiuen Tsiang who, perambulating India between 629
and 645, before the persecution of the Buddhists commenced, remarked upon the
tolerance of the brahmins and vice versa, a virtue the Hindus carried with them
to Java as already observed in the chapter on Prambanan. The kings of
Mojopahit followed the example set in those regions: they were Saivas,
Vaishnavas, Buddhists or followers of no one creed in particular, ready to protect
and prefer each of them according to circumstances. In codes of law and poetry,
Sivaïte priests and sugatas, pious brethren on the Buddhist road to perfection,
are mentioned in one breath as conductors of the religious exercises on festive
occasions, invoking the blessings of heaven on harvests and enterprises of peace
and war; the poet Tantular calls the Buddha one with the Trimoorti.[89]
The Muhammadans were not so indulgent when the Pangerans of Giri increased
in authority as spiritual leaders of their faith, successors of Maulana Ibrahim, its
first apostle in East Java. The hillock of Giri became a centre of incitement to the
holy war, particularly so under Raden Ratu Paku or Sunan Prabu Satmoto, whose
tomb is still an object of Moslim pilgrimage.[90] With his approval, if not on his
instigation, the Muhammadan states on the north coast combined under Raden
Patah of Demak to compass the extermination of heathenism and he lived to see
the overthrow of Mojopahit, though dying shortly afterwards. If the Moslemin
yearned to gain Paradise, sword in hand, martyrs for their Prophet’s
dispensation, those of the old creed remembered the power of their gods,
blowing the sanka, the war-shell of Vishnu, who proved to Sugriva and
Hanoman his superiority over Wali by shooting his arrow through seven palm-
trunks; who, in his fourth avatar, as narasinha, the man-lion, ripped open the
belly of the sacrilegious demon Hiranya Kasipu. But Raden Patah, marching
with his allies, marvellously helped in the way of the Lord against the idolaters
of Mojopahit, the swollen with pride, proved to be the giant in the shape of a
dwarf, Vamana, known from their god’s fifth avatar, conqueror of the three
worlds. And Mojopahit, so great that the claims to the honour of her foundation,
forwarded by as many princely houses as existed in those days, were fused in the
tradition of her divine origin, her capital with its hundred gates and shining
streets and palaces, the like of which had never been seen, having sprung from
the earth in one night as a flower at the call of the fragrant dawn,—Mojopahit
was overthrown and, laments the Javanese chronicle, the prosperity of the island
disappeared. Not the last but the strongest bulwark of Hinduïsm had ceased to
exist, bearing bitter fruit[91] of presumptuous pride indeed; the later Hindu
empires, even Balambangan, which gave so much trouble to New Mataram and
submitted only to the arms of the East India Company, leaving the ancient creed
to die of slow exhaustion in the Tengger mountains, were nothing compared to
her.
Like the remains, near the dessa Galang, of the kraton of the kings of the older
empire of Daha, what has escaped total destruction of the capital of Mojopahit is
constructed of brick. The ruins are situated about eight miles to the southwest of
Mojokerto[92] in the valley of the Brantas; near Ngoomplak was the site of a
royal residence in the building of which stone seems also to have been used.
Raffles, visiting those heaps of debris scattered over quite a large area, found but
scanty evidence of the fact that he trod the spot where great rulers had employed
great architects, raising great structures for posterity to remember their great
deeds by; Wardenaar, whom he had taken with him as a draughtsman, might
have stayed at Batavia, though in his History of Java he gives an illustration of
“one of the gateways” and says that the marks of former grandeur there are more
manifest than at Pajajaran, which, well considered, is saying very little. Now, a
century later, a century of continued neglect, the general impression is still less
calculated to prompt a vision of heroes subjecting thrones and dominions in the
short space left them by their ancestor Ken Angrok’s murderous kris, defying the
grave, unmindful of Mpu Gandring’s curse. Walking round in an effort to fit the
scenery to historical dramas of love, hate and ambition, extreme care is
necessary to avoid stepping on snakes coiled in dangerous repose or crawling
among the brickbats which represent the foundations of princely mansions,
digesting their last meal or hungry after the lizards that move restlessly in and
out of chinks and crannies, lively beasties, enjoying the sunshine until snapped
up, far more interesting really than the piles of rubbish bearing meaningless
names. The natives one meets, will spin yarns ad libitum anent the numerous
graves and crumbling substructures, but few have an intelligible tale to tell. Here
are portions of the city-wall; there the remnant of the gate Bajang Ratu; half a
mile farther the aloon aloon, the taman or pleasance, the tanks for bathing. A
road, in great need of repair, leads through the Trowulan, the interior; exterior
roads may be taken through ricefields and teak-plantations to the tomb of Ratu
Champa, distinguished by curtains which once may have been white. Before a
small building, enclosed by a fence, lies a stone supposed to cover the entrance
to a subterranean apartment, the hiding-place, it is said, of the last king of
Mojopahit when his capital was taken by the Moslim enemy. More graves
surround that cache, graves without and, to intimate the pre-eminent importance
of the elect thus honoured, graves with dirty curtains, narrow strips of soiled
cloth, sad offerings to the dead sovereigns of an empire of celestial fame. One
feels almost inclined to refuse credence to the grand past this ragged display tries
to commemorate and, from sheer disappointment, to join the ranks of the
sceptics who doubt of the capital of Mojopahit ever having amounted to much,
and maintain that, in any case, it had come down and was of no consequence
compared with Tuban and Gresik, already in 1416, a century before its falling
into the hands of the Muhammadans.
At Mojopahit it is the same old story of quarrying for building material: several
sugar-mills in the neighbourhood with the dwellings of managers and
employees, have been wholly or partly constructed of Mojopahit bricks. In 1887
I saw them used for the abutments of bridges, foremen of the Department of
Public Works superintending. A short time before, twelve copper plates had been
found with inscriptions in ancient characters, which disappeared in a mysterious
way. The rechos of Mojopahit were mostly left alone, a respectful treatment they
owed to their general clumsiness. Some two or three miles from the ruins of the
capital, a goodly number stand or lie together fair samples of statuary of the first
eastern Javanese period, in its extravagance and exaggeration a travesty of the
classic art of Central Java, crudity of conception floundering in a redundancy of
form also observable at the chandis Suku and Cheto; after the fall of Mojopahit,
in the second period, the sculptor reverted to a close study of nature as
manifested at the chandis Toompang and Panataran; in the third, Hindu methods
getting crowded within ever narrower limits, his fancy betrayed him again into
lavish detail as exemplified in old Balinese imagery. At the gradual extinction of
Hindu ideals of beauty, realised in decaying stone and brick, in statues defaced
and vanishing like dwindling phantoms, a growing sensation of emptiness,
emphasised by vague reminiscences of the artistic fullness of the jaman buda,
claiming amends from succeeding creeds, received little from Islām and
absolutely nothing from Christianity. Under Dutch rule very few attempts at
style in Java and the other islands of the Malay Archipelago have been made at
all, and of these few only one has resulted in an achievement not altogether
ridiculous, namely the old town-hall, begun in 1707 and finished in 1710, of old
Batavia, where the Resident has his office, by the natives very appropriately
called rumah bichara, i.e. “house of talk”. With one or two utterly tasteless
exceptions, the rest of the Government and private buildings, including the
palaces of the Governor-General at Weltevreden and Buitenzorg, descend in their
architecture to the lowest grade of the commonplace. To his Excellency’s ill-kept
country-seat in the Preanger subverted Mojopahit seems almost preferable,
notwithstanding the squalor of its threadbare kaïn klambu decoration; the
meanness of the viceregal reception- and living-rooms at Chipanas is not even
picturesque and surely some of the public money regularly paid out for the
maintenance of the “Government hotels” might be profitably expended on the
improvement of the surroundings of Her Majesty the Queen of the Netherlands’
representative in the Dutch East Indies, including the rickety furniture, shabby
napery, etc., which has a pitiful tale of unseemly parsimony to tell: the
superiority of high rank needs decorum and nowhere more than in oriental
countries, a truth lately too much lost sight of by officials, high and low, who,
following the example set at Buitenzorg, hoarding against the hour of their
demission, presume on their “prestige” without anything to back it.
Mojopahit had ceased to exist and the Muhammadans with the Christians in their
wake overran Java, despoiling the land in which toleration and art could no more
flourish, but dissension throve as the tree prophetically imaged at the Boro
Budoor, whose branches bear swords and daggers instead of wholesome,
luscious fruit. The old quarrels over political supremacy were surpassed in
violence by religious strife, and fanaticism is still held responsible in our day for
disturbances conveniently ascribed to Moslim cussedness when the
acknowledgment of the real cause, discontent born from over-taxation, would be
tantamount to a confession of administrative impotence. It was not Hanoman,
the deliverer of Sita, who troubled the repose of Ravana’s garden, but the
raksasas and raksasis who kept her in bonds, and there are two solutions of the
Dutch East Indian problem, independent of the issue celebrated in the Ramayana
and both suggested in the ornament of Java’s temples: the devourer Time
destroying all with his sharp teeth, and the lion, or tiger, to preserve the local
colour, master of the fleeting moment, with a garland of flowers in his mouth,
image of the clouded present holding out the promise of a brighter future. The
two auguries, dark yet hopeful, belong to one old order of ideas, prefiguring
things to come in dubious language, after the wont of oracles, ancient and
modern, and we can choose the forecast which likes us best. So did the princes
of Daha, Tumapel and Mojopahit, not to mention the lesser fry, creatures of a
breath as we deem them now, doughty warriors and far-seeing statesmen to their
contemporaries, who consulted their soothsayers before treading the fields of
fame and blood whence they were carried to their graves, admiring nations
rearing the mausoleums which now constitute the greater part of the historic
monuments of East Java. The Pararaton mentions no fewer than seventy-three
structures of that description. Such as have been left are, for various reasons,
hard to classify, the greatest difficulty arising from their bad state of
preservation, though deciphered dates furnish important clues, for instance
regarding some chandis in Kediri: Papoh (1301), Tagal Sari (1309), Kali Chilik
(1349), Panataran (1319-1375),[93] the last named being probably the principal
tomb of the dynasty of Mojopahit. Springing from the soil in amazing
dissimilitude, their architects seeking new modes of expression in new forms and
never hesitating at any oddity, at any audacity to proclaim the message of artistic
freedom from convention, they struggled free from the sober lines and
harmonious distribution of spaces always maintained in Central Java, to run riot
in fantastic innovations. Yet, they held communion with nature and neither
shirked their responsibility nor sinned against the proper relations between their
purpose and the visible consummation of their task as those of our modern
master-builders do who contrive churches like barns or cattle-sheds, stables like
gothic chapels, prisons like halls of fame and cottages like mediaeval donjons.
From such architectural absurdities it is pleasant to turn, e.g., to the chandi
Papoh, a temple whose corner-shrines might pass for daintily wrought golden
reliquaries inlaid with jewels, when the minute detail of their exquisite
decoration is shone upon by the setting sun; or to the chandi Sangrahan, when
warmed to life from death and fearful decay, by the blue of a measureless sky,
again budding from the earth, lovely as the lotus in the bliss bestowing hand of
one of the five finely chiselled but headless statues near by.
XV. CHANDI PAPOH
(Archaeological Service through Charls and van Es.)
Holiness in East Java, as everywhere in the island, took naturally to bathing. The
retreat Bookti in the district Rembes, set apart for that pastime, according to the
legend by Semu Mangaran, first king of Ngarawan (the later Bowerno and still
later Rembang), had and has many rivals, nearly all in possession of antiquities
to show their sacred character and the regard in which they were held. Some,
like Bookti and Banyu Biru, the deservedly popular “blue water” of Pasuruan,
are enlivened by colonies of monkeys, descendants of the apes kept there in
Hindu times, beggars by profession, whose antics reap a rich reward. Sarangan
in Madioon, Trawulan and Jalatoonda in Surabaya, Jati Kuwoong and Panataran
in Kediri, Ngaglik and Balahan in Pasuruan, shared in olden times the renown
which now is principally divided between Banyu Biru and Wendit, not to forget
Oombulan, delightful spots, typical of a land where life is a continuous caress.
Ngaglik has a beautiful female statue, evidently destined to do service as a
fountain-figure after the manner of the nymphs which grace John the
Fleming’s[94] Fontana del Nettuno in Bologna and countless other waterworks of
his and the succeeding period. Wendit has Sivaïte remains: the prime god’s
nandi, statues of Doorga, Ganesa, etc.; most of the lingas and yonis that used to
keep them company as reminders of their inmost nature, have been carried off.
Banyu Biru has a statue of Doorga, raksasas, fragments of Banaspatis, etc., and
a very remarkable image of Ganesa with female aspect, an object of veneration,
especially on Friday evenings when flowers and copper, even silver coins are
strewn round to propitiate his dual spirit, candles are lighted and sweetmeats
offered to the ancient deities taken collectively. The chandis Jalatoonda and Putri
Jawa served a double purpose: devotion and ablution, facilities for an
invigorating bath playing a prominent part. The former, in the district Mojokerto,
residency Surabaya, is the mausoleum of King Udayana, father of King
Erlangga, and one of the oldest monuments in East Java; the latter, in the district
Pandakan, residency Pasuruan, has much in common, as to ornament, with the
chandi Surawana of the year 1365 and belongs on the contrary to the younger
products of Hindu architecture. Chandi Putri Jawa means “temple of the
Javanese princesses”, and Ratu Kenya, the Virgin Queen of Mojopahit (1328-
1353), who spoiled her reputation for chastity by losing her heart to a groom in
her stables and making him share her throne, as the Damar Wulan informs us,
may have repaired thither with her ladies-in-waiting to sacrifice and disport in
the swimming-tank which is still replenished with water from the neighbouring
river, flowing through the cleverly devised conduits; or the women of her
luckless last successor, King Bra Wijaya, may have taken their pleasure there
along with their devotional exercises before the Moslim torrent swamped their
lord and master’s high estate, harem and all.
Cave temples have been found in Surabaya (Jedoong), in Besuki (Salak) and in
Kediri (Jurang Limas and Sela Mangleng). The latter, of greatest interest and
Buddhist in character, can be divided into pairs: Sela Baleh and Guwa Tritis,
Joonjoong and Jajar. They are easily reached from Tuloong Agoong and, though
the removable statuary is gone, except the heavy raksasas, defaced figures on
pedestals, etc., the sculpture of the interior walls of the caves remained in a
tolerable state of preservation. Above on the ridge is a spot much resorted to for
meditation and prayer, where the view of the charming valley of the Brantas,
bounded by the beetling cliffs of the south coast, the treacherous Keloot to the
northeast and the majestic Wilis[95] to the northwest, prepares the soul for
communion with the Spirit of the Universe. Remains of brick structures abound
in East Java; besides the ruins of Daha and Mojopahit we have, for instance, the
walls of the Guwa Tritis under the jutting Gunoong Budek, the chandis Ngetos
at the foot of the Wilis, Kali Chilik near Panataran, Jaboong in Probolinggo and
Derma in Pasuruan. The chandi Jaboong presents a remarkable instance of
tower-construction applied to religious buildings in Java as further exemplified,
conjointly with terraces, in the chandi Toompang. The surprises offered by the
chandi Derma are no less gratifying, firstly to travellers in general who visit
Bangil and, approaching the temple, which remains hidden to the last moment,
suddenly come upon it in an open space adapted to full examination; secondly to
archaeologists in particular because, dating from the reign of Mpu Sindok (850
Saka or before) and therefore one of the oldest monuments in East Java, if not
the oldest in a recognisable state of preservation, it must be accepted as the
prototype of Javanese architecture bequeathed by Old Mataram and is a valuable
help to the study of the ancient builders’ technique, showing, among other
things, says Dr. Brandes, that the larger ornamental units are of one piece of
terra-cotta, joined to the masonry by means of tenons and mortises.
About a mile to the southeast of Malang, on the top of a hill near the kampong
Bureng, are traces of more buildings constructed in brick, the ruins of Kota
Bedah. The foundation of that city is attributed to a son of Gajah Mada, chief
minister of the last king of Mojopahit who, after his master’s fall, fled eastward
and, subjecting Singosari with adjoining territories, became the progenitor of the
dynasty of Supit Urang. The Moslemin pushing on and harassing the Saivas
wherever met, invested Kota Bedah but, not prevailing against the strong
defence of its commander Ronga Parmana, they caught the citizens’ pigeons
which flew over their camp and, attaching pieces of burning match-rope to the
birds’ wings and tail-feathers, they set fire to the thatch of the houses within the
walls and so gained their end. Thereupon they destroyed the royal residence
Gedondong, to the east of Malang, and those of Supit Urang took refuge in the
Tengger mountains. This is one of several traditions explaining the existence of
Sivaïte remains scattered in that neighbourhood: at Dinoyo, Karanglo, Singoro,
Katu, Pakentan, etc. On the road to Toompang stands the chandi Kidal, one of
the best preserved in Java, only the upper part of the roof having fallen down. It
is the mausoleum of Anusapati, the Hamlet of Javanese history, referred to in the
preceding chapter, who was killed in 1249 by his step-brother. His likeness has
been sought in an image of Siva, on the supposition that some statues of deities
there erected, which point to the use of living models, represent the features of
exalted personages. An enormous Banaspati over the entrance with smaller ones
over the niches, garudas and lions form the principal decoration in frames of
highly finished ornament. Dr. Brandes remarks that in contrast to the decoration
of the temples in Central Java, the heavy ornament of the relief-tableaux is here
distributed over the parts which carry the weight of the superstructure, while the
lighter ornament finds employment on the panels and facings. The methods of
construction and the treatment of details mark clearly a transition to the younger
period of eastern Javanese architecture best illustrated by the chandi Panataran.
XVI. CHANDI SINGOSARI
(Archaeological Service through Charls and van Es.)
Somewhat older, built in 1278 as a mausoleum for Kertanegara, the last king of
Tumapel, who reigned from 1264 to 1292 and was killed in battle by Jaya
Katong, King of Daha, is the chandi Singosari, near the railway station of that
name, an excellent starting-point for an ascension of the fire-mountain Arjuno or
Widadaren. It has been called one of the most unfortunate monuments in the
island; not, presumably, because it shared the common lot, being gradually
deprived of its finest ornament while its stones were freely disposed of for
building material without the local authorities minding in the least, but because
the spoliation could be watched by a comparatively large number of planters and
industrials, settled in the neighbourhood, none of them interfering unless to its
detriment. Insurmountable difficulties of transportation opposed the removal of
the colossal raksasas and so they were left with a nandi, a sun-carriage and,
among fragments too defaced for recognition, a Ganesa and a female Buddhist
saint, for this temple-tomb is of a mixed character in its religious aspect. A
Javanese chronicle relates that Kertanegara was buried at Singosari in 1295,
three years after his death, in the guise of Siva-Buddha, and at Sakala
conformably to a more pronounced Buddhist rite. He was considered a wise
ruler, notwithstanding his abusive attitude towards China, which had such dire
results. He built an edifice, continues the babad, divided into two parts, the
lower one Sivaïtic, the upper one Buddhistic, because in his life he prided
himself on being a Saiva as well as a Buddhist. A richly ornamented kala-head
in eastern Javanese style testifies to the admirable technique of the builders and
decorators. According to popular belief a subterranean passage leads from
Singosari to Polaman, about six miles away, a place of sacrifice in Hindu days,
and another to Mondoroko, close by, the site of a ruin with a graceful statue of a
female deity, two smaller ones which remind the beholder of Siva’s and
Doorga’s creative faculties, and sadly damaged bas-reliefs. In 1904 an inscribed
stone was recovered, at the intimation of a native, from a pond near Singosari.
Confirming the data furnished by the Javanese chronicles, the inscription states
that in 1351 Gajah Mada, the Prime Minister of Mojopahit, acting for King
Wisnuwardhani, founded a temple-tomb, sacred to the memory of the priests,
Saivas and Buddhists, who, in the year 1292, had followed their King
Kertanegara in death, and of the old Prime Minister who had been killed at his
feet.... “See here the foundation of the most honourable Prime Minister of Java’s
sea-girt domain.”
XVII. CHANDI TOOMPANG
(Archaeological Service through Charls and van Es.)
Finest and most interesting of the Malang complex is the chandi Jago, about
twelve miles to the east of the capital of the assistant-residency, in the aloon
aloon of Toompang and hence more commonly named chandi Toompang. It was
the first taken in hand by the Commission appointed in 1901 and we owe most
of the information, summarised in the following lines, to Dr. Brandes’ reports on
this archaeological debut. A rare example of tower-construction of the kind also
observed in the chandi Jaboong, superposed on a raised level reached by terraces
like those of the chandis Panataran and Boro Budoor, the extraordinary Javanese
mixture of Sivaïsm and Buddhism with a dash of Vishnuïsm has affected it to
such a degree that even a recent description declares it to be a Buddhist pit-
temple—a contradiction in terms. Begun in the middle of the thirteenth century,
i.e. in the time of Tumapel’s political ascendency when Sivaïsm was the state
religion, if we may speak of a state religion among peoples and princes whose
predominant article of faith was tolerance and concession of equal rights to all
religions, some of the learned investigators suppose with Professor Speyer that
the Buddhist note was a consequence of the persecution of the adherents of
Gautama’s creed in India and the hospitality extended to the emigrants all over
the island Java. However this may be, syncretism became rampant in both the
ground-plan and the decoration of the chandi Toompang, conceived as an
elevated dodecagonal structure on the highest of three irregularly shaped
terraces, something quite exceptional in Javanese architecture. Apparently while
the building was in progress, remarks Rouffaer, changes were made in the
original project, and the more is the pity that the temple proper has fallen into
almost complete ruin: not only that the roof is lacking, but the toppling back wall
has dragged the greater part of the north and south walls down with it. The front
or west wall has held out to a certain extent with the gateway, the chief entrance,
a lofty, rectangular, monumental passage, ornamented on both sides and locked
with a key-stone whose smooth middle space was destined, in the opinion of Dr.
Brandes, to receive, but never did receive, the date of completion. Heaps of
debris round about lead to the conjecture that the whole was encircled by a wall
of brick and that the dwellings of the keepers or officiating priests were
composed of the same material.
Several of the bas-reliefs fortunately escaped destruction and found an
interpreter in Dr. Brandes, to whom we also owe explanations of the stereotyped
decorative scrolls and flourishes. Though inferior in workmanship to the reliefs
of Panataran, those of Toompang, “speaking” reliefs as he called them, are
vigorously animated, gaining in interest to the devotee as he ascends the terraces,
their masterly treatment culminating in what has been preserved on the portion
still standing of the temple-walls. No better illustration of high and low life, of
the nobility and the riff-raff portrayed in classic Javanese literature, could be
imagined; the typical perfect knights and sly buffoons are there in crowds,
princes and courtiers, warriors and peasants, gallivanting beaux and love-sick
maidens, jealous husbands and frisky wives, worldwise sages and babbling
fools, Javanese Don Quijotes riding out with their trusty squires of the Sancho
Panza species, go-betweens neither better nor worse than Celestina, entangling
dusky Melibeas. Every honourable soul is set off by his or her vulgar
counterpart, of the earth earthy: the panakawan (page) and the inya (nurse) play
most important rôles, almost equally important with those of the hero and
heroine, and their characters are, conformably to the requirements of Javanese
literature, clumsy and coarse but droll; their actions, whether they accomplish or
fail to accomplish their tasks, reflect the performances of the born ladies and
gentlemen whom they accompany, who lose each other and are reunited, who
quarrel and make up, always in a comely, stately way, proud and sensitive,
expressing their feelings in graceful gestures corresponding with the choicest
words. When treating of Panataran, the ornamentation of the ancient monuments
of East Java in its relation to Javanese literature will be more fully discussed.
Here, however, belongs a reference to Dr. Brandes’ ingenious explanation of the
slanting stripes or bars, left uncarved at irregular intervals on the narrow tiers of
bas-reliefs at the chandi Toompang; comparing those sculptured bands with the
lontar[96] leaves on which the tales, whose illustration they furnish, were
originally written, he saw in them the finishing strokes of the different chapters.
The statuary of the chandi Toompang has been removed, for the greater part, to
the Museum at Batavia and, possibly, one or two images, with Professor
Reinwardt’s invoice of 1820, to that of Leyden. The deities are brilliantly
executed, of idealistic design, to borrow Rouffaer’s words, exuberant to the point
of effeminacy. Some of them show the conventional Hindu type and we can
imagine the wonderful effect they produced among the essentially Javanese
scenes chiselled on the walls. For their inscriptions Nagari characters have been
used, a circumstance adduced to prove the predominant Buddhist significance of
this temple. The principal statue seems to have been the decapitated and
otherwise damaged, eight-armed,[97] colossal Amoghapasa, Lord of the World,
reproduced by Raffles, including the head, “carried to Malang some years ago by
a Dutchman,” he informs us, which, symbolic of unity with Padmapani, displays
Amitabha, the Dhyani Buddha of the West, the Buddha of Endless Light, in the
manner of a frontal. The goddess Mamakhi, scarcely less beautifully cut and also
reproduced by Raffles in his History of Java, was carried to England in tota by
himself. Efforts to trace her whereabouts have not met with success; she remains
more securely hidden, probably in one of the store-rooms of the British Museum,
than the stone with inscription recording an endowment, transported from Java
to the grounds of Minto House near Hassendean, Scotland. Talking of carrying
away: a little to the southeast of the chandi Toompang stood a temple of which
hardly a stone has been left; a little to the south of the chandi Singosari another
is visibly melting into air. The Chinese community at Malang, as Dr. Brandes
informed the Batavian Society of Arts and Sciences, boast of a permanent
exhibition of Hindu statuary and ornament, consisting of more than 160
numbers, gathered together in the neighbourhood and on view in their cemetery.
Baba collects Sivaïte and Buddhist antiquities with great impartiality,
subordinating religious scruples to practical considerations, as when he lights his
long-stemmed pipe at one of the votive candles on the altars in his places of
worship. Excellent opportunities for the study of Chinese influences on Javanese
art are offered by the decoration of his temple in Malang with its motives
derived from creeping, fluttering, running, pursuing and fleeing things: tigers,
deer, dragons, bats, especially bats, shooting up and down, flitting off, swiftly
turning back, circling and scudding. The mural paintings of a good many other
klentengs, too, are of more than passing interest since they promote a right
understanding of the development of the Greater Vehicle of the Law, which in
Java exchanged fancies and notions with both Chinese Buddhism and Taoïsm,
discarded the classic for the romantic, if the expression be permissible in this
connection, and still continues to live among the island’s inhabitants of
Mongolian extraction, as Sivaïsm among the Balinese, their creative thought
moulding old fundamental ideas in unexpected new forms. If Buddhism brought
new elements into Chinese art, stimulating ideals and religious imagery, as the
Count de Soissons remarks,[98] leading, for instance, to sublime personifications
of Mercy, Tenderness and Love, the debt is repaid and emigrating Chinese
decorators shower the graces of their benign goddess Kwan Yin on their labours
in distant climes. As to Java, with which China entertained relations from the
remotest Hindu period, they animated and reshaped in endless variation the
ornament they found, the makaras, the kala-heads, at last, in their saï-shiho
tracery, being gradually supplanted by the bat-motive.
 XVIII. CHANDI PANATARAN
(Archaeological Service through Charls and van Es.)
The chandi Panataran is the most beautiful, for many reasons also the most
remarkable temple in East Java and, with the exception of the Boro Budoor, the
largest in the whole island. It was discovered by the American explorer Thomas
Horsfield. Its foundations and the interior of its sepulchral pit are constructed in
brick; its terraces are in general design not unlike those of the chandi Toompang;
among its statues, stolen and scattered far and wide, it may have contained
images of Buddhist purport and inspiration. Sivaïtic in aspect, however, as it
stands now, it is the only one of the monuments in Kediri sufficiently preserved
to determine its religious origin. Fergusson classes the chandi Panataran with the
tree- and serpent-temples whose most peculiar feature in the residencies Malang
and Kediri consists in having “a well-hole in the centre of their upper platform,
extending apparently to their basement,” and the suggestion occurring to him “as
at all likely to meet the case, (is) that they were tree-temples, that a sacred tree
was planted in these well-holes, either in the virgin soil, or that they were wholly
or partially filled with earth and the tree planted in them.” He compares the
chandi Panataran with the Naha Vihara or Temple of the Bo-tree in Ceylon and
bases its claim to being called a serpent-temple on the fact that “the whole of the
basement moulding is made up of eight great serpents, two on each face, whose
upraised breasts in the centre form the side-pieces of the steps that lead up to the
central building, whatever that was. These serpents are not, however, our
familiar seven-headed Nagas that we meet with everywhere in India and
Cambodja, but more like the fierce, crested serpents of Central America.” So far
Fergusson; but the well or pit, notwithstanding the veneration of which the bo-
tree was the object, seems rather to have been a receptacle for the ashes of the
princes of Mojopahit whose memory the founder of this mausoleum, probably
Queen Jayavisnuvardhani, the above-mentioned Ratu Kenya, immortalised in the
Damar Wulan, intended to perpetuate. The raksasas, guardians of the ruins of
the principal structure, bear the date 1242 Saka (A.D. 1320); a minor temple and
terrace give the dates 1369 and 1375, from which it has been concluded that they
were added in the reign of Ratu Kenya’s son Hayam Wurook.
The edifice rose from a square base and large statues of Siva as Kala adorn the
feet of the staircases which lead to the first and second terrace. Of the temple
proper not a stone is left; the walls of pit and terraces are covered with sculpture,
a sort of griffins on the highest, scenes from the Ramayana and illustrations of
other popular poems and fables on the lower ones, beautiful work but irreparably
damaged by official bungling. As if the apathy which suffered this noble
monument to be despoiled and the providentially undemolished parts to crumble
away, had not done enough harm, an amateur invested with local authority
conceived a plan of restoration and preservation on official lines, that beat even
the methods of the art-connoisseurs of the chain-gang to whom the care for the
antiquities at Jogjakarta is entrusted, which would make reconstruction
impossible for all time to come and deface the ornament in the thoroughest
possible way. In obedience to a Government resolution of June 22, 1900, Nr. 18,
the Batavian Society of Arts and Sciences having been consulted with a view to
save the chandi Panataran from further decay, the Contrôleur in charge of the
administrative division within whose boundaries it is situated, engaged native
masons who, following their instructions, cemented, plastered and whitewashed
to the tune of fl. 989.10 (about £82) with the magnificent result that the upper
terrace has been transformed into a thickly plastered reception-bower for picnic
parties; that everything has received a neat coat of whitewash to rejoice the
hearts of housewives out for the day with their husbands, little family and
friends; that the architectural detail has been hidden under solid layers of mortar
and cement. Plaster, whitewash and cement everywhere: the noses and other
extremities of the scanty statuary still in place but injured by time and hand of
man, have been touched up with it; from top to bottom it has been smeared over
whatever could be reached, making the venerable old temple hideously
ridiculous—an orgy of “conservation” in the pernicious official acceptance of
the word, hoary age being ravaged by cheap, destructive “tidying up”. This is
how the theory of Government solicitude for the ancient monuments of Java
works out in practice.
It must be considered a miracle or evidence of the native masons possessing a
higher developed artistic sense than their employer, that the bas-reliefs have
suffered less than this extraordinary process of restoration and preservation
portended, though much detail has been destroyed, thanks to their vandalism
under orders from Batavia as understood by the Philistine of Blitar. In the first
place we find again, divided by medallions with representations of animal life, a
sculptural delineation of the Ramayana, the artist’s buoyant fancy, blending the
celestial with the human, shedding a divine light on acts of most common daily
occurrence by making gods and semi-gods partake of man’s estate in deeds
sublimely natural. The Ramayana was a great favourite for the decoration of
temples, as proved by the chandis Panataran, Toompang, Surawana and
Prambanan; the Mahabharata or, rather, its Javanese version, the Brata Yuda,
came as a good second; the Arjuno Wiwaha of the poet Mpu Kanwa has been put
to use for the embellishment of the chandis Surawana and Toompang; the
Kersnayana for that of the chandis Toompang and Panataran. We might do
worse and, in fact, we are doing worse with our insipid epitaphs and tasteless
lapidary pomposity in our cemeteries, than adorn the tombs of our great departed
with imagery taken from our poets, tellers of good tales and fabulists, the life
they knew so well aiding us to fathom death with its mysteries and promises.
The promise most cherished by the Hindu Javanese was that personified in Siva:
death to make new life grow and increase in beauty among mortals feeding on
happiness, by reason of Kala’s breath destroying the misery of tottering old age,
raising man to equality with the gods. That is what the people, for whom the
marvellous ancient monuments of Java were built, loved to read in the
masterpieces of their literature, carved for their benefit on the mausoleums of
their kings, heeding the wise lessons for whoso chooses to reflect, of their
Canterbury Tales, Faerie Queene, Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained; their
Narrenschiff, Dil Ulenspigel and Faust; their Divina Commedia and Decameron;
their Romancero del Cid and Conde Lucanor; their nouvelles and joyeux devis,
their vies très horrifiques of their Gargantuas and Pantagruels. Life in their
thought being intimately connected with death, which consequently inspired
nothing of the abject terror the practice of western Christianity clothes it with, in
curious contrast to the saving hope of its eastern origin, we discern cheerfulness,
the effect of serene meditation, the true amrita, the rejuvenating nectar of self-
existent immortality, as the keynote also to sensible earthly existence in the
infinitely varied forms inviting our examination on the walls of the chandi
Panataran. Greift nur hinein ins volle Menschenleben! If the beholder be a
philosopher or an artist, or both, desirous to grasp the full life of man, he will
receive rare instruction; and if a lustige Person as well, joy will accrue to him
from the sempiternal relevancy of Javanese allegorical humour, at times almost
prophetic: the sculptor of the pigheaded but self-satisfied peasant who cultivates
his land with a plow drawn by crabs,[99] must have had a vision of the Dutch
Government endeavouring, after periodical visitations of worse than customary
want, misery and famine, to secure progress and prosperity in the island by
appointing long commissions with long names, toiling long years over long
reports that leave matters exactly where they were.
The skies in the scenery of the bas-reliefs on the lowest terrace of the chandi
Panataran have something very peculiar, termed cloud-faces by Dr. Brandes,
who recognised in the fantastic forms of the floating vapour as reproduced in the
hard stone, demons and animals to which he drew special attention: a kala-head,
a furious elephant threatening to charge, etc. The figures of all bas-reliefs,
mostly perhaps those of the second tier from below, are notable for their
departure from the smooth treatment generally accorded to Javanese sculpture of
the period and best defined perhaps in the phrase of one of Canova’s critics when
he derided that artist’s “peeled-radish” style. Angular and flat, they remind one
of the wayang-puppets, and the obvious correspondence between the manner in
which the chandi Panataran illustrates some of the chief productions of Javanese
literature and the performances of the Javanese national theatre, has been
cleverly insisted upon by Rouffaer. The wayang, i.e. the dramatic art of the
island, sprang probably from religious observances of pre-Hindu origin. Dr. G.
A. J. Hazeu[100] is of opinion that it formed part of the ritual of the ancient faith,
and even now the hadat requires a sacrifice, the burning of incense, etc., before
the play commences. The Javanese word lakon, a derivation from laku, which
signifies both “to run” and “to act”, applied to stage composition, is the exact
etymological equivalent of our “drama”; the lakon yèyèr (layer or lugu) confines
itself to tradition, the lakon karangan to subjects taken from tradition but freely
handled, the lakon sempalan to episodes from works otherwise unsuitable
because of their length. The wayang appears, according to means of
interpretation, as wayang poorwa or kulit,[101] gedog, kelitik or karucil, golek,
topeng, wong and bèbèr, of which the wayang poorwa holds the oldest title to
direct descent from the ancestral habit of invocation of the spirits of the dead.
The epithet poorwa has been derived from the parwas of the Mahabharata
which, together with the Ramayana and similar sources, offered an abundant
supply of dramatic material; it is from the wayang poorwa that the Javanese
people derive their notions of past events, as the inhabitants of another island did
theirs from their poet and playwright Shakespeare’s histories before eminent
actor-managers set to “improve” upon his work, mutilating him on his country’s
stage in the evolution of a (fortunately more textual) interpretation, pointedly
designated as Shakespearian post-impressionism.
A wayang poorwa performance knows nothing of the showy accessories devised
by and for our histrions to hide poverty of mentality and poorness of acting,
futile attempts to make up in settings, properties, costumes and trappings,
tailoring, millinery and disproportionate finery what they lack in essentials. The
performer sits under his lamp behind a white, generally red-bordered piece of
cloth stretched over a wooden frame on which he projects the figures. He speaks
for them and intersperses explanations and descriptions, directing the musicians
with his gavel of wood or horn, striking disks of copper or brass to intimate
alarums, excursions, etc. Formerly all the spectators were seated before the
screen, as they still are in West Java, Bali and Lombok, but gradually the men,
separating from the women and children, moved behind, so that in Central and
East Java they see both the puppets and their shadows. The wayang gedog, much
less popular than the wayang poorwa, evolved from it in the days of Mojopahit
as Dr. L. Serrurier informs us; while the latter draws its repertory principally
from Indian epics, the former with Raden Panji, Prince of Jenggala, for leading
hero, is more exclusively Javanese and prefers the low metallic music of the
gamelan pelog[102] to that of the gamelan salendro[102] with its high notes as of
ringing glass. In the wayang kelitik or karucil, of later invention and never of a
religious character, the puppets themselves are shown: since wayang means
“shadow”, the use of that word is here, for that reason, less correct, and the same
applies to the wayang golek in which the marionettes lose their spare dimensions
and become stout and podgy; to the wayang topeng[103] and wong[104] in which
living actors perform, an innovation not countenanced by the orthodox, who are
afraid that such deviations from the hadat may result in dread calamities; and to
the wayang bèbèr which consists in displaying the scenes otherwise enacted, in
the form of pictures. Every one finds in the wayang, of whatever description, an
echo of his innermost self: the high-born, smarting under a foreign yoke, in the
penantang (challenge and defiance), the lowly in the banolan (farce), the fair
ones of all classes in the prenesan (sentimental, gushing, spoony speech). It is a
treat to look at the natives, squatted motionless for hours and hours together,
their eyes riveted on the screen, listening to the voice of the invisible performer,
marvelling at the adventures of the men and women who peopled the negri jawa
before them and faded into nothingness, even the mightiest among them, whose
mausolea at Prambanan, Toompang, Panataran, bear witness to the truth of those
amazing deeds of derring-do, love and hate, which will remain the wonder of the
world. To them the phantom-shadows are reality of happiness in a dull,
vexatious life which is but the veil of death.
From Java, says Dr. Juynboll, the wayang poorwa was transplanted to Bali,
where it is still called wayang parwa and the puppets present a more human
appearance. Beside it thrives, especially in Karang Asam, the wayang sasak,
introduced from Lombok and more Muhammadan in character, whose puppets
have longer necks after the later Javanese fashion. Apart from such influences,
Balinese art, however, does not disown its Hindu-Javanese origin. The
inhabitants of the island, with the exception of the Bali aga, the aborigines in the
mountains, different in many respects, pride themselves on the name of wong
(men of) Mojopahit and adhere to the Brahman religion, though here and there a
few Buddhists may be encountered. They are divided into castes and Sivaïte rites
play an important part in the religious ceremonial of the upper classes. The
common people have adopted a sort of pantheism which makes them sacrifice in
the family circle to benevolent and malevolent spirits of land and water,
domiciled in the sea, rivers, hills, valleys, cemeteries, etc. The village temples
are more specifically resorted to for propitiation of the jero taktu, a superior
being entrusted with the guidance of commercial affairs and best approached
through the guardian of his shrine, who is held in greater respect than the real
priests. Every village has also a house of the dead, consecrated to Doorga, a
goddess in high repute with those desirous to dispel illness, to secure a
favourable issue of some enterprise, to learn the trend of coming events; the
heavenly lady enjoys in Bali a far wider renommée than her lord and master
Siva, who is honoured in six comparatively little-frequented temples. As to the
decadent architecture and excessive ornamentation[105] of the Balinese houses of
worship, Dr. Brandes considers both the one and the other a direct outcome of
the decay of the eastern Javanese style, exemplified in the chandis Kedaton
(1292), Machan Puti,[106] Surawana and Tegawangi. The leading ideas of the
chandi bentar or entrance gate, and of the paduraksa or middle gate, adduces
Rouffaer, are related respectively to those of the gate Wringin Lawang at
Mojopahit and of what the present day Javanese call gapura in sacred edifices as
old kratons, old burial-grounds, etc.; and to those of the gate Bajang Ratu, also at
Mojopahit. These gates Wringin Lawang and Bajang Ratu, states the same
authority further, can teach us moreover a few things anent the architecture of
the puris (palaces). The temples and princely dwellings of Mataram in Lombok
were completely destroyed during the inglorious war of 1894; the country-seat
of Narmada, however, a fine specimen of an eastern pleasance, has escaped
demolition. For how long?
In this respect it seems relevant to point to the circumstance that the monuments
of the smaller Soonda islands, much more conveniently placed for the
unscrupulous spoiler because under less constant observation of the general
public, are exposed to even greater danger than those in Java, Government
supervision counting for worse than nothing. A Batavia paper denounced quite
recently a traveller who had been visiting the Dutch East Indies and, armed with
letters of recommendation from personages of the highest rank and title in the
Netherlands, had been collecting curiosa and antiquities on a vast scale only to
advertise his collection for sale as soon as unpacked after his return to Europe. It
contained carved ornament from temples, sacrificial vessels and statuary from
Bali, besides woven goods, implements used in batikking, musical instruments,
wayang-puppets, etc. The profit attached to this sort of globe-trotting is
enormous, since the coveted objects can be acquired for a mere song by taking
advantage of the influential assistance secured through letters of
recommendation over high-sounding names. A hint from those in authority goes
a very long way with the docile native, in fact goes the whole way of
appropriation at a nominal value, and the big official who left his post in the
exterior possessions, bound for home, also quite recently, with fifty boxes of
antique ware of a different kind, collected in his residency, made certainly as
good a haul as the distinguished, brilliantly recommended tourist.
Decoration
 Decoration
CHAPTER VII
BUDDHIST JAVA

Was ist das Heiligste? Das was heut’ und ewig die Geister
Tief und tiefer gefühlt, immer nur einiger macht.[107]

WOLFGANG VON GOETHE, Vier Jahreszeiten (Herbst).

Although the theory of Gautama the Sugata’s life-story being only a repolished
solar myth has broken down, its vital element of emancipation from Brahmanic
bonds is certainly much older than Buddhism and the traditional Buddha but an
incarnation of ideas long germinating and attaining fruition in his teachings,
precisely as happened with other religious reformers who came and went before
and after. The thirty-three gods of the three worlds, “eleven in heaven, eleven on
earth and eleven dwelling in glory in mid-air,” with their three supreme shining
ones, Brahma, Vishnu and Siva, creating, maintaining, destroying and creating
anew, began to pall on the human trimoorti of brain, heart and bodily wants; the
moral dispensation on which the social edifice was founded, began to need
revision. Neither did the orthodox, at first, refuse admittance to the spirit of
emendation. At the sangharama[108] of Nalanda the Vedas were taught together
with the Buddhist doctrine according to the tenets of the Greater and the Lesser
Vehicle à choix. The Buddha had to be accepted and was accepted equally by
eastern tolerance and western necessity; while ranking as a divine teacher among
his followers in the legendary development of his precepts, he received honour
as an incarnation of Vishnu among the Hindus, says Sir William W. Hunter,[109]
and as a Saint of the Christian Church, with a day assigned to him in both the
Greek and Roman calendars. Truly, the Hindus regarded him as the ninth and
hitherto last incarnation of Vishnu, the Lying Spirit let loose to deceive man until
the tenth and final descent of the god, on the white horse, with a flaming sword
like a comet in his hand, for the destruction of the wicked and the renovation of
the world, but he was reckoned with and acknowledged in their mythology, and
the remarkable conformity between Prince Sarvarthasiddha’s lineage, adventures
and achievements, and those of the seventh avatar of the Hindu deity in the
Ramayana are certainly more than accidental. The law of mercy to all, preached
by the blissful Bhagavat, the Buddha, the Saviour, affected the Brahman creed
profoundly; so profoundly in its deductions, that apprehensive priests resolved to
extirpate Buddhist heresy. But since religious persecution always defeats its
purpose, Buddhism throve with oppression and holds fully its own against the
two other great religions of the present day, al-Islām and Christianity.
To define the Buddhism which, parallel and entwined with Hinduïsm, preceded
the Muhammadanism of Java, is no easy matter, if it is possible at all. For the
sake of convenience Javanese Buddhism may be classified as mahayanistic,
conformable to the northern canon or doctrine of the Greater Vehicle, versus
hinayanistic, i.e. conformable to the southern canon or the doctrine of the Lesser
Vehicle. But the geographical division proposed by Burnouf, hardly meets the
case of our more advanced knowledge, which points rather to chronological
distinctions. Javanese Buddhism of the younger growth was strongly
impregnated with modified Brahmanic conceits,[110] in fact a compromise
between the hopeful expectation of the Metteya Buddha, the Messiah promised
by Bhagavat, and resignation to the decrees of the Jagad Guru whom the Saivas
of Hindu Java had chosen for their ishta-devata, the fittest form in which to
adore the Ruler of the Universe, Param Esvara. Siva lost under Buddhist
influences his terrorising aspect as Kala, and the two creeds, giving and taking,
lived in perfect concord. The statues of the Dhyani Buddhas partook of Siva’s
attributes; those of their sons, the Bodhisatvas, the Buddhas in evolution, and of
their saktis, showed the characteristics of other Hindu gods and goddesses; Siva,
conversely, assumed the features of Avalokitesvara or Padmapani, the Buddhist
lord of the world that is now. I have already spoken of the enthroned
Bodhisatvas represented at the Sivaïte temples of Prambanan and the more or
less Sivaïte exterior of the Buddhist chandi Mendoot. Also of this remarkable
syncretism, born from inbred tolerance, leading to new transactions with the
Islām, exacting as it may be everywhere else; of the deference still shown to
deities of the Hindu pantheon in the shape of jinn; of the adjustment of
Muhammadan institutions to usages of Hindu origin; etc. And Buddhism,
doubtless, prepared the mystically inclined mind of the Javanese Moslim for the
acceptance of the mild Sufism of the school of Gazali, which guides him in
submission of will to ma’ripat, full knowledge, and hakakat, most hidden truth,
while he lacks the conviction, to quote Professor L. W. C. van den Berg, that his
neglect of the prescribed daily prayers will make him lose his status as a true
believer.
 XIX. CHANDI KALASAN
(C. Nieuwenhuis.)
Central Java is richer yet in the quality than in the quantity of its Buddhist
monuments, whose builders and decorators, like the true artists they were, told
what they knew and believed, nothing but that, and therefore told it so well.[111]
To examine their work, beautiful even in decay, beginning with the smaller
structures, we wend our way again to the plain of Prambanan. Travelling from
Jogjakarta to Surakarta by rail, the first stopping-place, reached in about twenty
minutes, is Kalasan, the chandi of that name, otherwise called Kali Bening,
being visible from the train. Once it must have been one of the finest and most
elaborately wrought in the island; now only the south front, nearly tumbling
down, witnesses to its former splendour. It was built in 700 Saka (A.D. 778), a
date preserved in a Nagari inscription which settles that point,[112] and names a
Shailandra prince as its founder in honour of his guru (teacher), doing homage to
Tara[113] who, seeing the destruction of men in the sea of life, which is full of
incalculable misery, saves them by three means ...; it speaks of a grant of land to
the monks of a neighbouring monastery, contains several particulars of practical
value with an admonition to keep a bridge or dam in repair, etc. The building, in
the form of a Greek cross, had four apartments, reached by a terrace and four
staircases, the stones of which have been carried away long ago. The four gates,
judging by the little left on one of them, were profusely decorated with the kala-
makara motive dominating the ornament. The roof bore images of Dhyani
Buddhas in 44 niches and was crowned with 16 dagobs so called, the principal
one rising probably to a great height. Time and rapine have reduced this
magnificent realisation of a glorious conception, this masterpiece of measured
luxury, as Rouffaer styles it justly, to a melancholy heap of debris. The statuary
which adorned the exterior is gone, save three images in their niches, examples
of the gorgeous but never too florid ornamentation; the interior pictures
desolation, ruin within ruin! A disfigured elephant, driven by a horned monster,
its mahout, protrudes from the wall above the throne it protects, but the
cushioned seat is empty. The statue taken from it was presumably a
representation of the beatific Tara glorified in the inscription, the noble and
venerable one, whose smile made the sun to shine and whose frown made
darkness to envelop the terrestrial sphere. It has been surmised that the
mysterious female deity in the residency grounds at Jogjakarta originally filled
the throne of Kalasan, but the vanished Tara left her cushion behind and the
unknown goddess, whose lovely body rivals the lotus-flower in august
sweetness, holds firmly to her padmasana in addition to her attributes defying
identification as the mother of the Buddha who is to be.
The short distance between the chandi Kalasan or Kali Bening and the chandi
Sari must have been often traversed by the seekers of the noble eight-fold path,
inquirers into the four truths and examiners of the three signs, mortifiers of their
flesh in the practice of the ten repugnances. Bikshus, living on the alms they
collected without asking by word or gesture, without unduly attracting attention,
passing in silence those inclined and those not inclined to charity, avoiding the
houses and people dangerous to virtue, never tarrying anywhere and never
presenting themselves more than three times at the doors of the uncharitable,
eating the food received in solitude before noon, the only meal allowed to them,
they must have awakened a good deal of pity in their tattered robes, but one
suspects that the mendicant brethren of Java, notwithstanding their individual
vows of poverty, were exceedingly wealthy as a community after the wont of
their kind everywhere and of whatever religious denomination. Their viharas or
monasteries, to judge from the ruins, were well appointed and the inmates
apparently well provided for by princes who took a pride or found their interest
in befriending religion and the religious. If strictly adhering to their monastic
rules, the Buddhist monks had to live in the open, but the wet monsoon is not a
pleasant season in the woods without adequate protection against storm and rain,
and avec le ciel il y a des accommodements, a motto acted upon long before le
Sieur Poquelin formulated it. The chandi Sari is supposed to have been the main
structure of the residential quarter destined for the accommodation of the clergy
connected with the chandi Kalasan, the abode of the monks who knew the
greater vehicle of discipline as the inscription has it, the monastery built by
command of the Shailendra king for their venerable congregation and
recommended to his successors in order that all who followed their teachings
might understand the cause and effect of the positive condition of things and
attain prosperity. The rectangular building had a lower and an upper storey, both
divided into three rooms, lighted by windows; the absent roof had niches for
statuary, capped with diminutive domes in the manner of dagobs. In the
decoration extensive use has been made of the elephant and the makara, the
fabulous fish with an elephant’s head; images of saints with and without
aureoles, of celestial beings more suggestive of the Hindu pantheon than of
Buddhist atheism,[114] of the bird-people and divers animals, enliven the rich,
flowery ornament of the well proportioned facings, cornices and window-
frames. Rising gracefully from its solid yet elegant base, the edifice creates an
impression of airiness and stability cleverly combined, the dark gray colour of
the weatherbeaten andesite blending harmoniously with the tender green of the
bambu-stools which transport our thoughts to the garden of Kalandra where the
Buddha, preaching the lotus of the good law, made converts foreordained to rank
among his most famous disciples: Sariputra, Maudgalyayana, Katyayana.... And
the officially licensed sinners against the ancient monuments of Java, hardened,
habitual criminals in that respect, expressly appointed to do their worst at the
Paris Exhibition of 1900, pretended their horrid botch in the Park of the
Trocadéro to be a reproduction d’une pureté irréprochable of this rare gem of
architectural workmanship, the chandi Sari!
XX. CHANDI SARI
(C. Nieuwenhuis.)
As in India, pious foundations for the benefit of those under bond to serve
religion, disregarding worldly considerations, must have been numerous in Java,
especially in the plain of Prambanan, once studded with viharas like Asoka’s
kingdom, the “Behar” of to-day. Passing over the monastic claims advanced for
some ruins in the southern mountains, those of Plahosan cannot be ignored.
There we find the remains of two buildings, formerly enclosed by a wall,
portions of which are recognisable, and surrounded by smaller structures
arranged in three rows, the inner ones reminding of the style conspicuous in the
chandi Sewu, about a mile to the west-southwest. Close together, but originally
perhaps divided by a second wall, they are situated due north and south from
each other with their entrances to the west; the roofs have succumbed; of the two
storeys only the lower ones, containing sufficient space for three rooms, are
tolerably preserved. Of a composite nature, the chandi Plahosan was presumably
rather a sangharama than a vihara and the doorkeeper at the gate, when all those
scattered stones and the smashed, stolen or otherwise removed statues were still
in place, may have welcomed the wayfarer, seeking shelter on a tempestuous
night, with such difficult questions as barred access to the hospitality of
Silabhadra, the superior of Nalanda, and his flock. Hiuen Tsiang, the Chinese
pilgrim, who could answer them all and a good many more, has left us a
description of the sangharama, the six consolidated viharas of Nalanda with
their towers, domes and pavilions, embellished by the piety of the kings of the
five Indies; their gardens, splashing fountains and shady groves, where he spent
several years learning Sanskrit and the wisdom of the holy books, never thinking
the days too long; their life of ease, scarcely conducive to the austere observance
of pristine discipline by the ten thousand brethren under vows and novices who
crowded thither to seek purification and deliverance from sin in study and
meditation,—a description which, for want of any better, our fancy takes leave to
apply to Plahosan. Though separated by months of travel from Bodhimanda,
where Sakyamuni entered the state of the perfect Buddha and the proximity of
which gave Nalanda its holy character, the zeal of its scholars and saints, no less
tolerant than Hiuen Tsiang’s temporary co-students, who sifted with laudable
impartiality the truth from the Vedas, from the doctrines of the two vehicles and
from the heresies of the eighteen schismatics, undoubtedly stimulated religious
life in the best sense of the word, religion disposing the mind to kindliness and
goodwill, as it should, strengthening social ties, fostering science and art.
The walls of the chandi Plahosan, in so far as preserved, are beautifully
decorated with sculpture in bas-relief. The delicate tracery of the basement is
divided by slender pilasters and the frieze beneath the symmetric cornice is
richly festooned, parrots nestling in the foliage among the flowers. Bodhisatvas,
standing between, formed the principal ornament of panels bordered by garlands
with pendent prayer-bells; the remaining ones grasp lotus-stems springing up to
their left; gandharvas (celestial singers) float over the garuda-heads of the
portals. The reliefs represent scenes familiar to the observer of native life: here a
couple of men seated under a bo-tree or waringin and saluting a person of rank,
raising their folded hands to perform the sembah; there a mās[115] with his
attendants, one of whom holds the payoong (sunshade) over his head while
another carries a senteh[116] leaf. Four stone figures guard the approaches to the
viharas, armed with cudgel and sword; in one hand they hold the snake which,
after the manner of their kind, should be worn over one shoulder and across the
breast, replacing the upawita. The statuary which adorned the inner rooms, was
of large dimensions, finely chiselled and garnished with profuse detail,
concluding from what we know of it. Part has been removed to the “museum” at
Jogja, part has been broken to pieces by treasure-hunters who dug holes and
sunk shafts, disturbing the foundations of the chandi Plahosan in their ignorance
of the difference between Buddhist monasteries and Hindu mausolea built round
funeral pits; the sorely damaged images of holiness which were suffered to keep
their stations by frankly destructive and even more pernicious official or semi-
official soi-disant “preservation and conservation,” are truly pitiful to behold. It
seems, indeed, as if the monuments specially recommended to official care, are
singled out for the most irreparable injury. On a par with the wild feast of plaster,
cement and whitewash at Panataran was the wonderful planning of a restoration
of the chandi Plahosan after faulty drawings and the simultaneous disappearance
of the staircase and a portion of the substructure of the northern vihara.
Less than a mile to the south of the stopping-place Prambanan on the railroad
from Jogja to Solo, are the ruins of a group of chandis which may or may not
have borne a monastic character,[117] Sajiwan and Kalongan being the names
connected with it. One of the structures was cleared in 1893 by the
Archaeological Society of Jogjakarta and to its statuary applies what has been
said of the atrocities perpetrated at Plahosan: besides downright spoliation the
same errors of omission and commission. From Prambanan proper, i.e. from the
Loro Jonggrang group, it is a short walk to the chandi Sewu, which means the
“thousand temples”. They are situated in Surakarta, the boundary between the
Susuhunan’s and the Sooltan’s domains, indicated by two white pillars, running
just behind the smaller structures which face the shrines of Brahma and Vishnu
flanking that of Siva. But, though the walk is short, it may be a trifle too sunny
for comfort even if it be morning and the roads lively with the women returning
from market, the surroundings of the houses of prayer and death gladdening the
eye, presenting a spectacle full of colour and light, the matrons treading their
way statelily and steadily, the maidens, decorous and modest, gliding behind
their elders like the devis, the shining ones descended from the Ramayana
reliefs, to exhibit their exquisite forms, bashful however conscious of their worth
in that golden, sweet-scented atmosphere. They have no business at the chandi
Sewu and on the unfrequented by-path thither we proceed alone, save for a few
children with no more to cover their nakedness than the loveliest innocence—a
garment quite different from the western cache-misère of mawkish prudery—,
curious to find out what the strangers are about. Under their escort we reach the
chandi Loomboong (padi-shed), thus called from the size and form of the ruins
which compose it. They are sixteen in number, arranged in a square round the
principal structure, its once octagonal roof, shaped like a dagob, attesting to its
Buddhist character, though it is not unmixed with Sivaïte elements as the funeral
pits plainly indicate. They were already empty when examined some years ago
and the fine statues tradition speaks of, can nowhere be found. The little
ornament left in place and one single fragment of a bas-relief give a high idea of
the decoration when the beauty of these temples had not yet faded away, exactly
as in the case of the chandi Bubrah,[118] another shrine on the via sacra which
connects the Loro Jonggrang and Sewu groups. To quote Major van Erp again:
The state of affairs here is very sad; of the chandis Ngaglik, Watu Gudik and
Geblak, which the memory of the oldest inhabitants puts somewhat farther north,
even the site cannot now be located.
XXI. RAKSASA OF THE CHANDI SEWU
(Centrum.)
By the time we reach the thousand temples, Surya, the sun-god, has driven his
fiery carriage to the zenith of his daily course through the air and the fire-eyed
raksasas, who guard the enclosure of holiness; two for each of the four
entrances, stretch their gigantic limbs with dreadful menace in the warm
brilliancy of indefinite space, tangible terror. Down on one knee to strike, snakes
hanging from their left shoulders as poisonous baldrics, they seem to mark the
transition between the worship of Kala, quickening destruction personified, and
the creed which hails in death the portal to nirvanic nothingness, the liberation
from life’s miseries. Behind them reigns the stillness of a tropical noon,
subduing heaven and earth to silent but intensely passionate day-dreams. The
kingly sun, the sun of Java, wide-skirted Jagannath, having mounted to the
summit of the fleckless sky, pauses a moment before descending, he, the light of
the world, exciting to generative emotion all that dwells below. The fructifying
charm of his touch is manifest in the exuberant fertility of this island fortunate;
in the vitality of its people, unrestrained in creative capacity by centuries of
spoliation; in their mental make-up, revealed in their history, their beliefs,
traditions and legends. The legend of the chandi Sewu may be adduced as an
instance in point, though nothing but a different version of the legend of the
chandi Loro Jonggrang. One ancient effort to account for architectural wonders
deemed of supernatural origin, by an explanation whose Indian basic idea was
transplanted from the fields of eastern to those of western folk-lore too, serving
at first, perhaps, for all the monuments in the plains of Prambanan and Soro
Gedoog, became the framework of different tales adapted to the requirements of
different localities. Here it is the story of Mboq Loro Jonggrang repeated, and
her lover Raden Bandoong Bondowoso is the son of the beautiful Devi Darma
Wati, daughter of Prabu Darmo Moyo, king of the mighty empire of Pengging,
whose two brothers, Prabu Darmo Haji and Prabu Darmo Noto, were kings
respectively of Slembri and Sudhimoro.
The babad chandi Sewu describes a public function at the Court of Prabu Darmo
Moyo, who sits on his throne of ivory, inlaid with the rarest gems. The aloon
aloon outside swarms with his warriors and while he pronounces judgment and
invests and displaces, ambassadors from Prambanan are announced. They
deliver a letter from Prabu Karoong Kolo, in which the Boko, the giant-king,
asks Prabu Darmo Moyo’s daughter, Devi Darma Wati, in marriage. The
Princess, acquainted with his suit, declares that she will marry no one but the
man, be he king or beggar, able to rede a riddle which is given, written on a
lontar-leaf, to the ambassadors who thereupon depart. On their arrival at
Prambanan, Prabu Karoong Kolo breaks impatiently the seal of the
communication; learning its meaning, his eyes dart flames, his mouth foams and,
tearing the lontar-leaf into pieces and trampling upon it, making the earth
tremble and disturbing the sky with his noisy wrath, he collects his army and
marches against Pengging to raze the kraton of Prabu Darmo Moyo and carry
Darma Wati off. The King of Pengging, warned of the approaching danger,
implores his brother Darmo Noto, King of Sudhimoro, to assist him; with his
brother Darmo Haji, King of Slembri, an odious tyrant, he has broken long ago.
Prabu Darmo Noto orders his son, the Crown Prince Raden Damar Moyo, to
lead his troops against the giant-king. Traversing the woods at the head of his
men, scaling cliffs and climbing mountains, crossing rivers and ravines, attacked
by evil spirits and wild animals, Damar Moyo, strenuous in the cause of his
uncle and his fair cousin, hastens to their defence but, leaving every one behind,
he loses his way and, tired out at last, falls asleep. A strange sensation of
heavenly joy awakens him and, opening his eyes, he beholds the supreme god,
Bathara Naradha, who presents him with the celestial weapons of the abode of
the immortals, Jonggring Saloko, salves his forehead with the divine spittle to
make him invulnerable and invincible, and puts into his hand the flower Sekar
Joyo Kusumo which will enable him to rede Devi Darma Wati’s riddle.
Strengthened and more enthusiastic than ever, Raden Damar Moyo, having
rejoined his army, engages the giants of Prambanan and defeats them,
astonishing friend and foe with his acts of superhuman prowess. He redes the
riddle, marries Darma Wati, and his father-in-law, Prabu Darmo Moyo, appoints
him senapati, i.e. commander-in-chief of the forces of Pengging.
The legend being too long for insertion in full, besides its containing details too
candidly illustrative of the generative emotion engendered by the wide-skirted
Jagannath, a summary of the events which led to the foundation of the chandi
Sewu must suffice. Boko Prabu Karoong Kolo, King of Prambanan, loses his life
in another attempt at the subjugation of Pengging, and Raden Damar Moyo,
having nothing more to fear from that side, but naturally inclined to strife and
contest, resolves to take part in the wars then raging among the kings of the
Thousand Empires, Sewu Negoro. So he leaves his wife and the son born to
them, Raden Bandoong, who grows into a comely youth. Arriving at manhood
and still in complete ignorance of his sire’s name and lineage, the prince
questions his mother on that subject but, in obedience to an express order from
the gods, she refuses to tell him. Vexed and suspicious, he equips himself from
the armoury of his grandfather, Prabu Darmo Moyo, and eludes maternal
vigilance, escaping from the kraton in search of his father. After many
adventures, culminating in a conflict with his parent in the Sewu Negoro, the
two meeting and exchanging hard blows and parting as strangers, he reaches
Prambanan, kills Tumenggoong Bondowoso, left in charge of that realm, and
falls in love with Devi Loro Jonggrang, daughter of the late Boko Prabu
Karoong Kolo. But he has been forestalled in her favour by his cousin Raden
Boko, who is to become her husband on condition of the overthrow of Pengging
and Sudhimoro. Suspecting a rival while maturing his plans for conquest, this
Raden Boko takes a mean advantage of the lady by a trick learnt from a recluse
who lends him a tesbeh (string of prayer-beads) which possesses the power of
transforming its temporary owner into a white turtle-dove. So disguised, he flies
to the women’s quarter of the kraton of Prambanan and attracts the attention of
Loro Jonggrang, who responds to the lovely bird’s advances, puts it in her
bosom and pets and fondles it to her heart’s content until, alas! it is killed by an
arrow sped from the never erring bow of Raden Bandoong, thanks to the
busybodies of the palace having informed him of the idyllic progressive cooing.
Woman-like, the bereaved Devi submits to the inevitable after a period of
passionate mourning, and promises her heart and hand to the stronger if not more
dexterous suitor on condition of his building a thousand temples in one night
between the first crowing of the cock and daybreak. With the help of the gods of
Jonggring Saloko he accomplishes the task, but at the moment that he whispers
astaga[119] chandi Sewu, struck by the sight of the moonlit plain blossoming into
a city of holiness, the immortals change him for his arrogant prayer into a
monster of horrible aspect. Woman-like again, the Devi declines to keep her
promise, pleading that she engaged herself to a man and not to a brute, and seeks
refuge on the banks of the river Opak. Frightened by the persecution of Raden
Bandoong, who tracks her from cave to cave, she gives untimely birth to a
daughter, the fruit of her affection for turtle-doves, and dies. The brutal, baffled
lover still haunts the neighbourhood, which therefore native mothers-to-be
scrupulously avoid, though it is not observed that the virgins derive much
instruction from the legend as far as concerns the consequences of Devi or Mboq
Loro Jonggrang’s amours at an earlier stage.
From legendary lore we return to fact in the matter of the foundation of the
chandi Sewu by taking cognisance of an inscription, mahaprattaya sangra
granting or sang rangga anting, unearthed near one of its 246 (not thousand)
temples,[120] extolling the munificence of the magnanimous Granting or Anting.
The style of writing justifies the conjecture that the buildings date from about the
year 800 and are consequently of one age with the Boro Budoor. If not erected
by one architect at the command of one bounteous prince, and the gifts of
several pious souls who possessed the wherewithal for devotional works, they
were at least constructed according to one plan steadily kept in view, a good deal
more than can be said of many religious edifices in western climes, which owe
their existence less to co-operative than to contentious piety. In respect of area
the largest of the temple groups in Java, the first impression received from it is
that of a chaos of ruins, confusion being worse confounded by the quarries
opened here and there, and partly filled again with earth and rubbish, while a
luxuriant vegetation, regaining on the inroads of mattock and pickaxe, quickly
covers what they disturbed. Looking closer, the separate shrines with their
elaborate tracery appear in the fiery embrace of the sun like sparkling jewels,
trembling with delight in the luminous atmosphere beneath the immaculate sky;
the very marks of decay and ravaging time are beautiful; the weeds clustering
round the broken ornament, the toppling walls, rouse to fanciful thought. No
sound is heard; nothing stirs while we make our way to the principal structure,
once lording it over the smaller ones which stood squarely in four lines, 28 for
the inner, 44 for the next, 80 for the third, 88 for the outer circumvallation.
Excepting those of the second row, their entrances faced inward and amidst their
scanty remains the foundations have been uncovered of five somewhat larger
ones: two to the east, two to the west and one to the north; like the outlying
buildings, these are, with regard to their superstructures, as if they never existed.
Of the terraces and staircases no other trace is left than the telltale unevenness of
the ground. The resemblance in constructive methods between the chandi Sewu
and the chandi Prambanan strikes one at the first glance; the same builders, it is
surmised, strove here to do for the Triratna[121] what there they did for the
Trimoorti; and if not the same, they discerned equally the one truth bound up in
the old creed and the new, and expressed it with equal skill and conviction in
these twin litanies of stone—so the workers wrought and the work was perfected
by them.
The decorators in charge of the finishing touches, embellished this city of
temples with a wealth of ornament which in the quivering glare of day, despite
ravage of time and pillage, clothes sanctity in robes of encrusted winsomeness.
The sculpture of the chandi Sewu, says a visitor of a century ago, is tasteful,
delicate and chaste. Much of what he based his judgment on, has since been
carried off or demolished, but what remains fully bears him out: foliage and
festoons, garlands and clustered flowers, distributed over facings divided into
lozenges and circles by pilasters and fantastically curved lines, with lions, tigers,
cattle and deer in ever varying abundance, awaken reminiscences of the carvings
which excited our admiration at Prambanan and lead to the question: Did the
richly framed panellings of the twenty-four external wall-spaces of the central
temple exhibit scenes from the epics and fable-books, besides this sumptuous
adornment, to match the almost uniform bas-reliefs of the lesser structures? If so,
they must have rivalled the artistic excellence of the Ramayana reliefs which
beautify the shrines of Siva, Brahma and Vishnu. And a second question arises:
Was the central temple the depository of a relic? In connection with this query it
deserves to be noticed that, generally speaking and excepting statuary, the
internal wall-spaces of the chandi Sewu lack ornament, evince a soberness in
marked contrast to the extravagant representations of the abode of bitterness, as
if sign- or house-painters had been entrusted with the illustration of Dante’s
Inferno, repulsive attempts à la Wiertz minus the talent to be admired in the Rue
Vautier at Brussels, nightmares of crude drawing and cruder colouring to depict
perverse torture, I found in eastern edifices raised to satisfy priestly conventions,
even in Ceylon, the island of the doctrine that the Buddha next to dwell on earth
is the Metteya Buddha, the Buddha of Kindness. More in harmony with the
soul’s yearning for his kingdom to come, is the lotus motive happily adapted to
the decoration of the chandi Sewu, especially in one of the partially preserved
small temples of the outer file, to the east of the southern entrance: from a strong
stem which separates into three branches, on three of the sides, the entrance
taking up the fourth, three lotus-flowers spring from the soil to carry, in a finely
chiselled niche, the (vanished) image of the expected one, the gone-before and
coming-after. A few of the outlying buildings have plain facings without any
ornament at all, from which it has been concluded that here too something
happened to stop the labour in progress. Where completed, the plump-bellied
flowerpot, a familiar feature in Javanese ornament, enters largely into the
decorative design and its frequent repetition bestows on the sculpture of the
chandi Sewu, otherwise so very similar to that of Prambanan, a character all its
own.
 XXII. DETAIL OF THE CHANDI SEWU
(Archaeological Service through Charls and van Es.)
It has already been remarked that the interiors of the structures which together
form this group, are almost bare of decoration. The recesses of the central
temple, whose external ornament surpasses in luxuriance everything met
elsewhere in Java, three small interconnected apartments projecting on the west,
north and south, while the eastern front is broken by the porch, have only empty
niches[122] framed by pilasters with flowery capitals. The inner chamber, no less
soberly decorated and stripped of the statuary it possessed, en négligé as it were,

Belle sans ornement, dans le simple appareil

D’une beauté qu’on vient d’arracher au sommeil,

has on its western side a raised throne of ample dimensions, once perhaps
occupied by the large image without head and right hand, dug out of the debris
and carried off to the “museum” at Jogja. It still awaits identification and the
difficulty is increased by the impropriety of speculating on the likelihood that
representations of the universal spirit were admitted in a temple built for the
ritual of a creed which acknowledges neither a god nor a soul aspiring to
communion with the divine essence in prayer, desiring nothing but annihilation.
Yet the Buddhists did learn to pray and to give transcendental ideas a tangible
expression in human shape, though they never sank to idolatry. And in Java,
mixing freely with Brahmanism, not impermeable to the Sankhya doctrine,
Buddhism seems to have swerved occasionally from its longings for
extermination in the Nirvana to entertain vague, confused notions of something
more hopeful, witness the oft repeated Banaspatis. Herein lies, perhaps, the
explanation of otherwise embarrassing peculiarities observed in the conception,
the attributes and attitudes of many Buddhist statues in the island which, for the
rest, are distinguished by great simplicity of execution. So is the throne which
extends over half the floor of the inner room of the central temple of the chandi
Sewu, and the same applies to the few headless Dhyani Buddhas lying round,
sundered from their stations where they faced the cardinal points, the four
quarters of the world, and the first of them, the very elevated, facing the sky. A
gigantic finger of bronze, found in the chapel of the throne, supports the theory
that the principal statue was of that alloy, an additional incentive to plunder—
ancient images of bronze have become scarce indeed: the form of the cushioned
pedestal in the chandi Kalasan too betokens a captured metallic Tara, to the
further detriment of the domiciliary rights there claimed for the homeless Lady
of Mystery in the residency grounds at Jogja.
Although the bulky raksasas which keep her company in that place of exile,
prove that official vandalism did not hesitate to avail itself of facilities of
transportation afforded by forced labour, the uncommonly heavy guardians of
the chandi Sewu balked even the absolute decrees of local despotism.
Everything desirable that could be detached and removed, is, however, gone.
Those in authority having exercised their privilege by helping themselves, mere
private individuals gleaned after their reaping, with or without permission, and
exceedingly interesting collections of antiquities were formed by owners of
neighbouring sugar-mills. What they appropriated, did, at least, remain in the
country, but, among other sculpture, the lion-fighting elephants which lined the
fourteen staircases, ten feet high and eight feet wide, still in place as late as
1841, cannot even be traced—they are dissolved, battling animals, staircases and
all. It is always and everywhere the same story: statuary and ornament are stolen,
treasure-seekers smash the rest, the stones are prime building material and who
cares for the preservation of worthless, because already looted and demolished,
tumble-down temples? The monuments in the plain of Soro Gedoog have
suffered exceptional outrages; at this moment hardly anything is left because
there exists absolutely no control, says Major van Erp. His investigations
disclosed that stones taken from the chandi Prambanan and, when this was
stopped, from the chandi Sewu, were used for the building of a dam in the river
Opak. Had not public opinion made itself heard, both these temples might have
shared the fate of the chandi Singo, once one of the finest in that region, whose
gracefully decorated walls excited the admiration of Brumund in 1845, whose
substructure with damaged ornament still held out until 1886, while now the
ground-plan cannot even be guessed at and deep holes, dug to get at the
foundations, are the only indications of the razed building’s site. To give an idea
of the quantity of material used for the dam in the river Opak, I transcribe the
measurements of its revetments: 35 metres on the left and from 50 to 60 metres
on the right bank; the facings, running up to a height of 6 metres, make it evident
beyond doubt where the stone for that work was quarried. Neither are we quite
sure that such frightful spoliation belongs wholly to the past. The value of
Government solicitude, so eloquently paraded in circulars and colonial reports,
can be gauged from the fact, stated by Mr. L. Serrurier, that, during officially
sanctioned excavations among the ruins of the chandis Plahosan and Sewu, the
stones brought to the surface were simply thrown pell-mell on a heap without
their being marked as to locality and position, quite in keeping, it should be
added, with the prevailing custom.
This accounts for the sad desolation, more pitiful since soi-disant archaeologists
got their hands in, shone upon at the chandi Sewu as at the chandis Plahosan,
Sari, Kalasan, Panataran, to restrict myself to one name from East Java,—shone
upon by the sun, the egg of the world, whose yolk holds the germ of creation,
Surya, the solar orb personified, is a companion wonderfully, grandly suggestive
among the “thousand temples” of life accomplished, decaying into new birth,
whether he scorches the earth and withers the drooping flowers, or climbs a dim,
hazy sky to attract the vapours that descend again in precious showers when the
clouds collect and cover the stars, charming from darkness the lovely dawn and
budding day. The meditations he disposes the mind to are mostly directed to the
future, dreams of coming happiness, and even the contemplative Buddhist
images under the Banaspatis seem agitated by their knowledge of a promise
excelling the hope of Nirvana, which cannot satisfy the aspirations of the
children of this island, full of the joy of existence. What will the future bring to
them, the people cradled in tempest, who were taught forbearance by a creed
profoundly imbued with the inner nature of things, and submission when misery
of war and pestilence came as the harbingers of bondage to an alien race? Too
trustful, they sacrificed their birthright for a mess of pottage and after the
encroachments of the Company, past ages crowding on their memory, the felicity
of the jaman buda assumes to their imagination a tangible shape in the ancient
monuments founded by the rulers of their own flesh and blood, edifices so
widely different from the meretricious Government opium-dens and Government
pawn-shops in which the predatory instinct of the present masters manifests
itself—layin dahulu, layin sekarang.[123] Resigned to fate, which wills the
mutability of earthly relations, the Javanese philosopher—and all Javanese are
philosophers in their way—takes the practical view of the Vedantins, considering
that calamities mean purification to the victor in moral contest, and looking for a
serene morning after a night of distress. He has more beliefs than one to draw
upon when seeking refuge in his cherished maxim, his phlegmatic apa boleh
buwat,[124] and doubts not the possibility of obtaining a Moslim equivalent for
the Buddhist arahat, the perfect state, irrespective of outward conditions, by the
help of a Hindu deity, Ganesa, who knows what is to happen and, as Vinayaka,
the guide, conquers obstacles hurtful to his votaries in the course of events
preordained according to their Islāmic doctrine—syncretism yet more complex
than that of their forefathers of Old Mataram! Watch well the heart, commanded
the master. As to the watched heart dominating the senses, the Javanese, rather a
mystic than an ascetic, and predominantly a child of nature, whence he proceeds
and whither he returns in his search of the divine, prefers enjoyment of the
world’s fullness to mortification of the flesh. He feels much more closely drawn
to Padmapani, the lord of the world that is, than to any other of the emanations
of the essence of the Universe, be it Diansh Pitar or the One, the Eternal, who
sent Muhammad as a mercy to all creatures, or the Adi-Buddha, the primitive,
the primordial, the incarnate denial of god and soul together. Whatever he prays
by, the deity involved is one of overflowing gladness, who presents a flower
with each hand, like Surya when circling land and sea and air in three steps; and,
notwithstanding his sorrows, he rests content with his portion for, though the
light of day sets, it will rise again in glory.
 CHAPTER VIII
THE APPROACH TO THE BORO BUDOOR

The goodly works, and stones of rich assay,

Cast into sundry shapes by wondrous skill,
That like on earth no where I reckon may;

EDMUND SPENSER, Faerie Queene, Canto X.

Among the ancient monuments of Insulinde[125] the chandi Boro Budoor stands
facile princeps. Situated in the Kadu, it is easily reached from Jogjakarta, about
twenty-five miles, or from Magelang, about eighteen miles distant, by carriage
or, still more easily, by taking the steam-tram which connects those two
provincial capitals and leaving the cars at Moontilan where an enterprising
Chinaman provides vehicles, at short notice, for the rest of the journey via the
chandi Mendoot on the left bank of the Ello, just above its confluence with the
Progo. No better approach to the most consummate achievement of Buddhist
architecture in the island or in the whole world, can be imagined than this one,
which leads past the smaller but scarcely less nobly conceived and
conscientiously executed temple, a commensurate introduction to the wonderful,
crowning edifice across the waters, portal to the holiest in gradation of majestic
beauty. The Kadu has been well styled the garden of Java, as Java the pleasance
of the East, full of natural charms which captivate the senses, abounding in
amenities soothing to body and soul; but if it had nothing more to offer than the
Boro Budoor and the Mendoot, it would reward the visitor to those central
shrines of Buddhism far beyond expectation.
Behind the horses, a mental recapitulation of the characteristics of Hindu and
Buddhist architecture in the golden age of Javanese art will not come amiss, and
there may be some wonder that with so much veneration for the Bhagavat in
friendly competition with the Jagad Guru, nowhere in the negri Jawa an imprint
is shown of the blessed foot of promise, with the deliverer’s thirty-first sign, the
wheel of the law on the sole. If, in explanation, it should be adduced that he
never travelled to those distant shores, what does that matter? Has he been in
Ceylon? And how then about the sripada, the record left there as in so many
other countries, with the sixty-five hints at good luck? While we revolve such
questions, our carriage rolls on; the coachman cracks his whip, evidently proud
of his skill in turning sharp corners without reining in; the runners jump with
amazing agility off and on the foot-board and crack their whips, rush to the front
to encourage the leaders of the team up steep inclines, fall again to the rear when
it goes down hill in full gallop. The exhilarating motion makes the blood tingle
in the veins. How lovely the landscape, the valley shining in the brilliant light
reflected from the mountain slopes, ...
Another turn and we dash like a whirlwind past the kachang-oil[126] and
boongkil[127] mill of Mendoot; still another turn and, with a magnificent display
of his dexterity in pulling up, our Jehu brings us to a sudden standstill before the
temple. Opposite is a mission-school conducted for many years, with marked
success, by Father P. J. Hoevenaars, in his leisure hours an ardent student of
Java’s history and antiquities, ever ready to apply the vast amount of learning
accumulated in his comprehensive reading on a solid classical basis, to the
clearing up of disputed points, though his modesty suffered the honours of
discovery to go to the noisy players of the archaeological big drum. His large
stock of information was and is always at the disposal of whoever may choose to
avail himself of it and, writing of the chandis Mendoot and Boro Budoor, I
acknowledge gratefully the benefit derived from my intercourse with this
accomplished scholar, lately transferred to Cheribon.
The exact date of the birth of the chandi Mendoot is unknown but there are
reasons for believing that it was built shortly after the chandi Boro Budoor, at
some time between 700 and 850 Saka (778 and 928 of the Christian era), in the
glorious period of Javanese architecture to which we owe also the Prambanan
group, the chandis Kalasan, Sewu and whatever is of the best in the island.
There are additional reasons for believing that the splendour loving prince who
ordered the Boro Budoor to be raised and under whose reign the work on that
stupendous monument was begun, founded the Mendoot too as a mausoleum to
perpetuate his memory, and that his ashes were deposited in the royal tomb of his
own designing before its completion. If so, he was one of the most prolific and
liberal builders we have cognisance of; but his memory is nameless and all we
know of him personally, besides the imposing evidence to his Augustan
disposition contained in the superb structures he left, rests upon two pieces of
sculpture at the entrance to the inner chamber of the mortuary chapel, if such it
be, which represent a royal couple with a round dozen of children, just as we
find in some old western churches the carved or painted images of their
founders’ families.[128] We are perhaps indebted for the preservation of these
suggestive reliefs to the circumstance of the chandi Mendoot having been
covered, hidden from view during centuries and to a certain extent protected
against sacrilegious hands by volcanic sand, earth and vegetation. Almost
forgotten, its slumbers were, however, not wholly undisturbed for, when
Resident Hartman, his curiosity being excited by wild tales, began to clear it in
1836, he found that treasure-seekers, out for plunder, had pierced the wall above
the porch and that by way of consolation or out of vexation at missing the untold
wealth reported to be buried inside, they had carried off or smashed the smaller,
free standing statuary. The process of cleaning up rather stimulated than
prevented new outrages: stripped of its covering of detritus, which had shielded
it at least against petty, casual pilfering, the chandi Mendoot excited by its
helpless beauty the most injurious enthusiasm. Fortunately, the statues which
formed its chief attraction were too big for the attentions of the long-fingered
gentry whose peculiar methods in dealing with native art strongly needed but
never experienced repression by the local authorities.
XXIII. CHANDI MENDOOT BEFORE ITS RESTORATION
(Cephas Sr.)
Speaking of the statuary and comparing it with Indian models, more particularly
a four-armed image, seated cross-legged on a lotus, the stem of which is
supported by two figures with seven-headed snake-hoods, Fergusson says: The
curious part of the matter is, that the Mendoot example is so very much more
refined and perfect than that at Karli. The one seems the feeble effort of an
expiring art, the Javan example is as refined and elegant as anything in the best
age of Indian sculpture. Of the Mendoot carvings, however, more anon. I shall
first endeavour to give a general idea of this temple which, according to the
same writer, though small, is of extreme interest for the history of Javanese
architecture. Rouffaer calls it the classic model of a central shrine with
substructure and churchyard, while observing that the principal statue of the
Boro Budoor, the rest of whose statues are turned either towards one of the
cardinal points or towards the zenith, faces the east and the Mendoot opens to
the west, the two temples therefore fronting each other. Closely observed, the
latter proved of double design since it consists of a stone outer sheath, built
round an older structure of brick, the original form with its panellings, horizontal
and perpendicular projections, having been scrupulously followed. The neatly
fitting joints, both of the hewn stones and of the bricks of the interior filling,
show a mastery of constructive detail rarely met with at the present day and
certainly not in Java. To this wonderful technique, adding solidity to a graceful
execution of the ground-plan, belongs all the credit for the Mendoot holding out,
notwithstanding persistent ill-usage. An ecstatic thought brightly bodied forth by
a daring imagination and astonishing skill, a charming act of devotion
blossoming from the flower-decked soil as the lotus of the good law did from the
garden of wisdom and universal love, it must have looked grandly beautiful in its
profuse ornament, which taught how to be precise without pettiness, how to
attain the utmost finish without sacrificing the ensemble to trivial elaboration.
Yet this gem of Javanese architecture seemed destined to complete destruction.
Its pitiful decay did not touch the successors of Resident Hartman. When, in
1895, after several years’ absence from the island, I came to renew acquaintance,
it had visibly crumbled away; official interference with “collectors” limited itself
to notices, stuck up on a bambu fence, warning them of the danger they ran from
the roof falling in. It needed two years more of demolition, the walls bulging out,
the copings tumbling down, before the correspondence, opened in 1882 anent a
desirable restoration, produced some result; before the Mendoot, the jewelled
clasp of that string of pearls, the Buddhist chandis pendent on the breast of Java
from the Boro Budoor, her diamond tiara, was going to be refitted.
And how? It is an unpleasant tale to tell: after two decades of consideration and
reconsideration, in the fourth year of the preliminary labours of restoration, the
local representative of the Department of Public Works, put in charge of the job
as a side issue of his already sufficiently exacting normal duties, aroused
suspicions concerning his competency in the archaeological line. An altercation
with Dr. Brandes, followed by more controversy de viva voce, in writing and in
print, led to compliance with his request that it might please his superiors to
relieve him from his additional and subordinate task as reconstructor of ancient
monuments. From that moment, January 2, 1901, until May 1, 1908, absolutely
nothing was done and the scaffoldings erected all round the building were
suffered to rot away, symbolic of the extravagant impecuniosity of a
Government which never cares how money is wasted but always postpones
needful and urgent improvements till the Greek Kalends on the plea of its
chronic state of kurang wang.[129] When most of the fl. 8600, fl. 7235, fl. 25142
and fl. 4274, successively wrung from Parliament for excavations and
restoration, had been squandered on what Dr. Brandes considered to be bungling
patchwork, the expensive, useless scaffoldings, becoming dangerous to the
passers-by in their neglected state, necessitated the disbursement, in 1906, of fl.
350 for their removal. On the continuation of the work, in 1908, by other hands,
of course a new one, also of teak-wood, had to be erected. And, the restoration
once more being under way on the strength of fl. 6800 grudgingly allotted,
Parliament decided finally that no sufficient cause had been shown to burden the
colonial budget with the sum which, according to an estimate of 1910, was
required to bring it to an end! The profligately penurious mandarins of an
exchequer exhausted by almost limitless liberality in the matter of high bounties,
subsidies, allowances, grants for experiments which never lead to anything of
practical value; in the matter of schemes which cost millions and millions only
to prove their utter worthlessness,—the penny-wise, pound-foolish heads
refused, after an expenditure of fl. 52401 to little purpose, to disburse fl. 21700
or even fl. 7000 more for the completion of the work commenced, this time
under guarantee of success. Arguments advanced to make them revoke their
decision, were met with the statement that the Government did not intend to
deviate from the line of conduct, adopted after mature deliberation in regard to
the ancient monuments of Java, restricting its care to preservation of the remains
... a characteristic sample of Governmental cant in the face of grossest
carelessness and the kind of preservation inflicted on the chandi Panataran or
wherever its officials felt constrained by public opinion to act upon make-believe
circulars from Batavia and Buitenzorg before pigeon-holing them. And so the
perplexing inconsistencies of Dutch East Indian finance, parsimony playing
chassez-croisez with boundless prodigality, are faithfully mirrored in the
tribulations of the chandi Mendoot: the reauthorised work of restoration was
stopped again, on the usual progress killing plea of kurang wang, after the
adjustment of the first tier above the cornice, and the temple, bereft of its
crowning roof in dagob style, calculated to fix the basic conception in the
beholder’s mind, has in its stunted condition been aptly compared to a bird of
gorgeous plumage, all ruffled and with the crest-feathers pulled out.
XXIV. CHANDI MENDOOT AFTER ITS RESTORATION
(Archaeological Service.)
The operations were hampered by still other contrarieties. A tremendous battle
was waged apropos of the question whether or not gaps in the layers of stones of
the front wall above the porch pointed to the existence of a passage or passages
for the admittance of air and light to the inner chamber; if so, whether or not
those passages inclined at an angle sufficient to let the sun’s rays illumine the
head of the principal statue in that inner chamber. To rehearse the heated dispute
is not profitable: as usual, after the chandi had fallen into ruin and an endless
official correspondence had lifted its ruin into prominence, archaeological
faddists of every description tried to acquire fame with absurd suggestions and
crazy speculations. Leaving their theories regarding the inclinations of the axes
of probable or possible transmural apertures for what they are, more instruction
is to be derived from the decorative arrangements. The inherent beauty of the
ornament survived happily the injurious effects of changing monsoons, of
ruthless robbery, of preservation in the Government sense of the word. When the
sun caresses it, the Friendly Day, under the blue vault of the all-compassing sky,
smiling at this gem of human art, offered in conjugal obedience by the earth,
which trembles at his touch, it seems a sacrificial gift of reflowering mortality to
heaven. In art, said Lessing, the privilege of the ancients was to give no thing
either too much or too little, and the remark of the great critic, as here we can
see, applies to a wider range of classic activity than he had in mind. Wherever
the ancient artist wrought, in Greece or in Java, we find moreover that he drew
his inspiration directly from nature; that his handiwork reflects his consciousness
of the moving soul of the world; that the secret of its imperishable charm lies
pre-eminently in his keenness of observation. To Javanese sculpture in this
period may be applied what Fergusson remarked of Hindu sculpture some
thousand years older in date: It is thoroughly original, absolutely without a trace
of foreign influence, but quite capable of expressing its ideas and of telling its
story with a distinction that never was surpassed, at least in India. Some animals,
such as elephants, deer and monkeys, are better represented there than in any
sculptures known in any part of the world; so, too, are some trees and the
architectural details are cut with an elegance and precision which are very
admirable. Turning to the Mendoot we notice how the sculptors charged with its
decoration, always truthful and singularly accurate in the expression of their
thoughts and feelings, portrayed their surroundings in outline and detail, wrote in
bas-reliefs, ornament and statuary the history, the ethics, the philosophy, the
religion of the people they belonged to and materialised their splendid dreams
for. What conveys a better knowledge of the Tripitaka, the Buddhist system of
rules for the conduct of life, discipline and metaphysics, than their imagery,
coloured by the very hue of kindliness and effacement of self in daily
intercourse; what inculcates better the paramitas, the six virtues, and charity the
first of them, than their carved mementos of the reverence we owe to the life of
all sentient creatures, our poor relations the animals, striving on lower planes to
obtain ultimate delivery from sin and pain but no less entitled to benevolence
than man?
As in the decoration of the younger chandis Panataran and Toompang, fables
occupy a prominent position in that of the chandi Mendoot. Among the twenty-
two scenes spread over the nearly triangular spaces to the right and left of the
staircase which ascends to the entrance, eleven on each side, partly lost and
wholly damaged, are, for instance, reliefs illustrative of the popular stories of the
tortoise and the geese, of the brahman, the crab, the crow and the serpents, etc.
Of one of them only a small fragment is left, representing a turtle with its head
turned upward, gazing at something in the air, whence Dr. Brandes infers its
connection with the following tale, inserted in the account of the concerted
action of the animals which conspired to kill the elephant, as rendered in the
Tantri, an old Javanese collection of fables: Once upon a time there were turtles
who took counsel together about the depredations of a ravenous vulture and their
kabayan (chief of the community) asked:—What do you intend to do to escape
being eaten by that bird? Accept my advice and lay him a wager that you can
cross the sea quicker than he; if he laughs at your conceit, you must crawl into
the sea where the big waves are, except two of you, one who stays to start on the
race when he begins to fly, and one who swims across the day before and waits
for him at the other side. What do you think, turtles? You cannot lose if you
manage this well.—Your advice is excellent, answered they, and while the
kabayan was still instructing them, the vulture arrived and demanded a turtle to
eat.—What is your hurry, spoke the kabayan for them all; I bet you that any one
of us can swim quicker across the sea than you can fly.—I take that bet, replied
the vulture, but what shall I have if I win?—If you win, you will be at liberty to
eat me and my people and our children and grandchildren and great-
grandchildren and so on and so on to the end of time; but you must pledge your
word that if you lose, you will move from here and seek your food elsewhere. It
is now rather late but to-morrow morning you can choose any one of my people
you please to match your swift flight with.—All right, said the vulture and he
went to his nest to sleep, but the kabayan sent one of his turtle-people across the
sea. The vulture showed himself again a little after dawn, not to waste time, for
he felt pretty hungry and the sooner he could win the race, the sooner he would
have breakfast. He did not even take the precaution to select an adversary among
the decrepit and slow, so sure was he of his superiority, and, besides, all the
turtles were so much alike. The kabayan counted one, two, three, go! and the
vulture heard one of them plunge into the water and he unfolded his wings and
alighted at the other side in an instant, when, lo! there he saw the beast calmly
waiting for him. The vulture felt ashamed and moved to a distant country for he
did not know that he had been cheated. And there was only one vulture but there
were many turtles. And the boar told this event to his friends, exactly as the
reverend Basubarga saw it happen.
Another fable, still more widely distributed and clinching the same moral, is that
of the kanchil (a small, extremely fleet species of deer) and the snail; travelling
to Europe, it is there best known in its German form recorded by Jakob and
Wilhelm Grimm. Of its many variants in the Malay Archipelago we may
mention the wager between a snail and a tiger as to which could most easily
jump a river; the snail, attaching herself to one of her big competitor’s paws,
wins, of course, and convinces the terror of the woods by means of his hairs
adhering to her body, that she is accustomed to feed on his kind, two or three per
diem, freshly killed, whereupon the tiger leaves off blustering and sneaks away.
[130] The prose version of the Tantri which, somewhat different from the two

metrical readings known to us, contains the vulture and turtle incident, dates
probably from the last half of the Mojopahit period and is therefore at least four
centuries younger than the chandi Mendoot, so that its author and the sculptors
of the scenes from popular beast-stories on the temple’s walls, must have had
access to a common stock of ancient fables. All turned it to best advantage and
the decorators of this splendid edifice seized their opportunity to let the men and
animals they carved in illustration of their national literature, express what they
had to say in their passionate overflow of the creative instinct. They gave their
narrative a frame in ornament of dazzling beauty, sweetly harmonious with the
moral of the lessons they taught, stirring to deepest emotion; they cased thoughts
of happiest purport in shrines embossed and laced with fretwork more suggestive
of ivory than of stone. They adorned the Mendoot as a bride, to be displayed
before her husband, the Boro Budoor, revelling in the fanciful idea which makes
the saktis of the Dhyani Buddhas carry budding flowers to honour incarnate
love. The wealth of statuary, while orthodox Buddhism did not admit the
worship of images either of a saintly founder of temples or of his saintly
followers; the deities with the attributes of Doorga, Siva and Brahma, who
diversify the ornament of the exterior walls, from which right distribution of
lines and surfaces may be learnt in rhythmical relation to contour and dimension,
are further indications of the syncretism signalising the tolerance, the fraternal
mingling of different creeds in the distant age of Mataram’s vigour and artistic
energy.
The religious principles underlying that empire’s greatness and providing a basis
for a firm sense of duty to guide a temperament of fire, are nobly embodied in
the three gigantic statues placed in the inner chamber of the Mendoot or, to be
quite exact, round which that chandi was reared, for the entrance is too small to
let them through, especially the largest of them which, miraculously undamaged
save one missing finger-tip, has slid down from its pedestal and consequently
occupies a lower station between the subordinate figures than originally
intended. All three are seated and the first in rank, of one piece with his
unembellished throne, measures fourteen feet; the two to his right and left, of
less grave aspect, wearing richly wrought necklaces, armlets, wristbands, anklets
and tiaras, measure eight feet each. If the oorna[131] more excellent than a crown,
identifies the master among them, the position of whose fingers reminds of
Vajrochana, the first Dhyani Buddha, the others have been taken respectively for
a Bodhisatva and for a devotee who attained by his meritorious life a high degree
of saintliness but whose Brahmanic adornment flatly contradicts the Buddhist
character of such perfection. This explanation is therefore considered
unsatisfactory and unacceptable by many, as, for instance, his Majesty Somdetch
Phra Paramindr Chulalongkorn, the late King of Siam, who, by the way, when
visiting the chandis Mendoot and Boro Budoor in 1896, claimed those
masterpieces of mahayanistic art for his own, the southern church, to use the
incorrect but convenient distinction. According to this royal interpreter, the idea
was to represent the Buddha in the act of blessing the Buddhist prince who
ordered the Boro Budoor to be built, here placed at his right with an image of the
deliverer in his makuta and carrying no upawita but a monk’s robe under the
insignia of his dignity; the third statue, directly opposite, at the Buddha’s left,
without Buddhist accessories but with an upawita hanging down from its left
shoulder, might impersonate him again in his state before conversion, or his
unconverted father on whom, after death, he wished to bestow a share in the
deliverer’s benediction. However this may be, there is no doubt of the
Enlightened One’s identity in one of his many personifications and, leaving the
eighty secondary marks unexplored (three for the nails, three for the fingers,
three for the palms of the hands, three for the forty evenly set teeth, one for the
nose, six for the piercing eyes, five for the eyebrows, three for the cheeks, nine
for the hair, ten for the lower members in general,—without our entering into
further detail!), the thirty-two primary signs are all present: the protuberance on
the top of the skull; the crisped hair (of a glossy black which the sculptor could
not reproduce) curling towards the right;[132] the ample forehead; the oorna,
which sheds a white light (also unsculpturable) as the sheen of polished silver or
snow smiled upon by the sun; etc. Though the colossal statue of the welcome
redeemer, like those of the worshipping kings, does not recommend itself by
faultless modelling, it breathes the spirit which sustains the arahat, him who
becomes worthy; it radiates the tranquil felicity of annihilation of existence, sin,
sorrow and pain; it promises the final blowing out of life’s candle, the Nirvana,
when the understanding will be reached of the Adi-Buddha, the primitive,
primordial, immeasurable. And the lowest of the four degrees of the Nirvana, it
seems to say, is already attainable on earth by emancipation from the bondage of
fleshly desire and vice, by avoidance of that which taints and corrupts.... The
noonday glare, subdued by the heavy shadow of the porch, fills the sanctuary
with a golden haze and upon its dimly gleaming wings a faint music descends, a
song of deliverance. The psalmist’s visions of the covering of iniquity compass
us about and invite to recognition of a common source of divine inspiration in
mankind of whatever creed. The scent of the melati and champaka flowers,
strewn at the feet and in the lap of the deity—the image of him who taught that
there is none such, and revered by professed believers in the Book which
consigns idolaters to hell-fire!—mingles with the pungent odour of the
droppings of the bats, fluttering and screeching things in the dark recesses of the
roof, disturbed in their sleep. Truly there ought to be a limit to syncretism and
this last mentioned mixture of heterogeneous elements soon affects the visitor in
a manner so offensive that retreat becomes a matter of necessity.
XXV. INTERIOR OF THE CHANDI MENDOOT
(Cephas Sr.)
As we step outside, our eyes are blinded by the burning light inundating the
valley, the fiery furnace ablaze at the foot of mountains flaming up to the sky, a
terror of beauty: Think of the fire that shall consume all creation and early seek
your rescue, said the Buddha. It speaks to us of the cataclysm which shook Java
on her foundation in the waters and upset the work of man, killing him in his
thousands and burying his temples, the Mendoot and many, many more, under
the ashes of her volcanoes, some such upheaval as when the conflict began
between the Saviour of the World and the Great Enemy, to quote from the sacred
scriptures; when the earth was convulsed, the sea uprose from its bed, the rivers
turned back to their sources, the hill-tops fell crashing to the plains; when the
day at length was darkened and a host of headless spirits rode upon the tempest.
Though the ground has also been raised by the drift down the slopes of the
Merapi, by the overflowing runnels discharging their load of mud into the Ello
and the Progo, the magnitude of volcanic devastation can be gauged from the
difference in level between the base of the chandi and the site of the kampong
higher up, under which the platform extends whereon its subsidiary buildings
stood. Excavations in the detritus have already resulted in the discovery of
portions of a brick parapet once enclosing the temple grounds; of vestiges of
smaller shrines in the east corner of the terrace and of a cruciform brick
substructure to the northeast with fragments of bell-shaped chaityas;[133] of a
Banaspati, probably from the balustrade of the staircase, and detached stones
with and without sculptured ornament, which revealed the former existence of
several miniature temples surrounding the central one. At the time of my last
visit (which came near terminating my career in my present earthly frame,
through the rotten scaffolding giving way under my feet when ascending to the
roof), more than half of the space conjecturally encompassed by the parapet, still
awaited exploration, and since then restoration, within the limits of the scanty
sums allowed, seems to have superseded excavation. In connection with both,
the names should be mentioned of P. H. van der Ham, who did wonders with the
little means at his disposal, and C. den Hamer, who showed that the decoration
of the Mendoot too was not completed before the great catastrophe which
devastated Central Java and stopped architectural pursuits.[134]
Reviewing the history of the ancient monuments of the island, not one can pass
without a repetition of the sad tale of spoliation. However unpleasant it be to
record in every single instance the culpable negligence of a Government
stiffening general indifference and almost encouraging downright robbery, the
rapid deterioration of those splendid edifices allows no alternative in the matter
of explanation. When officials and private individuals of the ruling race set the
example, the natives saw no harm in quarrying building material on their own
account for their own houses, and they had no time to lose in the rapid process of
the razing of their chandis for the adornment of residency and assistant-
residency gardens, the construction of dams, sugar-mills and indigo factories.
Temple stones have been found in many villages round the Mendoot and
particularly in Ngrajeg, about two miles distant on the main road, there is no
native dwelling in the substructure of which they have not been used.[135]
Though the wealth of the dessa Ngrajeg in this respect may be explained by its
once having boasted its own chandi, of which nothing remains but the
foundations, there is abundant proof that the chief quarry of the neighbourhood
on this side of the river was the Mendoot as the Boro Budoor on the other. From
a juridical standpoint, the natives in possession of such spoil, acquired by their
fathers or grandfathers, have a prescriptive right on it not disputable in law,
averred the administration at Batavia, and so whatever the architects in charge of
the restoration needed, had to be bought back and diminished still further the
disposable funds. Leaving the doubtful points of this legal question and the
enforcement in practice of the theoretical decision for what they are worth to
Kromo or Wongso, ordered to part with his doorstep or coinings, there is no
doubt that it is illegal and highly censurable to demolish temples, and temples
like the Mendoot at that, to secure building material for Government dams and
bridges. What happened in Mojokerto with the bricks of Mojopahit and has been
complained of elsewhere, I saw happen in 1885 with Mendoot stones, freely
used for abutments, piers, spandrel fillings, etc., when near by the spanning of
the Progo was in progress. That bridge has since succumbed like the railway
bridge then in course of construction farther down the Progo, a warning which, if
heeded, might have prevented, for instance, the chronic misfortunes of the
railway bridge in the Anei gorge, West Coast of Sumatra.
With Government bridges lacking the strength to resist the impetuosity of more
than ordinarily boisterous freshets, there may always be a surprise in store for
the pilgrim to the Boro Budoor who has arrived at the first station, the Mendoot:
will he or will he not find the means to cross? For, in time of banjir, i.e. when
the river is in spate, the primitive ferry which maintains the communication in
lieu of better, a bambu raft or two frail barges fastened together, fails as to both
comfort and safety, and after heavy rains large groups of men and women can
often be seen waiting for the turbulent waters to quiet down a bit. Lord
Kitchener visited the Mendoot in December, 1909, during a bridgeless spell and
conditions generally inauspicious to his proceeding a mile and a half farther to
the Boro Budoor. Otherwise the being ferried over in company of gaily dressed
people going to or coming from market with fruit, garden produce and all sorts
of merchandise for sale or bought, has its compensations; rocked by the eddying
stream which glides swiftly between its steep banks, our dominating sensation is
one of joy in the splendour of unstinted light, of freedom from the petty torments
of everyday routine,—and let worry take care of itself! As we climb the opposite
shore, comes the mysteriously grateful feeling of being enveloped in the soil’s
genial exhalation of warm contentment, the fertile earth’s response to the
passionate embrace of the sun. Their espousal, their connubial ardour appears
incorporate in the chandi Dapoor,[136] a petrified spark of universal love, a
wonder of structural and decorative skill in a shady grove some hundred paces to
the right of the road.[137] And again the spiritus mundi is symbolically
interpreted in the story of yond temple betrothed and wedded to the tree. They
were very much smitten with each other, the chandi Pawon and a randu alas[138]
living in the hamlet Brajanala. They married and the pretty comedy of affection
turned into tragedy: as chances very often in the case of a weaker and a stronger
partner in the matrimonial game, the latter throve and prospered at the expense
of the former. Now of his brothers there were and still are many exactly like him,
but of her sisters there were only few and none of her peculiar kind of beauty,
and since it seemed a pity that she should waste her singular comeliness in
supporting a husband of no particular worth for all his bigness and parade of
protecting her, a divorce was resolved upon which meant his sentence of death.
Voices in favour of reprieve or commutation of the penalty were disregarded:
what did one randu alas more or less matter compared with the preservation of
the exquisite chandi Pawon, sole surviving representative of her class? So the
tree was cut down and she escaped happily the fate which overtook the chandis
Perot and Pringapoos. The chandi Pawon was even wholly restored; its
foundations, sapped by a tangle of roots, relaid; its roof reconstructed.[139] In its
graceful proportions a striking illustration of the truth that a great architect can
show the vast range of his art in a very small building, may it stand many
centuries longer between Mendoot and Boro Budoor as the typical expression of
Javanese thought in Dravidian style!
 XXVI. THE CHANDI PAWON AND THE RANDU ALAS
(C. Nieuwenhuis.)
All is quiet and still in the stately avenue of kanaris[140] and few wayfarers are
likely to be met, except after puasa.[141] “Than longen folke to gon on
pilgrimages,” and the Boro Budoor attracts a goodly crowd bent on sacrifice to
the statue in the crowning dagob or to lesser images held in special veneration.
Such travelling companions, merrily but sedately intent on devotional exercise
conformable to ancestral custom, notwithstanding Moslim doctrine, their
forefathers’ imaginations tingeing their conceptions of life seen and unseen
because of their forefathers’ blood running in their veins, increase the cheery
solace of abandon to nature, facilitate the attainment of a higher sublime
condition than reached as yet, the third Brahma Vihara improved upon by the
Buddha, joy in the joy of others while earth and vapoury atmosphere mingle in
fullness of delight,
XXVII. THE CHANDI PAWON DIVORCED AND RESTORED
(Centrum.)

... in un tepor di sole occiduo

ridente a le cerulee solitudini.[142]

We turn a corner and the road winds up a hill. That hill is the base of the Boro
Budoor, the long desired, suddenly extending his welcome, majestic,
overwhelmingly beautiful. It is a repetition on a much grander scale, much more
magical, of the effect produced by the chandi Derma bursting upon our view in
its sylvan frame, reality taking the semblance of a glorious dream. In the waning
light of evening the polygonous pyramid of dark trachyte appears as a powerful
vision of the mystery of existence shining through a veil of translucent gold.
Gray cupolas, raised on jutting walls and projecting cornices, a forest of
pinnacles pointing to heaven, gilded by the setting sun, reveal perspectives of
boundless immensity, vistas of infinite distance. The brilliancy of heaven,
reflected by this mass of forceful imagery, this conquering thought worked in
solid stone, receives new lustre from the dome-encircled fundamental idea so
mightily expressed. Nowhere has art more ably availed herself of the
possibilities of site and more felicitously combined with natural scenery, created
a more harmonious ensemble than in the amazingly original design and delicate
execution of this puissant temple, this gift of the Javanese Buddhists to posterity,
a source of spiritual quickening to whoso tries to understand.
Decoration
 Decoration
CHAPTER IX
THE STONES OF THE BORO BUDOOR

... la vérité rendue expressive et parlante, élevée à la hauteur d’une

idée. ERNEST RENAN, Vie de Jésus (Introduction).
The pasangrahan, built for the convenience of visitors to the Boro Budoor,
offers fair accommodation to the student of oriental architecture and lover of art
in whatever form. Also to a good many who feel it incumbent on them to be able
to say: “I have taken everything in,” or who have quite other ends in view than
communion with the thought of distant ages: foreign tourists whose principal
care is to exhibit trunks and travelling-bags covered with labels of out-of-the-
beaten-track hotels while their brains remain hopelessly empty; junketers of
domestic growth, often in couples whose irregular relations seek shelter behind
the excuse of “doing” the island, and heartily disinclined to practise the virtues
preached in the reliefs of the shrine of shrines, particularly down on continence.
So even the Philistines derive advantage, after the notions of their kind, from the
ramshackle fabric of vile heathenism, as this magnificent temple has been called
by one of their number, and its visitors’ book tells a sorry tale of irreclaimable
vulgarity; the wit, laboriously aimed at in many entries, but widely missed,
partakes altogether too much (minus the element of badinage) of the answer
given by a young naval officer to an old aunt when she asked him where, in his
opinion, the most striking natural scenery of Java was to be found: At Petit
Trouville,[143] said he, on Sunday in the dry season.
The pasangrahan’s guests of that ilk are generally no early risers and their
company is therefore not likely to mar the impression received of the Boro
Budoor at second sight after supper, supplied by the army pensioner in charge of
the place, and a night’s sound rest. Looking tranquillity itself, the vast pile
charms and soothes the heart, notwithstanding its enormous size, before the
intellect, scrutinising its outline, begins to marvel at the unaccustomed form the
builder has chosen to proclaim his idea. Save one or two temples in hinayanistic
Burmah, which present a faint resemblance, nothing else can be named as
producing the same effect, but then, wrote Fergusson for the land where the
creed was born that inspired its founder, it must be remembered that not a single
structural Buddhist building now exists within the cave region of Western India.
Rising light and airy for all its grandeur, it expresses more strength than a mere
massing together of the ponderous material in huge walls and buttresses and
towers could have done; its quiet consciousness of power is enhanced by its
strange beauty of contour in perfect harmony with its setting of living colour.
There it lies, clasping together the sapphire sky and the emerald garden of Java.
The mahayanistic character of the Boro Budoor is well attested by the Dhyani
Buddhas among its statuary, despite the opinion of Siamese connoisseurs, and by
its further ornamental sculpture, of which more anon. Meant for a reliquary, it
may or may not be, in the absence of historical proof pro or contra, one of the
84,000 stupas consecrated to receive and hold a fractional portion of the Indian
Saviour’s remains after King Asoka had opened seven of the depositories of his
ashes in the eight towns among which his remains were originally divided, to
make the whole world share in their blessed possession. Who has not heard of
the transfer, in the ninth year of the reign of Sirimeghavanna, A.D. 310, of the
Dathadathu, the holy tooth, from Dantapura to Ceylon, where it became the
mascotte, so to speak, the pledge of undisturbed dominion to the rulers of the
island who should control its guardians. The sacrosanct yellow piece of dentin,
about the length of the little finger,[144] enclosed in nine concentric cases of gold,
inlaid with diamonds, rubies and pearls, is but rarely shown, far more rarely than
even the seamless coat at Treves, and then under conditions of excessive
adoration. But, notwithstanding all this pomp and circumstance, who that has
visited the Dalada Malagawa at Kandy and the Boro Budoor in Java, can fail to
prefer the latter, though sacrilegious robbers have carried off its relic, leaving the
desecrated shrine to decay.
The wordy war waged around the etymology of the name Boro Budoor, did not
solve the mystery of its origin; all derivations thus far suggested are mere guess-
work and unsatisfactory, whatever reasons be adduced for Roorda van Eysinga’s
explanation that it means an enclosed space, or Raffles’ surmise that it is a
corruption of Bara (the great) Buddha, or the late King of Siam’s that it refers to
the (spiritual) army of the Buddha, if not to the several Buddhas, as alleged by
others. One of the oldest existing monuments in the island, the foundation of the
chandi Boro Budoor has been attributed by native tradition to Raden Bandoong,
already known from the legends connected with the chandis Prambanan and
Sewu, who, as King of Pengging, assumed the name of Handayaningrat.
Professor Kern[145] puts the date of the substructure at about 850, allowing
several years for its completion—if ever it was fully completed, for this temple,
like the chandi Mendoot near by, the chandi Bimo on the Diëng plateau and so
many more, shows traces of the work having been suspended before the
decoration was quite finished. Sculpture just commenced or little further
advanced than the bare outlining, found on the walls, especially of the covered
base; divers blocks of stone half transformed into ornament and statuary, Dhyani
Buddhas and lions, very illustrative of the methods followed at different stages
of the carving, lying forsaken on the slope and summit of a neighbouring hillock,
disclose an interruption of the labour by some event of tremendous consequence.
[146] Rather than accept the theory that the ancient temples of Java were left

intentionally defective from religious motives, viz. to emphasise the sense of

human imperfection as an incentive to humility and prostration before the divine,
we may believe in the Merapi, that wicked old giant, having asserted himself in
one of his destructive moods, belching forth flames and ashes, shaking and
burying the handiwork of Hindu and Buddhist pygmies with strictest
impartiality. Standing on the first of the highest terraces on the south side, says
an article[147] in the Javapost of December 5, 1903, one observes a bulging out
of the lower terraces, best accounted for by a violent earthquake in a southerly
direction. When the galleries were cleared in 1814 and 1834, the volcanic
character of the detritus which filled them (ashes from the Merapi, wrote Roorda
van Eysinga in 1850) and also forms the substratum of the rubbish still
unremoved from the once enclosed grounds of the chandi Mendoot, furnished
strong evidence in support of an eruption of the nearest fire-mountain having
been the cause of the precipitate flight, perhaps the death in harness, of the
builders. Of the preservation of their work too, in so far as finished, for, to speak
again with the writer in the Javapost, the very fact of its having been embedded
has saved much of its artistic detail; and the reason why some of the sculptured
parts are damaged to a far greater extent than others adjoining, is probably that
they were exposed earlier and longer. Deterioration and demolition set in rapidly
when wind and weather began to ravage the wholly unprotected edifice, when
unscrupulous collectors wrought havoc unchecked.
The Boro Budoor was never hidden from view to the point of blotting out its
existence from memory. I shall have occasion to refer to native chronicles
mentioning it in the eighteenth century. To speak of its rediscovery by Cornelius
is therefore inaccurate though we owe to that clever Lieutenant of Engineers,
purposely sent to the Kadu by Raffles, in 1814, the first scientific survey and
description with elucidating drawings. Except for the publication, in 1873, of Dr.
C. Leemans’ book with an atlas containing illustrations after drawings by F. C.
Wilsen, and the mission of I. van Kinsbergen to obtain photographic
reproductions of the reliefs, the Dutch Government left the matchless temple
entirely to its fate until very recently. An official correspondence, kept trailing
indefinitely to invest ministerial promises regarding the antiquities of Java with a
semblance of sincerity, had the usual negative effect. Whenever a colonial
Excellency declared with unctuous pomposity that the most conscientious care
would be taken of the Boro Budoor, a monument of incalculable value
considered from the standpoint of science and art, most brilliant memento of the
island’s historic past, etc., etc., those versed in the phraseology of Plein and
Binnenhof at the Hague trembled in expectation of bad news of criminal
negligence, theft and mutilation to follow. The later history of the “brilliant
memento” agrees but too well with the ominous prognostics derived from such
dismal parliamentary fustian. A great poet sang of things of beauty scarce visible
from extreme loveliness: the readily movable things of beauty constituting the
loveliness of the Boro Budoor, became invisible sans phrase. We are told in
legendary lore of statues which flew through the air to take domicile at
enormous distances from their proper homes, or vanished altogether, dissolving
into space: the statues of the Boro Budoor developed that faculty in an
astonishing degree; if handicapped by great weight or solid attachment to the
main structure, bent on travelling à tout travers, they sent their heads alone to
seek recreation and instruction in the varying ways of the world, and their heads
did never return, either because they were amusing themselves too jollily away
from the austerities of the eight-fold path or because they found themselves
unavoidably detained in durance vile.
The remaining, mostly headless statues are sad to behold, and the fishy account
given of their defective condition, that, namely, the Buddhists, beleaguered in the
sanctuary by the Muhammadans, battling pro aris et focis, drove the enemies off
by bombarding them with the Lord of Victory’s noble features, hewn in stone,
smacks of a too ingenious evasion of the disgraceful facts.[148] The chronicles
are silent on such a desperate struggle in that locality between the conquering
hosts of Islām and the followers of him who pleaded peace, love and goodwill,
whose doctrine and example alike forbade strife and armed resistance. Not that
there has been no fighting round and even within the walls of the Boro Budoor
among the Javanese engaged in internecine warfare and during the insurrection
of Dipo Negoro,[149] but the story of the using up of the statuary in the shape of
missiles, has no leg to stand on. In the Java War (1825-1830) the Dutch troops
erected a temporary fort near the temple, but it is improbable that chandi
material entered into its construction, not because the warriors of the
Government would have scrupled to destroy any ancient monument, but because
the Boro Budoor stones are exceedingly heavy and earthen fortifications amply
sufficed against native bands without artillery. Though cavalry in particular
never enjoyed a high reputation in respect of their relations to art,[150] there does
not seem to be any more substance in the confession of a ci-devant commander
of a squadron of hussars, cited by Brumund, that his men used to try the temper
of their swords on the ears and noses of the silent host of Dhyani Buddhas when
the rebels of Sentot and Kiahi Maja were not available.
The true misfortune of the Boro Budoor was official indifference and
negligence; and far more injurious than the fretting tooth of time or even the
merciless hand of the spoiler combined with the provoking laissez aller yawned
in periodical circulars from the central administration, from Sleepy Hollow at
Batavia, was the dabbling in archaeology of ambitious persons who posed as
discoverers, the less their aptitude to digest their desultory reading, the more
arrogant their cock-sureness where famous scholars reserved their conclusions.
A little knowledge is a dangerous thing and might have proved disastrous to the
venerable temple in combination with one of their vaunted discoveries, which
established beyond doubt what not a few knew well enough and never had
doubted of, viz. that there was a gallery lower than its lowest uncovered terrace,
wisely filled up to increase the stability of the building, very probably soon after
or even before the erection of the upper storeys. The removal of the supporting
layers of stone impaired, of course, the general condition of the structure and the
good news of its being again in its former state, was received by many with a
sigh of relief. This happened in 1885 with great flourish of trumpets, and the
only benefit derived, certainly not of sufficient importance to balance the
inevitable weakening of the foundations attendant on such excavations, consisted
in the bringing to light of rude, scarcely decipherable inscriptions or rather
scratchings,[151] and the intelligence that of the photographed sculptures, in
which, so far, no representation of connected events has been recognised,
twenty-four are unfinished and thirteen damaged—six wholly smashed. In 1900
new shafts were sunk for new discoveries of the long and widely known, and
while this pernicious dilettantism was going on, pseudo-archaeologists vying
with professed iconoclasts who should do most harm to the Boro Budoor, the
Government confined itself to antiquarian pyrotechnics at the yearly debates on
the colonial budget in Parliament.
XXVIII. BASE OF THE BORO BUDOOR SHOWING THE (FILLED UP)
LOWEST GALLERY
(C. Nieuwenhuis.)
The Boro Budoor being undermined and gradually scattered to the four winds, it
was but natural that the natives, following the example set by the elect, even by
the elect of the elect acting in this or that official capacity, who used, for
instance, chandi stones for the flooring of the Government pasangrahan,—that
the inhabitants of the neighbouring kampongs should carry off what appeared
suitable for their own ends, and the least heavy jataka reliefs claimed their first
attention. So things went from bad to worse and the most disastrous year, a
veritable annus calamitatis for the Boro Budoor, arrived with 1896, when the
late King of Siam paid his second visit to Java. Much interested, as was to be
expected of a ruler of a Buddhist country, in the Buddhist monuments of the
island, so interested, in fact, that his Majesty tried to put the mahayanistic
temples of the Kadu to the credit of his own, the hinayanistic church, his
endeavours in this kind of mental annexation inspired authorities, eager to share
in the honours of Siamese Knighthood (White Elephant, Crown of Siam, etc.)
distributed with right royal generosity, to urge him to annexation in deed. If
foreign visitors of little account had been permitted to help themselves in a small
way to “souvenirs” for a consideration to keepers’ underlings left without
control, why should foreign visitors of distinction not be served wholesale? His
Majesty Chulalongkorn, to whom no blame attaches for gratifying his desire
where he found Dutch functionaries, high and low, more than willing to oblige,
was invited to make his choice and we must still thank him for his moderation,
which limited the quantity of sculpture selected to eight cart-loads: there is
scarcely a doubt that if he had requested them to pull part of the Boro Budoor
down in consideration of Knight Commander- or Grand Masterships in this or
that Order, the official conscience would have raised no objection. This came to
pass, of course, after a more than usually fine flow, at the Hague, of ministerial
rhetoric anent the priceless heritage Holland has to protect in the “brilliant
mementos of Java’s historic past,” and the lover of ancient Buddhist architecture
who wants to make a study of its acknowledged masterpiece, must now of
necessity travel on to the banks of the Meynam to get an idea of some of its most
characteristic imagery, not to speak of fragments of ornament and statuary
removed by tourists of commoner complexion and dispersed heaven knows
where.
XXIX. DETAIL OF THE BORO BUDOOR
(C. Nieuwenhuis.)
This instance of the ancient monuments of Java being officially despoiled to
please crowned heads and other visitors in exalted stations, pour le bon motif,
seemed so incredible that, when I censured it in the Dutch East Indian Press, the
Dutch Press, over-zealous in hiding colonial enormities, also pour le bon motif,
considered it an easy task to deny, waxing eloquently indignant at the
denunciation until in regular, normal sequence, always observable in the
perennial case of Dutch whitewashing versus colonial boldness of speech, the
correctness of the statement could no longer be assailed, new evidence
accumulating steadily, Mr. J. A. N. Patijn, for one, describing, in the Kroniek and
the Tijdschrift voor Nederlandsch Indië, a collection displayed near the Wat Pra
Keo at Bangkok and brought thither from Java in 1896.[152] The frolicking
monkeys doubtless, the people of the large cheek-bones, represented on some
reliefs thus transferred, prompted an enthusiastic, genuine archaeologist’s
imprecation on the heads of the guilty official and non-official toadies, inasmuch
as he wished them, if there be anything in the dogma of Karma, which provides
for our sins being visited on us in lives to come, that their least punishment
might be their transformation, when called to new birth, into apes abandoned to
ceaseless squabbles over their kanari-nuts (honours, dignities, preferment with
big salaries, fat pensions, etc.), clawing one another with their sharp nails, to find
at last that all the shells are empty. Desisting from a profitless discussion on the
possibilities of retribution in a future existence, it requires to be stated that the
official mind needed several years’ reflection in this before reaching the
conclusion that really, in the matter of the conservation of the Boro Budoor
something more was wanted than the periodical outbursts of gushing sentiment,
grossly disregarded in practice, which are le moyen de parvenir of Dutch
colonial politicians. The independents of the colonial Press, however, had at last
the satisfaction that Captain T. van Erp of the Engineers was detailed to take the
work of restoration in hand, building himself a house in the shadow of the
chandi confided to his care, anxious to direct the necessary labours on the spot.
Stationed there since August, 1907, his promotion to the rank of Major
fortunately did not result in the withdrawal of his services from the
archaeological field and, the climax of laxness with regard to the Boro Budoor
having been capped in the Siamese episode, brighter days may dawn for that
venerable edifice.
XXX. DETAIL OF THE BORO BUDOOR
(C. Nieuwenhuis.)
One of the rooms of the pasangrahan, reserved, under the old dispensation, for
the storing of detached pieces of sculpture, was called the sample-room because,
according to current report, orders were taken there for the delivery of such still
undetached ornament and statuary as might have struck the visitors’ fancy. Other
images lined the path from the pasangrahan to the temple, among them two
Dhyani Buddhas, a fine Akshobhya and a still finer Amitabha, and lions, the
poor remainder of those which once adorned the steps leading to the raised level
of the building, whence the name: Avenue of Lions. Seemingly commanded to
descend from the places where they kept guard as solitary sentinels, and to unite
for defence at the point of greatest danger, terrible havoc was wrought in their
ranks by the onslaught of souvenir-hunters, and one of their large-limbed,
beautifully chiselled chiefs, who himself watched the entrance with a vauntful
air as if proclaiming to foe and friend alike: Et s’il n’en reste qu’un, moi je serai
celui-là, had to suffer the ignominy of being captured and carried off to Siam—
which proves his Majesty Chulalongkorn’s good taste: it was the best specimen
of animal carving on that scale in Java. These are no cheerful reflections when
approaching the eminence skillfully converted into a stupa whose equal, both in
originality of design and cleverness of execution, can nowhere be found. Though
India furnished its prototype, the style here evolved baffles, on close
examination, all comparison. The only building it can be likened to is the Taj
Mahal at Agra, and only in this single respect while differing in all others, that,
conceived by a titanic intellect, the delicate decoration suggests the minute
precision of the jeweller’s craft. Opening and closing a distinct chapter in
architecture, this admirable production rises in terraces which form galleries
round the hill-top, enclosed by walls, spaced on the outside by 432 niches for
statues of the Buddha with prabha (aureole) and padmasana (lotus cushion), on
the inside with representations illustrating sacred and profane writings in bas-
relief; the galleries of the superstructure raised on the square ground-plan,
become circular and are bounded by 72 bell-shaped chaityas containing statues
of the Buddha without either prabha or padmasana, or any ornament whatever.
The profuse decoration of their surroundings never detracts from the powerfully
expressed central idea of praise to the Enlightened One, the one who has fulfilled
his end; the repetition of the motives manifesting the religious purpose, directs
rather than confuses the attention of the worshipper in their multiformity of
application. The spiritual father of the Boro Budoor must have been a man of
strong mental grasp, of honest masculine endeavour stimulated by a highly
sensitive temperament; his work, “a goodly heap for to behold,” growing in
dignity and beauty the closer it is observed, a realisation of the sublimest
aspirations of Buddhist Java, will perpetuate also, as long as it can endure, the
memory of his own superior mind.
XXXI. DETAIL OF THE BORO BUDOOR
(Centrum.)
The constructive ability of this gifted builder was no less wonderful than his
mastery of detail in aid of his main intent. A clever system of drainage attests to
the foresight of his workmanship; but the gutters remaining filled up and the
gargoyles (open-mouthed nagas) choked after the excavation of the galleries in
1814 and 1834, without any one thinking of clearing them too, the water had to
flow off as best it could in the torrential rains of successive west monsoons,
filtering through the fissures between the stones, passing down to the
foundations and adding, in oozing out, to the causes of decay by washing the
supporting layers of earth and gravel away. The staircases and passageways to
the different terraces and galleries are constructed with the accurate sense of
right proportion which distinguishes the natives of the island up to this day, and
their naga- and kala-makara ornament belongs to the most impressive part of the
graceful decoration. In our ascent from lower to higher planes of understanding,
increasing in perception of the mysteries of life and death, the Banaspati shows
the road, the Hindu-Javanese Gorgon’s head as Horsfield called it, appropriated
by Buddhist architecture, figurating the terrors of error it faces while budding
forth in the promise of further guidance for whoso shall leave the world’s
delusions, a loved wife, a young-born son, to seek the truth in pursuance of the
Buddha’s ordinance: no intimidation which threatens with the pains of hell all
who dare to disobey the dictates of priestly ambition, but an assurance of
beatitude gained by self-purification. The staircases of the superstructure
correspond with the four approaches leading up the hillock to the temple-yard; in
the course of the excavations, undertaken to facilitate the work of restoration,
one of them, very much out of repair, has been laid bare. The reconstruction of
the lower principal staircase, whose original position has now been determined,
will result, it is hoped, in the removal of the unsightly flight of uneven steps
masquerading as the main entrance at the corner opposite the pasangrahan; and,
perhaps, to provide one worthy of site and building, the Government will not
haggle over the modest sum required for the re-erection of the monumental gate
whose remains were discovered adjoining the balustrade of the spacious elevated
platform.
On entering the galleries, establishing contact with this symmetrical embodiment
of highly spiritualised thought in the strongly knit language of chiselled stone, to
mount to the state of the perfect disciple, spurred by the figured evolution of the
four degrees of Dhyana which lead to supreme happiness, the pilgrim must have
experienced, as we do, the sensation of physical well-being imparted by the
splendour of nature wrapping human longings in sunshine and the delicious
odour exhaled by mother earth. The luxurious emotion increases, despite
nirvanic chastening, and among the serene images of the higher terraces, who
can remain unmoved in contemplation of the ancient temple lifting its dagob to
the blue heaven, of its hoary walls touched by the golden light, quivering in
desire of sacred communion! Nor do we cease to marvel when turning from the
general idea of universal solidarity, enunciated in an irreproachable architectural
form, to the expository details of decoration. The ornament accommodates itself
with amazing facility to the characteristic tendencies of the ground-plan, never
perverting the central purpose, which dominates in a most felicitous combination
of the two principles separately developed for western ends in the classic and
gothic styles: the horizontal expansion to allow thinking space to the brain and
the mystic pointing upward to satisfy the cravings of the heart. Both found
application in the Boro Budoor, their unity of thought in diversity of expression
being consolidated by an inexhaustible wealth of imagery, elucidating
accessories, filled as it is “with sculptures rarest, of forms most beautiful and
strange.” Faithful in choice of subject and manner of representation to the
notions of its time, bodying forth things unknown to our age, the ornament
surprises by its fanciful invention and peculiar treatment, though always in the
best of taste. The heavy cornice which protects the lowest uncovered tier of
external, so far not yet satisfactorily explained reliefs, carries the niches for the
statues already mentioned. The shape of these niches and of the temples
delineated in the scenery of the carved tales and legends, here as at Prambanan,
Toompang, etc., afford us material assistance in determining after what model
chandis, long fallen into ruin, were built; they are especially helpful in
explaining the often puzzling arrangement of the superstructures, hardly one
being found, even among those best preserved, with the roof still intact. Leaving
archaeological problems alone, modern architects and decorators can further
derive a good deal of profit from a study of the gradation observed in the
downward radiation of both the architectural and decorative conceit centred in
the crowning dagob, or, rather, the upward convergence in a nobly devised
distribution of spaces connected and entwined by cunning ornament, the
luxuriant fantasy of the sculptor being unerringly controlled by the staid design
of the builder. A fervent imagination may revel in miles of bas-reliefs without
surfeit, the salutary restraint of a sober outline and a proportional disposition of
the component parts being such that the eye never gets tired or the faculty of
perception cloyed.
Fergusson, pointing to the identity of workmen and workmanship in the
sculpture and details of ornamentation at the Boro Budoor and at Ajunta (cave
26), Nassick (cave 17), the later caves at Salsette, Kondoty, Montpezir and other
places in that neighbourhood, computes that at the former the decoration extends
to nearly 5000 feet, almost an English mile, and, as there are sculptures on both
faces, we have nearly 10,000 lineal feet of reliefs. They numbered 2141 in all,
counting what is damaged and altogether lost, but omitting the decoration of the
ornamental niches: on the lowest wall 408 in the upper and 160 in the lower tier
outside, 568 inside; on the second wall, 240 outside and 192 inside; on the third
wall, 108 outside and 165 inside; on the fourth wall, 88 outside and 140 inside;
on the fifth wall, 72 inside. Regarding their noble qualities of style and
decorative value as a component of the general project, the opinion of a writer in
the Quarterly Review[153] may be quoted, who discusses the Boro Budoor’s
straight lines, its untroubled spaces of flat stone, its mouldings of classic
simplicity, its intricate and elaborate bands of ornament, held in place by the nice
choice of relief, being low and unaccented, in opposition to the deep cutting and
full modelling of the panels they surround; and in these panels, he continues, in
spite of the full roundness of the modelling and the wealth of ornamental detail,
the unity is maintained by a fine sense of rhythm and discreet massing and
spacing. The upper tier of carvings on the inner wall of the first gallery, haut-
reliefs in contradistinction to the rest, represents the life of the Buddha from his
birth until his death and is the best preserved. Many of the others have suffered
so badly that they baffle explanation; taken on the whole, they treat of traditional
occurrences in connection with the Buddha himself or his predecessors, of
gatherings under bo-trees, pilgrimages to reliquaries, alms-giving, exhortations
to observe the law, admonitions to virtue: abstinence, tolerance and charity.
Animal fables are interwoven with jataka-tales, i.e. narratives concerning the
Buddha before he appeared as the perfect man, tracing his path to holiness in his
adventures as a hare, a fish, a quail, a swan, a deer, the king of monkeys, an
elephant, a bull, a wood-pecker, a tortoise, the horse Balaha, every
metamorphosis serving to illustrate his zeal to sacrifice himself for his fellow-
creatures and, incidentally, stimulating the kindness we owe to our poor relations
without the power of speech. Professor Speyer’s translation of legends collected
in the Jatakamala (wreath of jatakas) enables us to recognise in a good many of
the reliefs of the Boro Budoor the successive stages of the Buddha on the road to
supreme excellence, the figuration of his progress being largely influenced by
ancient Hindu folk-lore.
XXXII. DETAIL OF THE BORO BUDOOR
(C. Nieuwenhuis.)
If Ruskin compared St. Mark’s at Venice so aptly with a vast illuminated missal,
bound with alabaster instead of parchment, studded with porphyry pillars instead
of jewels, and written within and without in letters of enamel and gold, in the
Boro Budoor, a sacred book of volcanic stone, the life of the Buddha, before and
after he became a son of man and man’s saviour, lies opened before us: the
flowery earth and the shining heaven are its binding; Surya, the sun himself,
gilds and enamels the letters, the images which, in their sculptured frame, not too
deeply cut and not too rich for a setting, but precisely adequate, tell to all
creatures the story of wisdom and elevation of spirit. The illustration of the
Lalita Vistara occupies, as already mentioned, the upper tier of the inner wall of
the first open gallery. Walking round in the proper direction, i.e. keeping the
dagob to the right while moving with the sun, we have first a few introductory
scenes, leading up to the Buddha’s advent and preparing us for the mystic
teachings of an imagery which expands simply and naturally between the
flowing lines of harmonious ornament and speaks to the heart as does the sound
of running water or the soughing of the wind in the tree-tops. Immediately after
his birth, rising from the white lotus-flower which has sprung from the earth at
the place touched by his feet, Siddhartha, in token of his power over the several
worlds, paces seven steps to each of the cardinal points and to the abode of sin,
announcing his mission: I shall conquer the Prince of Darkness and the army of
the Prince of Darkness; to save those plunged into hell, I shall cause rain to
descend from the huge cloud of the law and they will be filled with joy and
happiness. He grows and marries and leaves his father’s palace, moved by the
misery of the lowly and lost, to gather knowledge as Sakyamuni, until,
compassing all wisdom, he becomes impersonated truth and the great
renunciation takes place. The closing scene refers to his death, to the adoration
of the mortal remains of the immortal Tathagata, symbolising his course among
men not as a succession of past acts but as a constant one to be imitated by
whoso desires the reward. Increasing in excellence of design and execution the
nearer we approach the Holy of Holies, the touching tale of a life of sacrifice is
told with that straightforward simplicity of which only the consummate artist
possesses the secret. All appears so human and real, so inspiringly animated by
the extreme of vital motion, to use an oriental expression, the individuality of the
figures being always preserved in minutest personal detail without the least
affectation. Plastic triumphs, emphasising the lessons of the sacred books, bring
up unto us the people of jaman buda, heroes tall and strong as palm-trees,
virgins lithe and slender as bambu-stems, with drooping eyes, shrinking from a
too inquisitive gaze, with limbs modelled as if they would tremble under the
pressure of a caressing hand.
XXXIII. DETAIL OF THE BORO BUDOOR
(C. Nieuwenhuis.)
The statues, watching the ascent of the seeker of purification, second the impulse
received from the reliefs by their tranquil composure, that is in so far as they
remained at their stations, for their ranks are sadly thinned. Aspiring to the
holiness figured in the images of the higher terraces, to the priceless boon of the
Nirvana as final blessing, the Dhyani Buddhas, sunk in meditation, girding
themselves with virtue, longing for the ecstasies vouchsafed to the Adi-Buddha’s
meditation, reflect the five salient features of his understanding, as indicated by
their gestures. Divided into three or twice three groups, according to the position
of their hands, and in intimate relationship with their Bodhisatvas, Vajrochana,
Akshobhya and Ratnasambhava are supposed to have swayed, during thousands
of years, the three worlds which successively disappeared, as Amitabha, whose
Bodhisatva is Padmapani, sways since twenty-four centuries the present world,
in closest spiritual union with the historical Buddha, to be succeeded by
Amoghasiddha, whose Bodhisatva is Vishvapani, the ultimate Buddha, the
Buddha of universal love. Facing the four cardinal points and the zenith, they sit
with crossed legs,[154] clothed in a thin robe which leaves the right shoulder and
arm bare, and have the distinctive protuberance of the skull, generally also the
oorna, the symbol of light, be it then produced by the sun or by lightning. A
sixth Buddha, represented by the statues of the fifth and highest wall, is
supposed to refer to a power which dominates the other five, swaying in last
resort the destinies of all worlds without exception; but this theory still needs
confirmation. The statues of the circular terraces stood, or rather sat, in bell-
shaped chaityas, four to five feet high, capped with tapering key-stones which
carry conical pinnacles—no lingas, though this oft recurring motive of Hindu
decoration may have suggested the idea. These chaityas, 72 in number[155] and
for the greater part in ruin, shattered shells of sanctity, were closed all round and
the images inside, without aureoles, like the Buddhas lower down, only visible
through openings in the form of lozenges. Their peculiar contour has led to the
conjecture that they were constructed after the holy padma or lotus-flower, a
hypothesis to which their padmasana-like bases and the numerous peepholes,
which might figurate empty seed-lobes, lend some colour. Of the 72 Buddhas
they protected, eighteen are wholly lost and no more than ten escaped grievous
hurt.
XXXIV. A DHYANI BUDDHA OF THE BORO BUDOOR
(Cephas Sr.)
Winding our way upward, passing through the galleries whose profound silence,
imbued with the intensely religious spirit radiating from their sculptured walls,
becomes more and more eloquent; circling the terraces where the attitude of
ecstatic elation of the world’s pre-eminently venerable ones in their chaityas
exalts the mind in tremulous expectation, we arrive at the dagob, the shrine of
shrines, the temple’s coronet, glittering in the bright glow of day. This is the
reliquary proper, the centre into which the holiness of the hallowed building
converges. It rises, similar to the smaller cupolas, but perpendicular to a height
of several feet, from a substructure in the guise of a lotus cushion; it was also
closed round about, without any aperture so far as can be concluded from its
present state, for a portion of it has tumbled down and the base of the crowning
pinnacle, reached by ill-matched, rickety steps, a recent, outrageously discordant
addition, serves for a bench, the whole, about 25 feet above the topmost terrace,
having been transformed into a crude belvedere, enabling visitors to enjoy the
magnificent view. The interior space seems originally to have been divided into
an upper and a lower chamber; there is nothing deserving mention in the matter
of decoration save an inscription to remind posterity of the late King of Siam’s
visit in the disastrous year 1896—a delicious memorial, at the same time, of
official vandalism and servility. The golden letters affect one unpleasantly in the
spoliated sanctum, whose ruinous condition dates from a previous call, some
sixty or seventy years ago, permitted if not encouraged by previous authorities,
when looting pseudo-archaeologists broke into it and carried off the relic, which
consisted, assuming the credibility of local reports regarding their
disappointment, in a small quantity of ashy substance, enclosed in a metal urn
with lid; furthermore in a small image of metal and a few coins. The large statue
they unearthed too, would have impeded the movements of the marauders on
their return voyage and so it remained in place, half hidden in the hole they had
dug, undisturbed, for the same reason, by subsequent collectors. Left unfinished
by its sculptor, designedly or not,[156] resembling in the position of its hands the
Dhyani Buddhas which face the East, does it personify the Adi-Buddha, a purely
abstract entity, a metaphysical conception hitherto defying even symbolic
utterance? The learned and especially the quasi-learned never lacked weighty
arguments pro or contra, and, without prejudice to all they proved and disproved,
[157] it does not appear improbable that the lively imagination of the Javanese
artist aimed at a tangible expression of him who ran his course as the spirit and
source of the Buddhist conception of happiness, resuscitated from his ashes,
dominating East and West, North and South, the blissful abode of those
progressing in self-negation and the infernal regions of prolonged earthly
existence, by the strength of the divine rays proceeding from the oorna,
illumining the path trodden by the virtuous toward annihilation, terrifying the
children of darkness, dwellers in passion and sin, pervading all creation with his
saintliness, the one of the Paranirvana whose essence flowers in the beauty of the
Boro Budoor. And the Moslim native worships him as the god of his ancestors,
caught in stone; smears him with boreh and performs acts of sacrifice before him
in spite of the Book fulminating against idolaters and of the almost
contemptuous familiarity intimated by the otherwise very appropriate nickname
bestowed on this heterodox deity, namely recho belèq, which means “statue in
the mud”.
 XXXV. RELIEFS OF THE BORO BUDOOR
(C. Nieuwenhuis.)
The work of restoration, started with excavations and the removal of heaps of
accumulated debris, has led to important discoveries, also in relation to the
dagob. Among shattered naga-gargoyles, antefixes, carved detail of every
description, fragments have been found of a triple payoong, an ornament in the
form of a sunshade which capped it; of a statuette supposed to have adorned its
second storey, the upper compartment of the cella. To quote from Major van
Erp’s last published report,[158] the excavations shed new light on the design of
some minor parts of the building, the decoration, e.g., of the lowest three
staircases on each of the four sides; notwithstanding the existing drawings, the
kala-makara motive seems to have entered into the ornament of the entrance
gate in the principal outer wall; the design of the balustrade which enclosed the
platform of the temple and disappeared altogether, has been determined and a
portion of it will be rebuilt to show how things must have looked; slabs
belonging to the different series of bas-reliefs, mostly of the jataka variety, have
been unearthed or detected in neighbouring kampongs. Especial care is taken to
retrieve those missing from the upper tier in the first gallery: if the recovered
reliefs are not always complete, the recognisable principal figure explains
generally the idea which the sculptor intended to convey, with sufficient
clearness to be grasped by the trained archaeologist. And as to the rest of the
detached pieces of architectural value, dug up or otherwise revealed to the
searching eye, the symmetric unity of the Boro Budoor is such that place and
position of each component part, however subordinate in the mighty fabric, are
easily ascertained. Every new find discloses new excellence, so far undreamt of,
in the constructive ability of the master-builder whose illuminated brain
conceived the idea of this temple wherein he wrote the history of a religion,

Whose goodly workmanship far past all other,

That ever were on earth, all were they set together.

XXXVI. ASCENDING THE BORO BUDOOR

(Cephas Sr.)
His name is unknown, though native fancy, descrying his likeness in the profile
of the Minoreh mountains, a fine conceit worthy of his genius, has baptised him
Kiahi Guna Darma. Another tradition calls him Kiahi Oondagi and makes him
chisel the statue which, up to the time of the late King of Siam’s visit in 1896,
stood near the pasangrahan, facing a damaged Amitabha and seemingly
heartening the diminishing ranks of the lions mounting guard. It had been
brought thither from a place known as Topog, about a mile distant, and was
certainly a portrait-statue, beautifully cut and with its extraordinarily clever
features a rare work of art. The story goes that, like Busketus, the architect (with
Rainaldus) of the Duomo at Pisa, his dearest wish was to have his remains
carried to rest under the stones of the edifice he had raised to the honour of the
unseen; that, baffled in his hopes and reincarnated after his death because of
some venial offence which made him fail in attaining the Nirvana too, he
fashioned this effigy to be set up at the entrance of his magnum opus,
anticipating an idea of the equally nameless artist who put the Byzantine stamp
on San Marco in Venice. It is an additional proof of the late King
Chulalongkorn’s discrimination in favour of the very best that, making the
permitted choice, his Majesty included Kiahi Oondagi, but O! the official
cringing and the little piety shown to the memory of the illustrious labourer who
wrought this wonderful monument.
XXXVII. REACHING THE CIRCULAR TERRACES OF THE BORO
BUDOOR
(Cephas Sr.)
On the hillock of Topog, the deva agoong’s primitive home, two wash-basins in
the form of yonis, one of them of colossal dimensions and resting on a crouched
figure, testify to the worship of Siva’s sakti, the female principle of life
personified in the Mahadeva’s Devi. Hindu motives in the ornament of the Boro
Budoor avouch syncretism having influenced the highest expression of
Buddhism itself: there is a four-armed image with padmasana and prabha,
which, carrying a Buddha in its makuta, may hint at Vishnu’s ninth avatar; there
is a four-armed figure seated on a throne supported by Siva’s vahana, the bull;
there is a goddess crowned with five trishulas; etc. All this illustrates again
native tolerance in matters of religion as in other respects, a result of the ancient
habit of the Javanese in particular, to meet widely different races and
civilisations half-way, which has preserved them from the narrow-mindedness
consequent on isolation, as observed by a scholar who knows them well and
whose study of special subjects has in nowise impaired his breadth of vision.[159]
The modification of this easy-going temperament in contact with western greed,
offers abundant food for thought when we return to the cool cave of refuge from
passion where the recho belèq symbolises deep contemplation and meditation
terminating in absorption of self by participation of the Spirit of the Universe,
under the gaudy memorial tablet, Koning van Siam: 1896, which, in its glaring
incongruity, symbolises the inverted process.[160] The feeling of annoyance it
produces, soon passes when the mind begins to expand with admiration of the
scene of calm splendour beheld from the dagob containing the pollen of the lotus
of the law. The hues and harmonies of evening dispose to a quietude nowhere
else experienced or enjoyed in that measure. The only sound heard is a faint
humming of insects circling the pinnacles of the chaityas which divide the
panorama of the plain below into views of separate interest and beauty, bounded
by the graceful outline of the terraces and the distant hills. Ricefields and
palmgroves stretch as far as the eye can reach, with villages between, sheltered
by their orchards, earth’s tapestry, embroidered in all gradations of green from
that of the sprouting bibit padi of the young plantations to that of the thick
foliage of centenarian kanaris. The shadow of the temple, kissing the drowsy
eyelids of the Kadu, lengthens towards the Merapi over whose crater, gilt by the
setting sun, hangs a cloud of dark smoke which drifts slowly in the direction of
the Merbabu, while the Soombing, to the northeast, looks tranquilly on. The
darkness, ushered by the smoke of the ill-tempered old fire-mountain, mingling
with the pink and purple of the western sky, spreads over the land, envelops
forests and gardens in gray, hushing all that breathes to sleep. One parting smile
of the sun’s gladness and night descends in her sable robes. Nothing stirs; the
toils of day are forgotten in wholesome repose; it is the hour of Amitabha, ruler
of the region of sunset and spiritual father of the present world’s ruler, the one
whose hands rest in his lap after the completion of a laborious task. Morning will
come and in time the creation of a new world, the world of loving-kindness,
Vishvapani’s, the Metteya Buddha’s own—in time, long time! A gardu[161]
strikes seven; another answers immediately with eight strokes on the beloq;[161]
far away no more than six respond,—what is time to the native! Silence reigns
again, silence emphasised by the high-pitched notes of a suling,[162] quavering
indistinctly as the evening breeze speeds the lover’s complaint or refuses its aid.
A noise of revelry in the pasangrahan distracts the attention from this tuneful
courtship; the visionary beings that were taking life from the germ of thought
hidden in its shrine, petrify into mute statues or vanish altogether: the spell of the
Boro Budoor is broken.
Decoration
 Decoration
CHAPTER X
THE SOUL OF THE BORO BUDOOR

Ciò ch’io vedeva, mi sembrava un riso

Dell’universo; ...[163]

DANTE ALIGHIERI’S Commedia (Paradiso, Canto 27).

It has already been remarked that the natives knew of the existence of the chandi
Boro Budoor long before Cornelius’ discoveries or, rather, that they never lost
sight of it, and the place it occupies in the Javanese chronicles appears from the
Babad Tanah Jawa.[164] In the early years of the eighteenth century Ki Mas
Dana, son-in-law of Ki Gedeh Pasukilan, incited the people of Mataram to a
rebellion, which broke out in the dessa Enta Enta, a centre of sedition it seems,
since only a short time before a certain Raden Suryakusumo, son of Pangeran
Puger, had chosen the same village for his headquarters when rising against
Mangku Rat II., who captured him and put him in an iron cage without, however,
killing him, because the omens were unfavourable.[165] Ki Mas Dana had many
followers and appointed bupatis and mantris. Ki Yagawinata, bupati of
Mataram, marched against him but was defeated and fled to Kartasura,
acquainting his Majesty with what had happened. Thereupon Pangeran
Pringgalaya was sent to suppress Ki Mas Dana’s revolt, with instructions to
capture him alive because his Majesty had made a vow that he would exhibit
him publicly as an example to the inhabitants of Kartasura and let him be
rampokked[166] with needles. Pangeran Pringgalaya departed and with him half
of the bupatis of Kartasura. When he arrived at Enta Enta the battle began. Many
rebels were killed. Ki Mas Dana fled to the mountain Boro Budoor. He was
surrounded by the troops of Pangeran Pringgalaya and made a prisoner. Then
they brought him to his Majesty at Kartasura, who ordered all the inhabitants of
the town to assemble in the aloon aloon, each of them with a needle. It lasted
three days before all the inhabitants of Kartasura had had their turn. When he
was dead, his head was cut off and exhibited on a pole. After the execution of Ki
Mas Dana, the news was received that his father-in-law Ki Gedeh Pasukilan had
also revolted. His Majesty ordered the repression of that revolt too. Ki Gedeh
Pasukilan was defeated and killed.
Dr. Brandes, observing that the chandi Boro Budoor must have been meant
because there is no other place known of the same name and its strategical value,
given ancient modes of warfare, is obvious, puts the date of its investment by
Pangeran Pringgalaya to seize Ki Mas Dana, at 1709 or 1710. A native reference
to the Boro Budoor of half a century later, is found in a Javanese manuscript,
used by Professor C. Poensen for a paper on Mangku Bumi, first Sooltan of
Jogjakarta.[167] The conduct of the Pangeran Adipati, son of that Sooltan, grieved
his father very much. Besides his ignorance in literary matters, he was proud and
arrogant; he disdained his father’s advice and associated with the women of the
toll-gate, which caused all sorts of annoyance. He went also to the Boro Budoor
to see the thousand statues, notwithstanding an old prediction that misfortune
would befall the prince who beheld those images, for one of them represented a
satrya (a noble knight) imprisoned in a cage; but it was the Prince’s fate that he
wished to see the statue of the satrya. Having gratified his desire, he remained in
the Kadu, where he led a most dissolute life. This gave great sorrow to his father,
the Sooltan, because the scandal reached such dimensions that the (Dutch)
Governor at Samarang heard of it and reprimanded him. Ashamed and angry, he
sent a few bupatis with armed men to order the Pangeran Adipati to return to
Ngajogja (Jogjakarta); if he refused, they had to use violence and were even
authorised to kill him. The Pangeran Adipati obeyed and was kindly received by
his father, but soon after he fell ill, spat blood and died. A letter of the Governor-
General J. Mossel, dated December 30, 1758,[168] contains the passage: “His
Highness’ eldest son, the pangerang Adipatty Hamancoenagara, having departed
this life, ...” and the profligate Crown Prince’s visit to the Boro Budoor may
therefore be put at a few years less than fifty after Ki Mas Dana’s rebellion.
It is clear, says Dr. Brandes, that at the time referred to in this second record, the
Boro Budoor was something more to the natives than simply a hill; they knew of
the building with the thousand statues—a round number like that of the chandi
Sewu, the “thousand temples”—and they knew of the images in the bell-shaped
chaityas on the circular terraces. And though any one of those 72 statues or even
the principal statue in the central dagob may have been meant, in which last
case, however, another expression than kuroongan (cage) would appear more
appropriate, we think involuntarily of the Sang Bimo or Kaki Bimo so-called, a
statue of the Buddha promoted or degraded by popular superstition to the rank of
a Pandawa, Arjuno’s chivalrous brother, seated in the chaitya of the lowest
circular terrace, next to and south of the eastern staircase, still venerated by the
natives, by the Chinese community and by more women and men of European
extraction than are willing to confess it. Bimo or Wergodoro, to use the name
given to him in the wayang lakons when they extol his youthful exploits, is the
archetype of the satrya, the pattern of ancestral knighthood. Most probably it
was Sang Bimo who, conformably to the ilaila or ancient prediction, executed
the decree of fate on Pangeran Adipati Hamangkunagara. Disregarding the
example set by the invisible power which resides in the Boro Budoor, a later
Crown Prince of Jogjakarta visited that temple in 1900 without, so far, coming to
grief. Has then the ilaila under special consideration lost its efficacy? We must
presume so, notwithstanding that the occult forces identified with Sang Bimo
and other statues of the ancient fane, are affirmed still to work miracles in plenty
when propitiated by adequate sacrifice.
XXXVIII. ASCENDING TO THE DAGOB OF THE BORO BUDOOR
(Cephas Sr.)
The greatest miracle of all is the elation of man’s thought by the irresistible
charm which goes out from it. A night with the Boro Budoor is a night of
purification, when Amitabha offers the lotus of the good law and the gift is
accepted; when the wonderful edifice, rising to the star-spangled sky, unfolds
terrace after terrace and gallery after gallery between the domed and pinnacled
walls, as his flower of ecstatic meditation spreads its petals, opens its heart of
beauty to the fructifying touch of heaven; when tranquil love descends in waves
of contentment, unspeakable satisfaction. The dagob loses its sharp, bold outline
and melts into boundless space, a vision of fading existence in consummation of
wisdom. A mysterious voice, proceeding from the shrine, urges to search out the
secret it hides. The summons cannot be resisted and going up, trusting to the
murky night, mounting the steps to the first gate as in a somnambulistic trance,
the seeker of enlightenment discerns the path, guided by his quickened
perception when the voice dies of its own sweetness, the fragrant stillness
appeasing the mind and extending promise of pity for passion and fleshly desire,
the garment of sin left behind. Surely, it was the supreme wisdom, forgiving all
things because it understands, which inspired a human intellect to devise,
directed human hands to achieve in the delineation of mercy such powerful
architectural unity, sustained by such sublimely beauteous ornament. Aided from
above, the spirituality of the builder, creating this masterpiece, needed not the
laborious tricks passed off on us in our days of feverish effect-hascherei by
artists who dispense with the rudiments of their art to strive after the sensational.
Neither was his originality of the cheap kind which tries to cloak crass technical
ignorance and hopeless general ineptitude with paltry though pretentious
artifices, displaying a deplorable lack of the conceptive faculty into the bargain.
Proclaiming the doctrine glorious in veracity of thought and utterance, the Boro
Budoor typifies honest endeavour and sincerity of purpose.
Entering the first of the porches through which from four sides the successive
galleries and terraces are reached, we come under the spell of the rapture
symbolised by those vaulted staircases, leading upward from reason to faith,
constructed, it seems, to match the “evident portals” of the perfect state:
composure, kindness, modesty, self-knowledge. The Banaspati, terrifier of the
evil spirits, shelters him who proceeds on the path they indicate in clemency and
charity. As we pass on, confiding in his protection, the sculptured walls gleam
softly, impregnated by the sun’s light embedded in the stones, and the germ of
truth, treasured in the dagob, radiates down in luminous substantiation of the
word, making the invisible visible by degrees. The air hangs heavy and warm in
the galleries and throbs with the emotion excited by the lustrous reliefs which
picture the life of the Buddha. A flush of indescribable splendour, clear
exhalation of his virtue and holiness, lifts veil after veil from the bliss this
initiation portends. The transparent atmosphere lends new significance to the
gestures of the Dhyani Buddhas, seated on their lotus cushions as stars half
quenched in golden mist, while we feel more than see the serene calmness of
their features still wrapped in obscurity. Their contemplation is the beginning of
the highest; their ecstasy pierces eternity, opens the regions of infinite
intelligence, complete self-effacement, absolute nothingness. Too much
absorbed in abstract cogitation to occupy themselves with matters of mundane
interest, they leave the government of the created worlds to their spiritual sons,
and Padmapani is the Mahasatva on whom our age depends. Out-topping human
knowledge, they teach the meaning of the universe: the Buddha of the East
dreaming his dreams as the sun rises, the Buddha of the South blessing the day,
the Buddha of the West unfolding the secret of the all-spirit as the sun sets, the
Buddha of the North pointing the way from darkness to light, the Buddha of the
Zenith lifting his hands to turn the wheel of the law. The statues smile beatitude
in happiness at losing the consciousness of existence when they will be worthy
of the Nirvana, the solution of life in non-being, death which disclaims
resurrection in any form. And the highest attainable blessing, the Paranirvana,
the Nirvana Absolute, is signified in the image of the central dagob: however
interpreted as solitary indweller of the shrine of shrines built over the remains of
the flesh which embodied the word, the Tathagata, the self-subsisting, preceded
and to be succeeded in fullness of time, it figures the immanence in bodily
imperfection of the energy for good which sanctified Ayushmat Gautama, who
modified his carnality by dominating his senses; who, when questioned by his
first disciples, could declare that he was the expected teacher of lucid perception
and replete comprehension, the discerning monitor, the destroyer of error, the
spotless counsellor impelled to release them from the bonds of sin and make
them deserve the manifest favour of annihilation.
The rudely interrupted sleep of the recho bèlèt formulated, intentionally or not, a
confession of faith in the reward of righteousness by complete dissolution,
cessation of continuance, eternal rest undisturbed by gods or men, by feeling or
thought. The pilgrim to the Boro Budoor, longing for the arahatship,
accomplished in the science of conducting himself, must have hesitated before
ascending to the highest terrace and seeking direct communion with the pure
spirit of the son of virtue, born of a woman truly, but whose mother died seven
days after his birth, in token of his eminence; the venerable one whose moral
strength stands paramount, overcometh even the innate fear of extinction. The
essence of the Triratna lies here within the grasp of the earnest inquirer, the
precious pearl whose lustre divulges the principle of causation, the beginning
and the end of all things, the primary source of what is and shall be. How to
obtain it? By offerings to the symbolic stone? Not so, but by good works and
self-examination which excels prayer and makes any place a Bodhimanda, a seat
of intelligence. The Buddha was a man, no god surpassing the limits of
humanity, who has to be propitiated by adoration. Whoso wishes the Rescuer’s
saving grace, should remember the story of Upagoopta and the courtesan
Vasavadatta, and ask: Has my hour arrived?[169] Penance for errors committed,
not by fasting and self-torture, but by persevering in the eight-fold path of right
views, right aspirations, right speech, right behaviour, right search of sustenance,
right effort, right mindfulness of our fellow-creatures, right exultation, should
ward off the dire punishment of remorse which in well-balanced spirits cannot
dwell. Self-restraint, uprightness, control of the organs of sense, makes the fell
fire of the three deadly sins—sensuality, ill-will and moral sluggishness—die out
in the heart by a proper arrangement of the precious vestments, the six cardinal
virtues: charity, cleanness, patience, courage, contemplative sympathy with all
creation and discrimination of good and evil. This leads to perfection,
advancement to the highest of the four sublime conditions, the Brahma Viharas
on which Buddhism improved by making equanimity with regard to one’s own
joys and sorrows the test of progress on the road which leads to bliss in
extermination of pain. Loosen the shackles of worldly existence by constant
application to escape from the fatal thraldom imposed by birth and rebirth! Life
is continued misery; no salvation from the distress caused by passion and sin is
possible except by cessation of self, by merging individual in universal vacancy,
mounting the four steps of the Dhyana in contemplative evolution of the
Nirvana, refining perception and speculation to total impassibility, extinguishing
reason itself in eternal voidness, where we have nothing to fear and nothing to
hope for, taking refuge in non-existence, the only conceivable verity.
XXXIX. THE DAGOB OF THE BORO BUDOOR BEFORE ITS
RESTORATION
(C. Nieuwenhuis.)
Heart and head rebel against such a religion, which considers conscious life the
great enemy to be destroyed, seeks life’s meed in dissolution of energy, man’s
best part flickering out as the flame of a spent candle. With the gladdening odour
of the garden of Java in our nostrils, rational instinct struggles free from the
torment of imposed passivity and we rather take a more militant stand
concordant with the Buddha’s dying words: Work out your salvation with
diligence. How is it to be done? Shall we turn for guidance to the creed of the
men of power and pelf, who seem to think that their best recommendation to
divine favour is the defacement, in their western theological mill, of the gospel
they received from the East; whose mouths are filled with promises while their
hands sow calamity; whose moral superiority is but a delusion; who mar
impiously what they pretend to improve; who boast of investing their moral
surplus in political efficiency, as King Siladitiya did, for the benefit of their
wards, but whose greedy immorality spoils even the reckoning of their own
selfishness! Not so: their deeds giving the lie to their words, their iniquities
increasing, their trespasses growing up into the heavens, who can wonder that
the glory of the deity they profess to worship, suffers in the estimation of the
native? And yet, how might Christianity thrive in a soil prepared by the doctrine
of elimination of self, by adherence to the three duties Buddhism laid down as
far more important than Brahmanic sacrifice: continence, kindness, reverence for
the life of all creatures. Insisting on man’s obligations to his fellow-men, the
Buddha anticipated by six centuries the precept: Thou shalt love thy neighbour
as thyself. If he did not match it with the first and greater commandment of the
Christian dispensation, his atheism, to quote Hunter, was a philosophical tenet
which, so far from weakening the sanctions of right and wrong, gave them new
strength from the doctrine of Karma or the metempsychosis of character.
Teaching that sin, sorrow and deliverance, the state of a man in this life, in all
previous and all future lives, is the inevitable result of his own acts, the Buddha
applied the inexorable law of cause and effect to the soul: What we sow, we
must reap. “All spirits are enslaved which serve things evil,” as redemption
flowers from straight vision, straight thought, straight exertion in truthful
endeavour. The lesson might be profitably taken to heart in furtherance of a
nation’s Karma by statesmen who have no explanation for the unsatisfactory
condition of dependencies oversea but evasive oratory backed by a dexterous
shuffling of cooked colonial reports and doctored colonial statistics when the
sinister farce of the colonial budget is on the boards. And each of us, however
limited his sphere, finds his own opportunities for individual transition to a
higher state: like Gautama we meet every day the poor and needy, the old and
decrepit in want of assistance, the prostrate sufferer in agony of death.
And, like Gautama, each one who strives for enfranchisement, must have his
struggle with Mara, the Prince of Darkness. After the first watch on the Boro
Budoor, night thickens and covers the earth as a pall; the wan stars glimmer
weakly, shining on the misery of deficient fulfilment of intention. Reflecting on
our errors of commission and omission, seeing our deeds laid bare and their why
and wherefore, dejection masters hope, though steadfast determination might
take an example at the Buddha wrestling with the Enemy, who offered him the
kingdom of the four worlds; though we know that the giving or withholding of
the fifth, the world of glory, is beyond the Enemy’s power. We see the contest re-
enacted before us and tremble. Appearing bodily, horrible to behold, Mara, the
god of carnal love, passion and sin, Papiyan, the very vicious, besets the
incarnate word, surrounded by his demons of ever changing gruesome aspect,
barking dogs with enormous fangs and lolling tongues; roaring tigers with sharp,
murderous claws and bloodshot eyes; hissing serpents, darting forward to strike
and crush their prey. While we fancy the contest raging hottest round valiant
patience, personified in the image of the dagob, the maimed statues of the
chaityas and lower niches join in the dire battle as the headless spirits that rode
upon the tempest when Evil assailed the elect’s purity. Papiyan cannot prevail
and seeing the futility of violence, he has recourse to his daughters, the winsome
apsaras, who dance and provoke to lascivious commerce by their seductive arts.
But they make no more impression than their brutish brothers and, in spite of
themselves, they are compelled to praise the fortitude of a virtue which will not
succumb even when one of them assumes the shape of a beloved youthful
spouse. The baffled apsaras dissolve in floating vapour, and Papiyan, in despair,
traces flaming characters on the dome of the dagob with his last arrow: My
empire is ended. The stars resume their brightness and a sense of coming light
pervades the gloom of despondency. It is borne toward us in the flower tendered
by Chandra, the deity of the chaste radiance proceeding from the conqueror’s
crest. Lo, his crown is transferred to the sky and, climbing slowly, the cusped
moon invests the moulders of past and future worlds with halos of liquid silver.
This is the time, the stilly hour before dawn, the last watch before morning, the
chosen moment of the Buddha’s attainment to the summit of the triple science,
wherein the supernatural beauty of the Boro Budoor, cleansed and reconsecrated
after the white man’s profanation, by the burning fire of day and the mellow
touch of night, helps us to penetrate the meaning of his promise. He who holds
fast to the law and discipline and faints not, he shall cross the ocean of life and
make an end of sorrow. The blitheness of spirit which consists, because of that
whereby the sun riseth and setteth, and the moon waxeth and waneth, in
discarding the ignorance engendered by conceding to this world a reality it does
not possess, regarding as constant that which changes with every wind that
blows,—the exaltation born from silent contemplation, loses its vagueness in the
manifestation of the godhead in ourselves. For contemplation becomes seeded
and blooms in the triad of meditation, the recognition of the entities of time and
space, and connecting thought as the unity of universal relationship. The Dhyani
Buddhas, wrapped in the shadows from which dawn will deliver them, seek to
comprehend, and our mentality expanding with theirs, looking down upon the
gray waves of mist that break on the old temple as on a rock of ages in a stormy
sea, we feel the dagob rise to meet the moonbeams and soar to unutterable
delight. Presently the first smile of day salutes and awakens mother earth; a
murmur of contentment thrills the air in harmony of praise: the dimming,
quivering stars, the crimson mountain-tops, the purple and azure perspective
between, all creation combines in a song of thanksgiving. The mystic planetary
music, the singing together of earth and heaven in melody of colour and sound,
welcomes the bright morning. Dawn, with blushing face and heart of gold,
bewrays the glory of her eternal abode to the world of man, sending her outriders
before, the Asvins, the lords of lustre, whose shining armour, forged of the sun’s
rays, illumines the pearly sky with dazzling splendour. They roll the billowy
vapours together and chase them up the hill-side “like wool of divers changing
colours carded,” that the eye of the life-giver may rest on the plain where the
palm-groves rise in the hazy dew as emerald islands in an opalescent lake. The
Merbabu and the Soombing are still half in darkness when the Merapi, flecked
with orange and violet, blazes in reflection of aërial effulgence, soon to
commingle the smoke of its fiery crater with the clouds mounting its slopes. The
fire-mountains keep a good watch on the garden of Java, than which Jatawana,
the famous pleasance where the Buddha enounced the substance of his teachings
preserved in the Sutras, cannot have been more delicious; and the Merapi in
particular makes the land pass under the rod when sacred covenants are broken.
XL. THE DAGOB OF THE BORO BUDOOR AFTER ITS RESTORATION
(Archaeological Service.)
The heart too is illuminated as thoughts take their hues from the skies,
knowledge clearing up the anarchy of conflicting creeds which exercised and
exercise their sway over Java. Brahmanic terrorism and Buddhist despondency,
Moslim fanaticism and Christian dissensions vanish before her unsophisticated
children’s delight in life for its own sake, as the morning dew before the warmth
of the sun. Twining memories of the jaman buda with current happenings, they
take their spiritual nourishment directly from nature and the symbolic form of
their natural religion from everywhere. Without troubling about erudite
dissertations regarding the legend of the Buddha as the development of an
ancient solar myth, or Buddhism as a development of the Sankhya system of
Kapila; without going into abstruse speculations anent the evolution of the
universe from primordial matter, they are in constant intercourse with the
surrounding worlds, seen and unseen. The virile Surya, impregnating air and
earth, unfailing source of plenty, enters deep into their metaphysics as the cosmic
pivot of faith. When high-born dawn rouses the tillers of the soil to go forth to
their work and the eye of day showers benediction, the solar word, spoken from
the eternal throne and descending on wings of happiness, the living word, is
found emblazoned on the sea of light which floods the Kadu just as the
fertilising water of the mountain-rills floods the sawahs;[170] is found embodied
in that superb temple, the Boro Budoor, whose soul, the soul of humanity in
communion with the all-soul, is the soul of Java. Adorned with that priceless
jewel of sanctity, the plain lifts its sensuous loveliness to heaven as the bride
meets the caresses of her wedded spouse, trembling with love. They obey the
divine law which bids them follow nature in drinking the amrita, gaining
immortality like the gods in creation of life, which may change, yet never dies,
aging but reviving, the mystery of the Trimoorti. Clothed with the resplendent
atmosphere, touched by the beams of the rising sun, its effulgent dagob a
mountain of gold, the Boro Budoor bursts out in the bloom of excellence, not the
sepulchre of a discarded religion, of a fallen nation’s dreams, but a token of the
germinal truth of all religion, a prophetic expression of things to be. The tide of
destiny runs not always in the same channel and there is promise in the joy of
day, promise of a slaking of the thirst for freedom, an abatement of the fever
engendered by doubt of enfranchisement always deferred. If hope endures in the
battle with darkness, patient fortitude will lead to victory. It baulked the power of
Mara and blunted the weapons of the demons who assailed the Buddha and
turned aside the missiles which did not harm him but changed into flowers
before his feet, into garlands suspended over his head. When knowledge shall
cover the world at the advent of Vishvapani, deceit and avarice will cease
tormenting and glad content will dwell in the negri jawa for ever.
So be it!
Decoration
 BIBLIOGRAPHY
It has been suggested that the practical value of this volume might be enhanced
by the addition of a short bibliography indicating the works to which students,
who wish to go deeper into the subjects touched upon, could turn for more ample
information. Il y a l’embarras du choix and, always abreast with latest research,
particularly the publications of learned societies as the Royal Institute of the
Dutch East Indies, the Royal Geographical Society of the Netherlands, the
Batavian Society of Arts and Sciences, are rich depositories of Dutch East Indian
lore, many of the most important monographs they contain, being available in
book or pamphlet form. Not to speak of the specific knowledge derivable from
such sources as the official Reports of the Archaeological Commission for Java
and Madura, the Bulletins of the Colonial Museum at Haarlem, etc., from
periodicals as Het Tijdschrift voor Binnenlandsch Bestuur (organ of the Dutch
East Indian Civil Service), Het Indisch Militair Tijdschrift, etc., less
scientifically or professionally dressed but just as weighty observations on
different aspects of Dutch rule in the Malay Archipelago can be found in
monthlies like De Gids, De Tijdspiegel and, of course, De Indische Gids in
which Het Tijdschrift voor Nederlandsch Indië, founded by W. R. Baron van
Hoëvell, has been incorporated. The Encyclopaedie van Nederlandsch Indië is a
very serviceable storehouse of general intelligence, though new discoveries
made and old theories exploded since its appearance, emphasise more forcibly
with every year, the necessity of its usefulness being sustained if not by
occasional new editions, revised and brought up to date, then at least by frequent
supplements. The Daghregisters of the Castle of Batavia, the Nederlandsch
Indisch Plakaatboek (1602-1811), the Realia, a register of the General
Resolutions from 1632 to 1805, offer almost inexhaustible material for the
history of Java and the other islands in the days of the Dutch East India
Company. J. C. Hooykaas’ Repertorium (1595-1816), continued by A. Hartmann
up to 1893, and by W. J. P. J. Schalker and W. C. Muller up to 1910, furnishes an
excellent index to Dutch colonial literature; C. M. Kan’s Proeve eener
Geographische Bibliographie van Nederlandsch Oost-Indië (1865-1880) and
Martinus Nijhoff’s Bibliotheca Neerlando-Indica, 1893, should also be
mentioned. The following miscellaneous list is an attempt briefly to enumerate
the works, apart from papers accessible only in serial publications, which seem
specially adapted (allowing a good deal in not a few of them for mutual
admiration and all too courteous, excessive panegyric) to give interested readers
further particulars, according to each one’s individual line of investigation, with
regard to various matters treated of or alluded to in Monumental Java.
A. BASTIAN. Indonesien oder die Insel des malayischen Archipel.
1884-9.
J. G. A. VAN BERCKEL. Bijdrage tot de Geschiedenis van het
Europeesch Opperbestuur over Nederlandsch Indië (1780-1806).
1880.
N. P. VAN DEN BERG. Debet of Credit. 1885.
N. P. VAN DEN BERG. The Financial and Economical Progress and
Condition of Netherlands India during the last fifteen years and the
Effect of the present Currency System. 1887.
L. W. C. VAN DEN BERG. De Mohammedaansche Geestelijkheid en de
Geestelijke Goederen op Java en Madoera. 1882.
L. W. C. VAN DEN BERG. De Inlandsche Rangen en Titels op Java en
Madoera. 1887.
H. BOREL. De Chineezen in Nederlandsch Indië. 1900.
J. L. A. BRANDES. Pararaton (Ken Arok) of het Boek der Koningen
van Toemapèl en van Madjapaït. 1896.
A. CABATON. Les Indes Néerlandaises. 1910.
J. CHAILLEY BERT. Java et ses habitants. 1907 (new ed.).
J. A. VAN DER CHIJS. De Nederlanders te Jakatra. 1860.
A. B. COHEN STUART. De Kawi-Oorkonden. 1875.
J. CRAWFURD. History of the Indian Archipelago. 1820.
CLIVE DAY. The Policy and Administration of the Dutch in Java.
1904.
A. J. W. VAN DELDEN. Blik op het Indisch Staatsbestuur. 1875.
M. L. VAN DEVENTER. Het Nederlandsch Gezag over Java en
Onderhoorigheden sedert 1811. 1891 (first vol.).
S. VAN DEVENTER. Bijdragen tot de Kennis van het Landelijk Stelsel
op Java. 1865.
E. DOUWES DEKKER (MULTATULI). Max Havelaar of de Koffieveilingen
der Nederlandsche Handelmaatschappij. 1860 (first ed.).
J. FERGUSSON. History of Indian and Eastern Architecture. 1910 (new
ed.).
P. W. FILET. De Verhouding der Vorsten op Java tot de Nederlandsch
Indische Regeering. 1895.
P. H. FROMBERG. De Chineesche Beweging op Java. 1911.
J. GRONEMAN. De Garebegs te Ngajogyakarta. 1895.
J. GRONEMAN. Boeddhistische Tempel- en Kloosterbouwvallen in de
Parambanan-vlakte. 1907.
J. GRONEMAN. Boeddhistische Tempelbouwvallen in de Progo-vallei,
de Tjandis Baraboedoer, Mendoet en Pawon. 1907.
F. DE HAAN. Priangan. De Preanger Regentschappen onder het
Nederlandsch Bestuur tot 1811. 1910 (first vol.).
G. A. J. HAZEU. Bijdrage tot de Kennis van het Javaansche Tooneel.
1897.
J. E. HEERES. Bouwstoffen voor de Geschiedenis der Nederlanders in
den Maleischen Archipel. 1895 (third vol.).
W. R. VAN HOËVELL. Reis over Java, Madoera en Bali. 1849-1854.
J. K. J. DE JONGE (cont. by M. L. VAN DEVENTER and P. A. TIELE). De
Opkomst van het Nederlandsche Gezag in Oost-Indië. 1857.
F. W. JUNGHUHN. Topographische und naturwissenschaftliche Reisen
durch Java. 1845.
F. W. JUNGHUHN. Java, zijne Gedaante, zijn Plantengroei en
inwendige Bouw. 1849.
A. G. KELLER. Colonization. 1906.
J. H. C. KERN. Eene Indische Sage in Javaansch Gewaad. 1876.
J. H. C. KERN. Over de oud-Javaansche Vertaling van het
Mahabharata. 1877.
J. H. C. KERN. Over de Vermenging van Ciwaïsme en Boeddhisme op
Java naar aanleiding van het oud-Javaansche Gedicht Sutasoma.
1888.
J. H. F. KOHLBRUGGE. Blikken in het Zieleleven van den Javaan en
Zijner Overheerschers. 1907.
C. LEEMANS. Boro-boedoer op het Eiland Java. 1873.
H. D. LEVYSSOHN NORMAN. Britsche Heerschappij over Java en
Onderhoorigheden. 1857.
P. A. VAN DER LITH. Nederlandsch Oost-Indië. 1892 (second ed.).
J. A. LOEBÈR JR. Het Vlechtwerk in den Indischen Archipel. 1902.
J. A. LOEBÈR JR. Javanische Schattenbilder. 1908.
J. DE LOUTER. Handleiding tot de Kennis van het Staats- en
Administratief Recht van Nederlandsch Indië. 1895 (new ed.).
P. J. F. LOUW (cont. by E. S. DE KLERCK). De Java-Oorlog. 1909
(sixth vol.).
L. TH. MAYER. De Javaan als Mensch en als Lid van het Javaansche
Huisgezin. 1894.
L. TH. MAYER. Een Blik in het Javaansche Volksleven. 1897.
J. J. MEINSMA. Geschiedenis van de Nederlandsche Oost-Indische
Bezittingen. 1872.
G. NYPELS. Oost-Indische Krijgsgeschiedenis. 1895.
T. S. RAFFLES. History of Java. 1817.
G. C. K. DE REUS. Geschichtliche Überblick der administrativen,
rechtlichen und finanziellen Entwicklung der Niederländisch-
Ostindischen Compagnie. 1894.
C. B. H. VON ROSENBERG. Der malayische Archipel. 1879.
G. P. ROUFFAER. De voornaamste Industrieën der Bevolking van Java
en Madoera. 1904.
L. SERRURIER. De Wajang Poerwa, eene Ethnologische Studie. 1896.
C. SNOUCK HURGRONJE. Nederland en de Islām. 1911.
F. V. A. DE STUERS. Mémoire sur la Guerre de l’Ile de Java 1825-
1830. 1833.
F. VALENTIJN. Oud en Nieuw Oost-Indiën. 1724-61 (1856-8 and 1862
new but incomplete edns.).
R. D. M. VERBEEK. Oudheden van Java. Lijst der voornaamste
Overblijfselen uit den Hindoe-tijd op Java, met eene
Oudheidkundige Kaart van Java. 1891.
P. J. VETH. Java. Geographisch, ethnologisch, historisch (1895, new
ed. by J. F. SNELLEMAN and J. F. NIERMEYER).
E. DE WAAL. Nederlandsch Indië in de Staten Generaal sedert de
Grondwet van 1814. 1860-1.
E. DE WAAL. De Koloniale Politiek der Grondwet en hare Toepassing
tot 1 Februari 1862. 1863.
E. DE WAAL. Aanteekeningen over Koloniale Onderwerpen. 1865-8.
A. R. WALLACE. The Malay Archipelago. 1869.
A. W. P. WEITZEL. De Oorlog op Java. 1852-3.
G. A. WILKEN. Handleiding voor de vergelijkende Volkenkunde van
Nederlandsch Indië (ed. by C. M. PLEYTE). 1893.
G. D. WILLINCK. De Indiën en de nieuwe Grondwet. 1910.
A. WRIGHT and O. T. BREAKSPEAR. Twentieth Century Impressions of
Netherlands India (PLEYTE, VAN ERP and VAN RONKEL on
Archaeology, etc.). 1909.
GLOSSARY
 (Of the words here explained, only the meaning or meanings are
given, attached to them in this book.)

agama buda—lit. Buddhist creed; in native parlance, however, the word includes
every pre-Muhammadan religion.
aksara—character representing a Javanese consonant.
aloon aloon—square or outer court before the dwelling of a native prince or
chief.
ampilan—articles of virtu belonging to a royal family, emblems of royalty.
amrita—immortality, all-light; rejuvenating nectar of the gods.
api—fire.
apsara—heavenly nymph, produced by the churning of the ocean and living in
the sky; spouse of a gandharva.
arahat—he who has become worthy.
astana—abode of some exalted personage.
avatar—descent of a deity from heaven to assume a visible form on earth;
incarnation of a god, especially of Vishnu.

babad—chronicle.
banaspati (wanaspati)—conventional lion’s (or tiger’s) head, a frequently
occurring motive in the ornament of Javanese temples.
banjir—freshet.
batik—the art of dyeing woven goods by dipping them in successive baths of the
required colour, the parts to be left undyed being protected by applying a mixture
of beeswax and resin.
batu (watu)—stone.
bedoyo—young female or male dancer of noble birth at the Courts of Surakarta
and Jogjakarta.
bikshu—Buddhist mendicant monk.
bolook—squirrel of the Pteromys nitidus and Pteromys elegans variety.
boreh—preparation of turmeric and coconut-oil used in sacrifice and acts of
adoration.
bupati—regent.

chaitya—place deserving worship or reverence.

chakra—disk, wheel.
champaka—tree, Michelia Champaca L., fam. Magnoliaceae, with sweet-
smelling flowers.
chandi—any monument of Hindu or Buddhist origin.

dagob—structure raised over a relic of the Buddha or a Buddhist saint.

dalam—lit. inside; private apartments of a royal palace or the dwelling of a
chief.
dessa—village.
dzikr—lit. remembrance; invocation of God.

gamelan—native orchestra.
gandharva—heavenly singer, whose especial duty it is to guard the soma, to
regulate the course of the sun’s horses, etc.
gardu—guard-house.
garebeg besar—feast of the sacrifice (id al-qorban).
garebeg mulood—feast of the Prophet’s birth (maulid).
garebeg puasa—feast of the breaking of the fast (id al-fitr).
garuda—mythical monster-bird, enemy of the serpent-race; bearer of Vishnu.
grobak—cart.
gunoong—mountain.
guru—teacher.

hadat—usage, traditional custom.

haji—one who has made the pilgrimage to Mecca.
hinayanistic—pertaining to the canon of the southern Buddhist church or
doctrine of the Lesser Vehicle.

inya—nurse, maid, waiting-woman.

ishta devata—pre-eminent god chosen for particular worship.

jaman (zaman) buda—lit. the time of the Buddha, pre-Muhammadan days.

jataka—birth, nativity; jataka-tales: stories connected with the birth and life of
the Buddha in one of his successive existences on earth.

kabayan—chief of a community.
kakèh—old man, grandfather.
kala—time as the destroyer of all things, the bringer of death; destiny.
kali—river.
kamboja—tree, Plumeria acutifolia Poir., fam. Apocynaceae, often found in
cemeteries, the sweet-smelling flowers of which are much used in funeral rites.
kampong—group of native dwellings.
kananga—tree, Cananga odorata Hook. f. et Th., fam. Anonaceae, with sweet-
smelling flowers.
kanari—tree, Canarium commune L., fam. Burseraceae, frequently met in
gardens and planted along roads for its shade.
kanjeng goosti—a high title of honour.
kantil—flower of the champaka.
kedaton—that part of a princely residence occupied by its owner, his wives,
concubines and children.
kembang telon—flowers of sacrifice, especially melati, kananga and kantil.
ketèq—monkey.
kidool—south.
kinnari—bird-people.
kitab—book.
klenteng—Chinese temple, joss-house.
krakal (ngrakal)—hard labour in the chain-gang.
kramat—holy grave.
kraton—residence of a reigning native prince.
kulon—west.
kurang wang—lacking money.

lakon—Javanese drama.
legèn—a liquor prepared by fermentation of the sap drawn from some trees of
the palm family.
linga—male organ of generation, emblem of Siva’s fructifying power.
lontar—high-growing tree, Borassus flabelliformis L., fam. Palmae, with large
fan-like leaves.
lor—north.
loro—a title designating a lady of very high birth.

machan—tiger.
mahayanistic—pertaining to the canon of the northern Buddhist church or
doctrine of the Greater Vehicle.
makara—a mythical sea-monster.
makuta—head-dress, crown, crest.
mantri—in Malay countries a native official of high rank; minister of state,
councillor; in Java a native official of lower rank.
maryam—cannon.
mās—lit. gold; title given to native noblemen and also, in courteous address, to
commoners.
mboq—title given to women in courteous address.
melati—shrub, Jasminum Sambac Ait., fam. Oleaceae, with sweet- and rather
strong-smelling flowers.
meliwis—a kind of duck.
mesdjid—mosque.
murid—disciple.

naga—serpent.
narasinha—man-lion.
negri jawa—country of the Javanese, Java.
nirvana—extinction of existence, the highest aim and highest good.

oombool—source, well.
oorna—tuft or bunch of hair between the Buddha’s eyebrows.
orang kechil—lit. the little men, the lower classes.
orang slam—Muhammadan.
orang wolanda—Hollander.

padi—rice in the hull.

padmasana—lotus cushion or seat.
padri—one of a sect which, in the manner of the Wahabites, tried to rouse the
Muhammadans of the Padang Highlands in Sumatra to more orthodox zeal.
paman—uncle on the father’s side; appellation used in respectful address of any
senior in years.
panakawan—page, follower, retainer.
panchuran—water-conduit.
pangeran—prince.
pantoon—old and still very popular form of native poetry.
pasangan—character representing a Javanese consonant in the place or
(generally modified) form which marks the vowelless sound of the preceding
one.
pasangrahan—rest-house for officials on their tours of inspection.
pasar—market.
payoong—sunshade.
pendopo—open audience-hall in the dwellings of the great.
prabha—light, radiance, aureole.
pulu—island.
puri—name of the princely residences in Bali and Lombok.
pusaka—heirloom.

raden—title of nobility.
raksasa—evil spirit, ogre, generally of hideous appearance though the female
(raksasi) sometimes allures man by her beauty; raksasas do service as
doorkeepers at the entrances of some Javanese chandis.
ratu—title for royal personages; king, queen.
recho (rejo)—any sort of statue.

sakti—personification of the energy or active power of a deity as his spouse; a

god’s female complement.
sangharama—endowed convent.
sanka—conch-shell blown as a horn.
sankara—auspicious; causation of happiness.
saptaratna—the seven treasures.
sasrahan—wedding-present.
satrya—noble knight.
sawah—watered ricefield.
selir—wife of lower degree than the padmi or first legitimate spouse.
sembah—v. salute; n. (persembah’an) salutation.
slamat (salamat)—success, blessing, prosperity.
soma—beverage of the gods.
srimpi—young female dancer of noble birth at the Courts of Surakarta and
Jogjakarta.
stupa—mound, tumulus; edifice raised to commemorate some event in the life of
a Buddhist saint or to mark a sacred spot.
sugata—pious brother on the road to Buddhist perfection.
suling—native reed-pipe.
sumoor—source, spring.
susah—trouble.

taman—pleasance.
tara—spouse of a Dhyani Buddha.
telaga—lake.
tempo dahulu—olden time.
tengger—pieces of wood or stone posts set up at the head- and foot-end of
graves.
tesbeh—string of prayer-beads.
trimoorti—(Hindu) trinity.
trishula—trident.
tumenggoong—regent in an official capacity somewhat different from that of a
bupati.

upachara—royal heirloom.
upawita—thread or cord worn by high-caste Hindus over the left shoulder and
passing under the right arm.

vahana—any vehicle or means of conveyance; animal carrying a deity,

representative of his characteristic qualities.
vihara—monastery; Brahma Viharas: sublime conditions of perfection.

wali—governor or administrator of a province; name given to those who

introduced the Muhammadan religion in the island.
waringin (beringin)—tree of the genus Ficus of which the most frequent types in
Java are the F. consociata Bl., the F. stupenda Miq., the F. Benjaminea L. and the
F. elastica Roxb.
wayang—lit. shadow; the Javanese national theatre, which seems to have a
religious origin: the invocation of the shades of deified ancestors.
wedono—native chief of a district.
wetan—east.

yoni—female organ of generation, emblem of the fecundity of Siva’s sakti or

female complement.
[294]
[295]
INDEX
A

Abool Karim, 32

Acheh, 6-7

Adi-Buddha, 256, 259

Adityawarman, King, 13

Ageng, Sooltan, 115-116

Ageng Pamanahan, Kiahi, 115, 124

Aji Saka, 122

Ajunta, 252

Akshobhya, 181 (note), 246, 273

Ali Moghayat Shah, Sooltan, 7

Amitabha, 162, 181 (note), 246, 256, 264, 270, 273

Amoghasiddha, 181 (note), 256

Anasupati, Prince, 111, 156

ancestor-worship, 84, 125

Angka Wijaya, King, 7

Angkor-Vat, 2-3

Anyer, 10, 52

apes, descendants of sacred, 44, 152

apsaras, 85, 95-96, 279-280

Arabs, 6-7

archadomas, 37

Archaeological Commission, x-xi, 16-17, 62, 159

Archaeological Society of Jogjakarta, 77-78, 189

Arjuno, 45, 49, 58

Arjuno (Widadaren), volcano, 157

Arjuno temple group, 47, 49, 55-58, 59

Arjuno Wiwaha, 168

arts, crafts and industries, 14, 17, 100, 135

Asoka, King, 185, 235

babads, 4 (note), 70-75, 108, 157-158, 192-196, 266-270

Badooy, 24

Bagelen, 40, 50, 66, 123 (note)

Baker, Captain, 55

Balambangan, 13, 113, 115, 116, 145

Bali, 3, 13, 113, 148, 164, 172, 173-176

Banaspati, 39, 134, 153, 156, 201, 204, 226, 249

Bandoong, 122
Bantam, 9-12, 24-27, 29-32, 115-116, 145

Banyu Biru, 130, 152-153

Banyumas, 40, 66, 123 (note)

Barudin, Prince, 24

Batalha, 80

Batavia, 9-12, 116-119, 148

Batavian Society of Arts and Sciences, 61 (note), 76 (note), 163, 166, 226 (note),
260 (note)

bathing, 34, 130, 132, 136, 152-154

Batoor, 41-42, 50

Batu Tulis, 23, 36-37

Berg, Prof. L. W. C. van den, 180

Besuki, 123 (note), 141

Bimo, 45, 60 (note), 270

Bodhisatvas, 83-84, 101, 180, 181 (note), 187, 256, 273

Bogor (Buitenzorg), 23, 35-37

Bondowoso, Raden Bandoong, 70-75, 192-196, 236

Borneo, 17, 113, 116

Bosboom, H. D. H., 131 (note)

Brahma, 82, 101, 177, 189, 198, 221

Brahmanism, 5, 176-177, 200, 282

Brandes, Dr. J. L. A., x, 4 (note), 17, 19, 142, 155, 156, 159-161, 163, 175, 213-
214, 218, 266 (note), 268-9

Brandstetter, Prof. R., 24 (note)

Brata Yuda, 45, 88, 108, 110, 124, 168

Brumund, J. F. G., 15, 202, 241

Buddha, 88, 104, 130, 177-180, 183, 208, 210, 222-225, 235 (note), 247-248,
253-257, 263, 270, 272-274, 276-280, 282, 284

Buddha-fort, 49

Buddha-roads, 50-51

Buddhism and Buddhists, 5, 6, 12-13, 69-70, 101, 113, 125, 142-143, 157, 159,
162, 163-164, 177-180, 183-188, 200-201, 217-218, 241, 259-260, 274, 276-
280, 282

Bukit Tronggool, 36

Burnouf, Eugène, 123, 179

cave temples, 105, 154

chandis—
Andorowati, 55, 61
Arjuno with house of Samār, 49, 55-58
Bimo (Wergodoro), 47, 49, 55, 59-61, 237
Boro Budoor, xii, 5, 13, 14, 17, 18-19, 35, 37, 55, 61, 70, 88, 106, 141, 142,
149, 159, 164, 196, 207, 210, 212, 213, 221, 222, 223, 230-232, 233-265, 266-
284
Bubrah, 190
Cheto, 100, 105-108, 141, 148
Chupuwatu, 101
Dapoor, 229
Darawati, 104
Derma, 155, 231
Gatot Kocho, 55, 61
Geblak, 190
Ijo, 105
Jaboong, 154-155, 159
Jalatoonda, 153
Kalasan (Kali Bening), 6, 100, 181-184, 203, 210
Kali Chilik, 151, 154
Kalongan, 189
Kedaton, 175
Kidal, 156-157
Loomboong, 190
Loro Jonggrang, 13, 70-75, 79, 107, 137
Machan Puti, 175
Mendoot, xii, 17, 18, 37, 70, 84, 101, 141, 142, 180, 207-228, 237
Ngaglik, 190
Ngetos, 154
Ngrajeg, 227
Panataran, 142, 148, 151, 157, 159, 160, 164-170, 173, 188, 203, 215
Papoh, 151-152
Parikesit, 61
Pawon, xii, 18 (note), 229-230
Perot, 43, 230
Plahosan, 64, 185-188, 203
Poontadewa, 57-58
Pringapoos, 43, 230
Putri Jawa, 153
Sajiwan, 189
Sari, 26, 184-185, 203
Sembrada, 57-58
Sewu, 36, 64, 76, 142, 185, 189-203, 210, 269
Singo, 202-203
Singosari, 157-158, 162
Srikandi, 56-58
 Suku, 100, 105-108, 141
Surawana, 153, 168, 175
Tagal Sari, 151
Tegawangi, 175
Toompang (Jago), 17, 142, 143, 148, 155, 158-163, 164, 168, 173, 251
Watu Gudik, 190

cemeteries and holy graves, 29-32, 124-127, 147

Central Java, 5, 8, 11, 13, 17, 25-27, 31-32, 35, 37, 78, 99-139, 140, 141, 142,
145, 148, 151, 172, 177-206, 207-232, 233-265, 266-284

Ceram, 113

Ceylon, 199, 208, 235-236

Chandra, 83, 280

Cheribon, 4-8, 14, 25-27, 32-34, 115-116, 123 (note)

Cheringin, 10, 52

Chilegon, massacre at, 32

China and Chinese influences, 33-34, 111-112, 134, 158, 163-164

Chinese temples, 33-34, 163

Chipanas, 149

Chondro di Muka, 51

Christianity, 6, 8, 12, 38, 102, 148-150, 169, 179, 277-278, 282

Chulalongkorn, Somdetch Phra Paramindr, late King of Siam, 222-223, 236,

243-245, 247, 256, 261-262, 263

cloud-faces, 170
Coen, Jan Pietersz, 27-29

Cohen Stuart, Dr. A. B., 15, 40 (note)

Cornelius, H. C., 15, 54, 76, 238, 266

country-seats, 129-130, 149

crater-lakes, 50, 52

Crawfurd, John, 15

Daendels, Governor-General H. W., 33 (note), 118-119

Daha, 109-112, 141, 145, 150, 154, 157

Damar Wulan, 123, 153, 165

dancing, 85, 95-96, 132-133, 136, 279

Demak, 8, 25-26, 31-32, 106, 114-115

Dhyana Buddhas, 162, 180, 181 (note), 182, 201, 221, 235, 237, 246, 259, 272-
274, 281

Diëng plateau, 5, 40-68, 107, 109

dilettantism, 14, 16-18,

78, 166-167, 216, 241-242

Dinoyo, 156

Dipo Negoro (Pangeran Anta Wiria), 119-120, 121, 240

Doorga (Kali, Parvati, Uma), 6 (note), 28, 56, 80-82, 89-91, 108, 153, 158, 174,
221, 262

Douwes Dekker, Eduard, (Multatuli), 207 (note)

Drajat, 8

Dravidian style, 55, 60, 230

Duomo at Pisa, 262

East India Company (Dutch), 9, 27-29,

38, 115-119, 145

East Java, 7-8, 17, 23, 26, 99, 106, 108-117, 123, 140-176

eastern empires, 7-8, 23, 99, 106, 109-115, 123, 140-150, 154, 155, 157, 159

Engelhard, Nicolaus, 20

English trading relations and British Interregnum, 8, 14-15, 27, 54, 76, 119

Erlangga, King, 153

Erp, Major T. van, xii, 19 (note), 61-62, 76-77, 190, 202, 227 (note), 246, 260

fables, 166, 198, 218-221, 253

Fa Hien, 5

Fergusson, James, 5, 15, 55-56, 60, 100, 105, 106, 165, 211, 217, 234, 252

Foucher, A., 259 (note)

Friedrich, R. H. Th., 15

Fry, Roger, 252

Gajah Mada, 114, 155, 158

gandharvas, 96, 187

Ganesa, ix, 28, 43, 56, 80-82, 107, 153, 157, 205

Gazali, 180

Giri, 7-8, 13, 26, 144

Girilaya, Panambahan, 26-27

Goram islands, 113

Gresik, 7, 114, 115

Grimm, Jakob and Wilhelm, 220

Groneman, Dr. J., 136 (note), 172 (note)

Guna Darma (Oondagi), Kiahi, 248, 261-262

Gunoong Jati, 33, 35

H

Ham, P. H. van der, 226, 230

Hamer, C. den, 226

hanasima inscription, 55

Hanoman, 44, 88, 144, 150

Harris, J. C., 220 (note)

Hartingh, Nicolaas, 131

Hartman, Resident, 211

Hasan ad-Din, Maulana, 25-26, 29-32

Hazeu, Dr. G. A. J., 170

Hayam Wurook, 113, 166

Hinduïsm and Hindus, 5, 12-13, 23, 33, 35, 99-101, 115, 125, 137, 144-145,
179-180

Hiuen Tsiang, 143, 186-187, 259

Hoevenaars, Father P. J., 209, 237, 259 (note)

Hollander, Dr. J. J. de, 24 (note)

Hopkins, Prof. E. Washburn, 126 (note)

Horsfield, Thomas, 54, 105, 164, 249

horticulture, 134

Houtman, Cornelis, 9
Hunter, Sir William W., 178, 278

Ibn Batutah, 7

Imhoff, Governor-General G. W. Baron van, 76

Imogiri, 125, 127

inscriptions, 5, 35 (note), 41, 64-65, 91-95, 100, 101, 105, 108, 158, 182, 196

Islām in Java, 6-8, 12-14, 23-26, 30-33, 35, 38, 68, 102, 106, 110-111, 113-116,
124, 125, 144-145, 148-150, 154, 155-156, 179, 180, 241, 282

Islām in Sumatra, 6-7, 13

Jambi, 17

jataka tales and reliefs, 123, 243, 253, 255, 261, 272

Java War, 119-120, 240-241

Jayabaya, King, 110

Jimboon, Panambahan, 32

Jipang, 26 (note), 115

Jogjakarta, 13, 98, 102-103, 120, 181, 182, 207, 270

Johnson, Resident, 105

Jonge, J. K. J. de, 267 (note), 269 (note)

Jonggrang, Loro, 70-75, 89-91, 105, 106, 192-195

Joomprit, 44

Junghuhn, F. W., x, 15, 48, 55, 59, 64, 67, 107

Juynboll, Dr. H. H., 101 (note), 173

Kadu, 5, 40, 50, 66, 123 (note), 207-232, 233-265, 266-284

Kahuripan, 110

kala-makara motive, x, 57, 60, 249, 260

Kalayalang, Prince, 24

Kalinga, 35 (note)

Kalinjamat, 8

Karang Antu, 10-12, 28 (note)

Karanglo, 156

Kartawijaya, Pangeran, later Sooltan Anom, 26

Katu, 156

Kawa Kidang, 47, 51-52, 61, 67

Kawit Paru, 28 (note)

Kediri, 109-110, 115, 120, 123, 140-141, 143, 151, 164

Keloot (volcano), 154

Ken Angrok, King, 110-111, 113, 141, 146

Kenya, Ratu, 153, 165-166

Kern, Prof. J. H. C., 4, 143 (note), 236

Kersnayana, 168

Kertanegara, King, 111-112, 157-158

Kertarajasa (Raden Wijaya), King, 111-113

Kidangpenanjong, 37

Kinsbergen, I. van, 64, 239

Kitab Ambia, 124

Kitab Papakan, 33

Kitchener, Lord, 228

Klerck, Captain E. S. de, 240

Kondoty, 252

Koomba-rawa and Koomba-rawi, 11

Kota Batu, 35-36

Kota Bedah, 155-156

Kraëng Galesoong, 116

Krakatoa, 10, 52

Krom, Dr. N. J., xi, xii

Kutara Manawa, 33
L

Lady of Mystery, 103, 182-183, 201

Lakshmi, 83

Lalita Vistara, 254

Lampongs, 25

language, 122-124

Leemans, Dr. C., 15, 239

legend of the chandi Loro Jonggrang, 70-75

legend of the chandi Sewu, 191-196

legend of the Guwa Aswotomo, 58-59

Lessing, Gotthold Ephr., 81, 216

Leyden, Dr. J., 15

Libro del Principe, a Hindu-Javanese, 91-95

linga and linga-worship, 5, 13-14, 56, 59, 100, 101, 106, 153, 257

literature, 122-124, 140, 161, 168-171

Lombok, 172, 174-175

Lons, 76

Lotchana, 181 (note)

Louw, Captain P. J. F., 240

Luar Batang, 31

Mackenzie, Colonel, 15

Madioon, 105, 123 (note), 141

Madura, 3, 8, 115, 116, 141

Magna Graecia, 2

Mahabharata, 45 (note), 88, 110, 168, 171

Maheso, 81

Maja, Kiahi, 119, 241

Malacca, 7, 113, 116

Malang, 114, 155-156, 158, 162, 163, 165

Malik Ibrahim, Maulana, 7, 114, 144

Mamakhi, 162, 181 (note)

Mangku Buwono I. (Mangku Bumi), 118, 131, 133, 135, 268-269

Mangku Buwono II., 119, 120 (note), 144 (note)

Mangku Buwono III., 119

Mangku Negara I., 118

Mangku Rat I., 116, 128

Mangku Rat II., 267-268

Mangku Rat IV., 267 (note)

Manik Maya, 122

Mara (Papiyan), 255, 279-280, 284

Marco Polo, 7

Marco, San, at Venice, 254, 262

Marduki, 32

Marsden, W., 15

Martawijaya, Pangeran, later Sooltan Sepooh, 14, 26

Mataram, 8, 26-27, 78, 108-109, 116-119, 125, 142, 144 (note), 145, 155, 205,
266-270

mausolea, 29, 77-78, 150-151, 153, 156, 157-158, 165, 173, 190, 210

Medang, 109

Meinsma, J. J., 266 (note)

Menak- (Hamza-) cycle, 122

Menangkaban, 7, 13, 113

Merapi (volcano), 69, 225, 237-238, 264, 282

Merbabu, 264, 282

Metteya Buddha, 199, 265

middle empires, 8, 25-27, 31-32, 78, 106, 108-109, 114-120, 142, 144 (note),
145, 155, 205, 266-270
Minahassa, 20

miraculous voices, 61, 66, 271

miraculous wells, 31

Mojokerto, 111, 145, 153, 228

Mojopahit, 7-
8, 23, 99, 106, 110-114, 123, 140, 141, 142-149, 154, 155, 172, 174, 175, 228

Moluccos, 27

monasteries, 26, 102, 183-188

Mondoroko, 158

monkey-stone, 64-66

Montpezir, 252

Moonding Wangi, 36

Mossel, Governor-General J., 269

Mpu Gandring’s kris, 110-111, 113, 146

Mpu Kanwa, 168

Mpu Panulooh, 110

Mpu Sedah, 110

Mpu Sindok, 155

Muhammad, Pangeran, 29, 30

Muhammad Ali, Pangeran, 30

Müller, Prof. Max, 220 (note)

museum of antiquities at Leyden, 21, 55, 162

museum at Batavia, 162

“museum” at Jogjakarta, 77, 104, 188, 196, 200

music, 85, 132-133, 172 (note)

N

Nalanda, 186-187

native courts, 127-129, 132-139

Ngampel, 8

nirvana, 201, 204, 260, 273, 276-277

Noor ad-Din Ibrahim bin Maulana Israïl, Sunan Gunoong Jati, 8, 25, 32-33, 34

Noro Pati, King, 35

opium, 42, 204

ornament, 3, 38, 57, 60, 70, 83-88, 105-107, 141-142, 150, 153, 155, 156-157,
164, 166-170, 175, 182, 184-185, 187-188, 190, 198-203, 217, 221, 237, 247-
248, 249, 250, 251-255, 260, 262

Padang Highlands, 7, 13

Padmapani (Avalokitesvara), 180, 181 (note), 256, 273

padris, 7

Pagar Rujoong, 7

Pajajaran, 7, 23, 27, 28, 35-37, 111, 146

Pajang, 8, 11, 26, 115

Pakaraman (valley of death), 42, 51, 52 (note)

Pakentan, 156

Paku, Raden (Sunan Prabu Satmoto), 7, 144

Paku Buwono I., 117-118

Paku Buwono II., 118

Paku Buwono III., 118-119

Paku Buwono IV., 122

Palembang, 7, 13, 113

Pandara, 181 (note), 273

pandavas, 58, 270

Panji-cycle, 110, 122

Pararaton, 4 (note), 108, 150

Pasar Gedeh, 124-127

Pasei, 6

Pasuruan, 110, 115, 123 (note), 140-141, 143, 152, 153, 155

Patah, Raden, 26, 114, 144

Pekalongan, 40, 41, 51, 66, 123 (note)

Pinang gate, 9

Poensen, Prof. C., 268

poetry, 24, 110, 122, 160-161, 168-169

Poiré, Emm., (Caran d’Ache), 220 (note)

Pondok Gedeh, 37

Poorwa, Haji, 7

Poorwakali, 36-37

Portuguese, 8, 25-26

Prambanan temple group, 13, 55, 60, 69-98, 101, 106, 109, 141, 142, 168, 173,
180, 189, 197-198, 202, 210, 251

pre-Hindu times, 4-12, 84, 125

Priangan (Preanger Regencies), 24, 35, 41, 120

Principalities, 11, 13, 66, 99, 119-139, 177-206

Probolinggo, 123 (note), 141, 154

public works, department of, 21, 147-149

Purana, Parabu Raja, 23

Pururava, King, 17

Qorān, 13, 91, 260

Raffles, Sir Thomas Stamford, 14-15, 54, 76, 119, 145-146, 162, 236, 238
Rahmat, Raden, 7

Raja Pirongan, 124

raksasas, 126, 153, 154, 157, 165, 188, 191, 201

Ramayana, 83, 86-87, 88, 107, 124, 150, 166, 167-168, 171, 178, 189, 198

Ratnapani, 181 (note)

Ratnasambhava, 181 (note), 256, 273

Rawa Baleh Kambang, 48, 56, 58-59

Rawa Glonggong, 48, 60

recalcitrant spiral, 142

Reimer, Lieutenant-Colonel C. F., 131-132

Reinwardt, Prof. C. G. C., 162

Rembang, 123 (note), 141, 152

restoration, 18, 19, 213-215, 226, 246, 260-261, 263 (note)

Retna Sakar Mandhapa, Princess, 28

rock carving, 4

Roorda van Eysinga, P. P., 236, 238

Rouffaer, G. P., x, 100, 104, 143, 159, 162, 170, 175, 182, 212

Ruskin, John, 18, 141, 181 (note)

S
Sabrang Lor, Pangeran, 32

sacrifice to the old gods, 43, 61, 89-91, 224, 230-231, 270

Salsette, 252

Samantabhadra, 181 (note)

Samār, 45, 55-57

Samarang, 40, 66, 123 (note), 141

San-bo-tsaï, 13

Sanjaya, King, 100

Satomi, Niahi, 9-12, 28 (note)

Satomo, Kiahi, 9-12, 28 (note)

Scheltema, Dr. M. W., 125 (note)

sculpture, 37, 57, 60, 83-84, 85-88, 102-103, 105-107, 142, 148, 152-153, 157-
158, 162, 163, 166-170, 182, 184-185, 187-188, 189 (note), 190, 198, 203, 211,
217, 221-224, 235, 237, 244, 246-247, 252-257, 259-260, 262-263

Selo, 125, 127

Sentot (Ali Bassa Prawira Dirja), 119, 241

Serat Baron Sakendher, 28-29

Serrurier, Dr. L., 172, 203

Shafei (Muhammad Ibn Edris al-), 30

Sicily, 12

Siladitiya, King, 277

Sili Wangi, Prince, 26

Simboongan, 49-50

Sindoro (volcano), 43, 56

Singoro, 156

Sita, 88, 150

Siva (Kala, the Mahadava, the Bhatara Guru, etc.), 5, 6, 28, 43, 51, 56, 61, 68,
78-79, 80-84, 88, 92-95, 101, 102, 107, 108, 137, 153, 156, 157-158, 166, 168,
174, 177, 179, 189, 198, 208, 221, 263

Sivaïsm and Saivas, 5, 13, 49, 69-70, 92-95, 100-101, 113, 114-115, 125-126,
142-143, 155-156, 157-158, 159, 164, 174, 179-180

Skanda (Kartikeya), 9, 28, 108

Snouck Hurgronje, Prof. C., 263

Soissons, Count de, 164

Sookmool, Baron, 28, 38

Soombawa, 17, 113

Soombing (volcano), 43, 50, 71-72, 74, 264, 282

Soonda Kalapa, 25

Speelwijck (fort), 29

Speyer, Prof. J. S., 159, 253

spoliation and neglect, ix-xii, 14-16, 19-21, 43, 55, 58, 61-64, 76-78, 102-104,
147, 162-163, 166-167, 176, 182, 186, 188-190, 196-197, 200-203, 210, 213-
216, 226, 228, 238-247, 258-259
statue in the mud, 259-260, 263, 269

Sugriva, King, 44, 88, 144

Sumatra, 7, 13, 17, 25, 113, 228

Sumedang, 116

Sunyaragi, 34

Surabaya, 26, 110, 115, 123 (note), 140-141, 143, 152, 153

Surakarta, 11, 13, 98, 120, 127 (note), 141, 181, 189

Surya, 83, 190-191, 203, 206, 254, 283

Suta Wijaya, 115, 124, 126

syncretism, 39, 68,

84, 113, 124, 125, 134, 138, 142-143, 157-158, 159, 178-180, 182, 190, 205,
222-224, 260, 262-263, 282-284

Tagal, 34, 123 (note)

Tanaruga, Princess, 28

Tanduran, Raden, 111

Tara, 181, 201

Taruna Jaya, 116

Temanggoong, 42-43, 44

Tengger and Tenggerese, 13, 115, 145, 156

terraces, 33, 35, 86, 106, 155, 159, 160, 166, 197, 238, 247, 252-257, 269

theatre, 53-54, 170-174

Tingkir, Sooltan, 115

Tirtayasa, Sooltan, 27

tolerance, 84, 113, 124, 159, 263

Tonnet, Miss Martine, 142 (note), 151 (note), 175 (note)

tower-construction, 155, 159

Tranggana, Pangeran, 26, 32, 114-115

treasure-hunting, 57-58, 77-78, 108, 188, 190, 202, 211, 258-259

trimoorti, 70, 79, 84, 101, 107, 142-143, 177, 197, 283
Trunajaya, 12, 27

Tubagoos Ismaïl, 32

Tuban, 8, 147

Tumapel, 23, 110-112, 141, 150, 157, 159

Udayana, King, 153

Upagoopta, 274-275

Vajradhatvisvari, 181 (note)

Vajrapani, 181 (note)

Vajrochana, 181 (note), 222, 256, 273

Vasavadatta, the courtesan, 274-275

Venggi inscriptions, 5, 35 (note), 41, 100

Vishnu (Rama, etc.), 83, 85-87, 100, 106, 137, 177-178, 189, 198, 263

Vishnuïsm and Vaishnavas, 4, 100-101, 106, 113, 142-143, 159

Vishvapani, 181 (note), 256, 265, 284

Vlis, C. J. van der, 105-106

volcanic activity, 47-49, 52-53, 61, 69, 225, 237-238, 282

W

Waddell, Dr. L. A., 179 (note), 184 (note)

Wangsakarta, Pangeran, later Panambahan, 27

Wardenaar, H. B. W., 15, 76, 146

Wasid, 32

West Java, 5, 8, 23-39, 107, 111, 115-117, 123 (note), 172

western empires, 4-8, 23-37, 111, 115-116, 146

Wielandt family, 46, 62

Wilis (volcano), 154

Wilsen, F. C., 15, 239

Wonosobo, 42, 44, 62, 63

Wretta-Sansaya, 110

Wulang Reh, 122

Yacatra (Jakarta, Jayakarta), 24, 27, 28 (note), 115

Yapara, 123 (note)

yoni, 6, 56, 153, 262

Z
zodiac-beakers, 151 (note)
 THE END

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 FOOTNOTES
[1] See, e.g., the edict, issued more than thirteen centuries ago by the Emperor Majorian, as quoted by
Gibbon: Antiquarum aedium dissipatur speciosa constructio; et ut aliquid reparetur, magna diruuntur. Hinc
iam occasio nascitur, etc.
[2] Strictly speaking, says Dr. BRANDES in his notes to his translation of the Pararaton, or the Book of the
Kings of Tumapel and Mojopahit (p. 178), there is only one babad tanah jawi, which received its final
redaction about 1700. The other babads, though they may contain recapitulations of the general history of
Java, treat of local affairs or of certain selected periods, as the babads Surakarta, Diponegoro,
Mangkunegoro, Paku Alaman, etc.
[3] Emblem of Siva’s fructifying virility.
[4] Emblem of the fecundity of Siva’s sakti or female complement, Parvati or Uma, Doorga, Kali or
whatever other name she goes by according to the nature of her manifestations.
[5] Generic name for ointments and salves, used specifically for a preparation of turmeric and coco-nut oil,
which is smeared over the body on gala occasions and applied to objects held in veneration.
[6] An aloon aloon is an open square before the dwelling of a native chief; the kratons or palaces with their
dependencies of the semi-independent princes in Central Java have two aloon aloons, one to the north and
one to the south, on which no grass is allowed to grow.
[7] Kedaton has the same meaning as kraton, but is generally used for that part of a princely residence
occupied by the owner himself with his wives, concubines and children, as distinct from the quarters of his
retinue.
[8] Chandi means in its correct, restricted sense: “the stones between and under which in olden times the
ashes of a burnt corpse were put,” or “a mausoleum built over the ashes of one departed” (ROORDA and
GERICKE); by extension, in native speech, any monument of the Hindu period. The chandi Sari is supposed
to have been a vihara or Buddhist monastery.
[9] A tax of f. 50 (ten pence), the payment of which secures also admission to the chandis Pawon and Boro
Budoor.
[10] Thanks to Major T. van Erp of the Engineers, who conducted the work of restoration, this pious wish
has been granted.
[11] Governor of Java’s northeast coast from 1801 to 1808, in whose garden at Samarang “several very
beautiful subjects in stone were arranged, brought in from different parts of the country.” RAFFLES, History
of Java, vol. ii., P. 55.
[12] Paraphrases of a fossil statute, periodically paraded and then returned to its pigeon-hole, like a relic
carried round in procession on the day of the particular saint it belongs to and then shut away in its
repository for the rest of the year. Of what avail are enactments and ordinances persistently ignored and
never enforced?
[13]

The bodies remained silent,

 Only the souls did commune,
For in the light of the eyes
Came and departed the souls.

[14] The oldest, perhaps the only original form of native poetry, happily compared, by Professor R.
BRANDSTETTER, with the Italian stornelli. In contradistinction to the sha’ir, the charm of the pantoon lies, or
should lie, in its being improvised. It consists of four lines, of which the third rimes with the first and the
fourth with the second; the first two contain some statement generally but loosely connected with the
meaning of the last couplet, except, to quote Dr. J. J. DE HOLLANDER, that they determine the
correspondence of sound. Here is one in translation:

Whence come the leeches?

From the watered ricefield they go straight to the river.
Whence comes love?
From the eyes it goes straight to the heart.

[15] The title of Sooltan was assumed, probably for the first time in the history of Java, by the ruler of
Pajang when, in 1568, he added Jipang to his domains.
[16] This lady was a prisoner of the Pangeran of Jakarta (Yacatra) from whom Baron Sookmool, charmed
by her beauty when he arrived in Java to trade for his father, the wealthy merchant Kawit Paru, bought her
for three big guns, whose history, in the legendary lore of the island, is inextricably mixed up with the
mariage à trois of Kiahi Satomo (for the nonce taking domicile at Cheribon), Niahi Satomi and the maryam
of Karang Antu referred to in the preceding chapter.
[17] Plumeria acutifolia Poir., fam. Apocynaceae, planted extensively in cemeteries; its flowers, for this
reason called boonga kuboor (grave-flowers), have a very pleasant odour and are used to scent clothes, etc.
[18] About 1468, by Raden Patah.
[19] It is told that the intrepid Governor-General Daendels once tried to invade the sanctity of this house of
prayer, but even he had hastily to retire.
[20] Venggi inscriptions, brought to light in West Java, go back to the sixth and fifth centuries of the
Christian era and name Kalinga in India as the region from which the Hindu colonists emigrated.
[21] Banaspati or Wanaspati is the conventional lion’s (or tiger’s) head, a frequent motive in the ornament
of Javanese temples, especially of common use over their porches and gateways.
[22] Dr. A. B. COHEN STUART, however, derives Diëng from dihyang, the name found by him in old records.
[23] The remains of both these exquisite little temples suffered severely from a gale in 1907, which blew
some of the surrounding trees down, their trunks and branches falling heavily and disjoining the still
tolerably erect walls, the chandi Perot, according to latest intelligence, being wholly destroyed by the
toppling of the tamarind it supported.
[24] The Brata Yuda Yarwa is the Javanese version of the famous Kawi poem Bharata Yuddha which, in its
turn, is founded on the Sanskrit epos Mahabharata. The war for the possession of Hastinapura is
transplanted to Java; the Sanskrit proper names have passed into the nomenclature of Javanese history and
geography; the Indian heroes have become the founders of Javanese dynasties, the progenitors of Javanese
nobility.
[25] One of those chasms, near the dessa Gaja Moongkoor, swallowed not merely a dancing-girl, a most
common occurrence in Javanese legendary lore, but a whole village.
[26] A very active mofette which the natives call the Pakaraman, i.e. the “selected spot” where King
Baladeva had his arms forged in the Brata Yuda war.
[27]
 What is the use of living, of kissing lovely flowers,
If, though they are beautiful, they must soon fade into nothing?

[28] The native’s deferential fear for the animal in question, makes him reluctant to pronounce its name, a
liberty likely to give offence; referring to the lord of the woods, he speaks rather of his respected uncle
(paman) or grandfather (kakeh), which satisfies, at the same time, his lingering belief in the transmigration
of the soul.
[29] Siva as Kala, the destroyer with the lion’s or tiger’s head, Banaspati, devouring the sea-monster
Makara: time finishing all things and alleviating all distress, in respect of which notion VOLTAIRE’S short but
pointed story of Les Deux Consolés may be profitably read.
[30] Query: Has St. Patrick ever been on the Diëng?
[31] Or Bhimo, one of Arjuno’s four brothers and avenger of the honour of the family on Kichaka, who had
fallen in love with their common wife Draupadi.
[32] No buildings in the Northern Indian or Indo-Arian style have been found in Java.
[33] Reporting to the Batavian Society of Arts and Sciences, January 11, 1909.
[34] That which has been, returns and will return through all time.
[35] Whence its name, derived from api (fire).
[36] The title Loro designates a lady of very high birth.
[37] Legèn is the liquor prepared by fermentation of the sap drawn from some trees of the palm family.
[38] From tangkis, tinangkis, which, derived from nangkis, “ward off”, means “to repel one another.”
[39] Telaga means “lake” and powiniyan, derived from winih, “seed”, means a flooded ricefield in which
the ears on the stalks, bound in sheaves, are put to serve for seeding.
[40] Not the last, as this legend has it, for Ratu Boko’s roaring can yet be heard on still nights, if we may
believe the people who dwell on the banks of the Telaga Powiniyan.
[41] Padi is rice in the hull, shelled by the women and girls, usually very early in the morning, by stamping
it in blocks of wood hollowed out for the purpose.
[42] Bondowoso’s curse took dire effect and the Javanese lassies of the neighbourhood, who enter the
bonds of matrimony about their fourteenth year, comment with sarcastic pity on the fact that their sisters of
Prambanan have, as a rule, to wait some ten rainy seasons longer—not without seeking compensation, it is
alleged, after the example set by their patron saint Loro Jonggrang, whose maidenly life, according to the
babad chandi Sewu, of which more later on, was not altogether blameless.
[43] The very precise ridicule this appellation, which originated in the childish credulity of the natives, who
persist in paying homage to a statue of Doorga as if it were actually their petrified Mboq Loro Jonggrang;
but the real name of the group being unknown, why should we reject a distinction not denoted by the less
definite term Prambanan?
[44] Major, then still Captain T. VAN ERP in his report to the Batavian Society of Arts and Sciences, January
11, 1909.
[45] The sculptor showed his independence by disregarding the more canonical number of sixteen or ten.
[46] Stimulated especially by Buddhist and Jaïn influences.
[47] Squirrels: Sciurus nigrovittatus and Pteromys elegans and nitidus.
[48] Pasar is held once every five days and once every thirty-five days it falls, therefore, on a Friday.
[49] Batikking is the art of dyeing woven goods by immersing them in successive baths of the required
colour, protecting the parts to be left undyed by applying a mixture of beeswax and resin.
[50] A stupa, lit. a mound, a tumulus, is a memorial structure, sometimes raised over a relic of the Buddha,
one of the eight thousand portions into which his ashes were divided, or a tooth, or any other fragment of
his remains. The combination of such a memento of the Most Chaste with the emblem of supreme virility is
syncretism indeed!
[51] Professor Dr. H. H. JUYNBOLL in the Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde van Nederlandsch
Indië, Ser. vii., vol. vi., nr. 1.
[52] Those not in the Government service: planters, industrials, etc., always of lower caste in general,
especially official esteem, than the select who draw their salaries from Batavia. Hence the native
designation of such an inferior individual as a particulier saja, “only” a private person.
[53] Recho or rejo is the name given to any sort of statue.
[54] From circulus, circle, something round, which rolls easily away into oblivion as it is intended to; but,
if nothing else, la folie circulaire keeps the fiction of governmental guidance and control alive.
[55] Speaking at a meeting of the Royal Geographical Society of the Netherlands, December 27, 1902.
[56] Vishnu’s vahana or bearer, the monster-bird.
[57] By G. P. ROUFFAER, Indische Gids, February 1903.
[58] The fall of Mojopahit has been put at 1478 (Javanese chronicles), 1488 (VETH’S Java, 2nd ed.) and
between 1515 and 1521 (ROUFFAER).
[59] Paku Buwono, like Paku Alam, means “nail which fastens the universe.”
[60] Lit. “the one who has the world in his lap,” i.e. the supporter (ruler) of the world.
[61] Lit. “the one who has the empire in his lap,” i.e. the supporter (ruler) of the empire.
[62] Lit. “the one who has the universe in his lap,” i.e. the supporter (ruler) of the universe.
[63] A fourth semi-independent domain, created at the expense of Jogjakarta for the benefit of Pangeran
Nata Kusuma, ally of the British during the troubles of 1811 and 1812.
[64] Common abbreviations, in speaking and writing, of Surakarta and Jogjakarta; Solo is, to put it
correctly, the name of the place where Paku Buwono II., after his old kraton had been destroyed by fire in
the civil war diligently fostered by the Company, built the present one, Surakarta Hadiningrat, i.e. the most
excellent city of heroes.
[65] Ngoko is spoken among the common people, among children, by adults to children and by those of
superior to those of inferior rank; kromo by those of inferior to those of superior rank and by people of high
rank amongst themselves unless differences in social degree or grades of relationship require another mode
of address; dagellan or gendaloongan (in Surakarta) and madya (in Jogjakarta), a mixture of ngoko and
kromo, by people of equal rank conversing in an unofficial capacity, politely but without constraint, by
those of superior to those of inferior rank, their seniors in years whom they wish to honour, by merchants of
equal rank and the higher servants of the nobility to one another; kromo-inggil comprises a group of words
used when referring to whatever is divine or very exalted on earth; basa kedaton is the language of the
Court, spoken by all males in the presence of the reigning prince or in his kraton whether he be present or
not, but in addressing him or his heir presumptive, kromo is used; the reigning prince employs ngoko
interspersed with kromo-inggil words when referring to himself; the women in the kraton speak kromo or
kromo-madya among themselves, basa kedaton to such men-folk as they are allowed to see and kromo to
the reigning prince or his heir presumptive; ngoko andap is a coarse sort of speech which descends to the
use of words, in relation to man, ordinarily applied only to animals; kromo-dessa means rustic speech in
general.
[66] The central and most refined Javanese of Mataram or Surakarta, spoken in the Principalities, the Kadu,
the Bagelen, Madioon and Kediri; the western Javanese, spoken in Cheribon and Banyumas; the basa or
temboong pasasir (speech of the coast), spoken in Tagal, Pekalongan, Samarang, Yapara and Rembang; the
eastern Javanese, spoken in Surabaya, Pasuruan, Probolinggo and Besuki.
[67] A cult with a ritual handed down from the past and scrupulously observed. Cf. the account of a visit to
Selo in 1849, published from papers left by Dr. M. W. SCHELTEMA, in De Gids, December, 1909.
[68] The Javanese do not kiss in the disgusting, unwholesome, western fashion; they smell or sniff, using
the olfactory instead of the osculatory organs, as sufficiently indicated by the words of the native
vocabulary describing the operation referred to. In this matter again, the Hindu immigrants may have made
their influence felt. Cf. Professor E. WASHBURN HOPKINS’ interesting paper on The Sniff-Kiss in Ancient
India, in the Journal of the American Oriental Society, vol. xxviii., first half, 1907.
[69] Including, besides the palaces and palace grounds, thickly inhabited little towns. The kraton of
Surakarta contains, e.g., more than ten thousand people, all belonging to the imperial family and household,
from the princes to their dependents, servants and hangers on: court dignitaries, court functionaries, gold-
and silversmiths, wood-carvers, carpenters, masons, musicians, etc. Within its walls is also the imperial
mesdjid, a fine, large building with a widely visible gilt roof.
[70] The garebeg mulood, garebeg puasa and garebeg besar, corresponding with the maulid (feast of the
Prophet’s birth), id al-fitr (feast of breaking the fast) and id al-qorban (feast of the sacrifice).
[71] Krissing, a form of capital punishment until recently still in use in the island of Bali, consisted in
driving a kris to the heart of the condemned man, sometimes under circumstances of refined cruelty, the
executioner not being permitted to put an end to his victim’s agony before the prince, presiding in person or
by deputy, had given the signal for the coup de grâce.
[72] A story is told of a Susuhunan of Surakarta having ordered a magnificent landau from one of the first
carrossiers in Paris, that the favoured industrial was advised to send some cooking-pans with it on delivery.
Asking: What for? he got the answer: To poach the eggs his Highness’ chickens will lay in your carriage.
Splendour and squalor live near together in the households of thriftless oriental potentates.
[73]

For usage with mortal man is like the leaf

On the bough, which goes and another comes.

[74] Governor and Director of Java’s northeast coast, afterwards member of the Governor-General’s
Council at Batavia.
[75] Published by H. D. H. BOSBOOM from papers in the Dutch National Archives.
[76] Titular Major, afterwards Lieutenant-Colonel of the Corps of Engineers, Director of Fortifications and
Inspector of Canals, Dams, Dikes and Waterways.
[77] REIMER’S description leaves Taman Ledok in dubio and a reason for his probable non-admittance there,
may be found in the circumstance that it appears to have been the part of the pleasance reserved for the
recreation of the Sooltan’s concubines.
[78] Whence the name: oombool, like sumoor, means “well” or “spring”, and gumuling, derived from
guling, means “rolled up”, “lying flat.”
[79]

For nature in woman

Is so near akin to art.

[80] Kiahi is a very common one. Dr. J. GRONEMAN, whose description of the water-castle at Jogjakarta
contains a good many interesting particulars, mentions the name of the barge of state, presented to Paku
Buwono I. by the East India Company, Niahi Kuning, as, to his knowledge, the only instance of a female
appellation being given to royal paraphernalia—perhaps on the same principle as that which makes us, too,
speak of a ship as of a “she”.
[81] Emblems of royalty; more strictly: objects of virtu belonging to the reigning family.
[82] A pusaka is an heirloom, generally with luck bringing properties either to the rightful owner or to any
one who secures possession of it.
[83] Lit. “the high place” of the kraton.
[84] Short for dos-à-dos, a kind of vehicle naturalised in Java; offering only problematic comfort at its very
best, the ramshackle specimens plying for hire in the streets of the capital towns of the island, beat
everything ever invented anywhere else in the world for inflicting torture on the pretext of conveyance.
[85] Doits are copper coins of endless variety, demonetised more than half a century ago but still used by
the natives almost exclusively and to the prejudice of the legal “cent”, the hundredth part of the “guilder” or
legal unit of the Dutch East Indian currency, notwithstanding the Government’s efforts (on paper) through
the medium of financial geniuses, whose name is Legion and whose practical performance is Nihil, to put
the monetary system and colonial finance in general on a firm, workable basis.
[86] ... Not yet, the work of (our) time has not yet reached its fullness.
[87]

So from the bones of those inhumed sing

The germs of life and of the spirits.

[88] Cf. Miss MARTINE TONNET’S article in the Bulletin of the Dutch Archaeological Society, 1908, on the
work of the Archaeological Commission.
[89] Cf. Professor J. H. C. KERN’S paper on Sivaïsm and Buddhism in Java apropos of the old Javanese
poem Sutasoma, Amsterdam, 1888.
[90] The Pangerans of Giri continued for almost two centuries to exercise their spiritual authority, opposing
the supremacy of the Princes of New Mataram until the Susuhunan Mangku Buwono II. had the last of
them assassinated with all the male members of his family (1680).
[91] Mojo means “fruit”, pahit means “bitter”.
[92] Kerto means “shining, glittering”.
[93] These dates are taken from Miss MARTINE TONNET’S paper in the Bulletin of the Dutch Archaeological
Society already cited, where she calls attention to the ardent religious life in that region at that time, as also
attested to by the zodiac-beakers, mostly unearthed in Kediri and bearing dates between 1321 and 1369.
[94] More generally known as Giovanni da Bologna, though a native of Douay.
[95] On the summit of the Wilis are four heaps of debris and two enclosed terraces; on its eastern slope is a
place of prayer, consisting of three terraces with bas-reliefs and called Penampihan, where the natives still
congregate for sacrifice.
[96] Borassus flabelliformis of the palm family, which, though hardly used in these times of cheap paper as
a provider of writing material, serves the natives for a hundred other purposes.
[97] Two of the eight arms were already missing in 1815 to judge from Raffles’ reproduction.
[98] See his article, Pictorial Art in Asia, in the Contemporary Review of May, 1911.
[99] Bas-relief on the remains of a small building detached from the chandi Panataran proper.
[100] Bijdrage tot de Kennis van het Javaansche Tooneel.
[101] Kulit means leather, the material of which the puppets are made.
[102] The gamelan, as already remarked, is the Javanese orchestra, and besides the gamelan salendro and
the gamelan pelog, the gamelan miring should be mentioned, which varies from the former in the higher
pitch of one of the five notes as produced by some of the instruments. The Kiahi Moonggang, a relic of
mighty Mojopahit, the oldest, most sacred and least melodious of the royal sets of gamelan instruments, is
played every Saturday evening and so long as its tones fill the air, all other gamelans must remain silent.
Cf. Dr. J. GRONEMAN, De Gamelan te Jogjakarta.
[103] The topeng actors are masked conformably to the meaning of the word. Masques and masquerades
seem to be of high antiquity in Java; the Malat of the Panji-cycle already mentions that kind of dramatic
entertainment.
[104] Utilised for prose works in the langen driya, devised by Pangeran Arya Mangku Negara IV., and in
the langen asmara, devised by Prabu Widaya, a son of Paku Buwono IX.
[105] In Balinese decoration, writes Miss MARTINE TONNET (see her article already cited), the naga- (or
kala-naga-) seems to flourish beside the makara-ornament.
[106] Lit. “white tiger”, situated in Banyuwangi.
[107]

What is Holiest? That which now and ever the souls of men
Have felt deep and deeper, will always more unite them.

[108] An endowed convent whose inmates spent their lives in studious seclusion.
[109] The Indian Empire: its Peoples, History and Products.
[110] After this was written a remarkable article by Dr. L. A. WADDELL in The Imperial and Asiatic
Quarterly Review (January, 1912), insisting upon the theistic nature of Buddhism and speaking of the
profound theistic development which had taken place—about 100 B.C.—in the direction of the Mahayana
form of that faith, pointed to the fact of Brahmanic gods being also conspicuous in the earliest Buddhist
sculptures of India, adorning, e.g., the stupa of Bharhoot.
[111] On rereading this sentence, I see that in writing it I was with Ruskin at the Shepherd’s Tower. No
harm done! His observations bear repetition, notwithstanding the present fashion of pooh-poohing him, and
setting myself in the pillory as a plagiarist, I improve the opportunity by making amende (honorable, I
hope) also for what this book owes to many other lovers of and thinkers on art, not scrupulously
acknowledged in every instance because I compose without the help of numbered and dated notes, and
memory, though not failing in the essence of what has been stored from their treasures, disappoints at times
in the matter of chapter and verse.
[112] The chandi Kalasan is the only one in Central Java of which we possess the exact date.
[113] The taras are the saktis of the five Dhyani Buddhas that occupy a place in Javanese speculative
philosophy, Vajradhatvisvari pairing with Vajrochana, Lotchana with Akshobhya, Mamaki with
Ratnasambhava, Pandara with Amitabha, and Tara par excellence with Amoghasiddha, these unions being
responsible for the Bodhisatvas Samantabhadra, Vajrapani, Ratnapani, Padmapani and the coming
Vishvapani.
[114] Here another quotation may be permitted from Dr. L. A. WADDELL’S article, Evolution of the Buddhist
Cult, its Gods, Images and Art (The Imperial and Asiatic Quarterly Review, January, 1912): And
notwithstanding that the Mahayana was primarily a nihilistic mysticism, with a polytheism only in the
background, the latter soon came to the front and has contributed more than anything else to the
materialising and popularity of Buddhism.
[115] Mās, meaning “gold”, is used as a predicate of nobility and also as a title conferred in polite address
on persons of lower birth.
[116] Alocasia macrorrhiza Schott of the Aracaceae family; the leaf, which once betokened dignity, is still
used to protect the head and upper part of the body against rain; other parts of the plant serve sometimes as
food.
[117] The pit there discovered makes the monastic character more than doubtful while it accentuates the
syncretism in which also the ornament of these chandis does not differ from all Central Javanese religious
structures of the period, except those on the Diëng plateau.
[118] Best translated by “ruin”.
[119] An exclamation of wonder and surprise.
[120] And removed to the “museum” at Jogjakarta.
[121] The three gems: the Buddha, the law and the congregation.
[122] Offering accommodation, inclusive of the holy of holies, for 42 statues, which had already flown in
1812.
[123] Different of yore, different now.
[124] There is no help for it; lit. “what can be done?”
[125] The very appropriate name bestowed on the Dutch East Indies by EDUARD DOUWES DEKKER
(MULTATULI), Holland’s greatest writer of the preceding century.
[126] General name given to various plants of the bean family; the kackang here meant, is the kackang
china or tanah (Arachis kypogaea) the oil of which is used as a substitute for olive-oil.
[127] The beans or nuts pressed into cakes and used as manure, especially in the cultivation of sugar-cane.
[128] According to another explanation they represent King Sudhodana and Queen Maya with Siddhartha,
the future Buddha, as a baby in her arms, which leaves us in the dark about the other children.
[129] Lacking money and wanting money, always more money: a summary of Dutch colonial policy as it
strikes the native.
[130] The influence of eastern fables on western literature and art in all its branches cannot be
overestimated as exemplified for instance, with special relevance to the one just referred to, by the late
EMM. POIRÉ (CARAN D’ACHE) when he made our old friend Marius imitate the snail’s braggadocio in his
delightful cartoon Les Pantoufles en peau de tigre (Lundis du Figaro). And the story of the vulture and the
turtles found its way, via American plantation legends, into J. C. HARRIS’ tales of Uncle Remus. Concerning
the manner of the “Migration of Fables” from East to West, most interesting particulars can be found in
MAX MÜLLER’S Chips from a German Workshop, iv., p. 145 ff.
[131] The Buddha’s characteristic tuft or bunch of hairs between the eyebrows.
[132] In consequence of the young enthusiast Sarvarthasiddha cutting his long locks with his sword when
leaving his father’s palace to adopt the life of a recluse as Sakyamuni, the solitary one of the Sakyas, and
meditate upon the redemption of the world.
[133] The words chaitya and dagob are often used indiscriminately and every dagob is, in fact, a chaitya,
but a chaitya is a dagob only if it contains a relic.
[134] De Tjandi Mendoet vóór de Restauratie, publication of the Bataviaasch Genootschap, 1903.
[135] Major VAN ERP, in the Tijdschrift voor Indische Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde, 1909.
[136] Dapoor means “a producer of heat”, “a place where things are produced by heat”, hence an oven, a
kitchen, the priming-hole of a gun.
[137] Before the road was relocated to correspond with the relocation of yet another new bridge after the
last but one’s tumbling down, the chandi Dapoor stood almost at the wayside; its having been smuggled out
of sight has not improved its chances of preservation.
[138] Bombax malabaricum of the numerous Malvaceae family.
[139] By the architect VAN DER HAM.
[140] Canarium commune, fam. Burceraceae.
[141] Or ramelan (ramadhan), the great yearly fast.
[142]

... in the soft rays of the setting sun

Smiling at the cerulean solitudes.

[143] Such is the name given to a stretch of beach, not far from Tanjoong Priok, the harbour of Batavia,
much resorted to, for bathing and advertisement, by that city’s frail sisterhood, and Batavians will
appreciate the young naval officer’s bon mot better than did his aunt, a provincial spinster, when at length
she fathomed it.
[144] A description, dated October 12, 1858, informs us that the piece of ivory, supposed to have garnished
the jaw of Gautama, is about the size of the little finger, of a rich yellow colour, slightly curved in the
middle and tapering. The thickest end, taken for the crown, has a hole into which a pin can be introduced;
the thinnest end, taken for the root, looks as if worn away or tampered with to distribute fragments of the
relic.
[145] Reports and Communications of the Dutch Royal Academy, 1895.
[146] According to another explanation these incompleted pieces of sculpture, found lying about, were
rejected in the building because they did not come up to the architect’s requirements.
[147] The Ruin of the Boro Budoor or Vandalism, signed GOENA DARMA. It is no indiscretion, I believe, to
reveal behind this significant pseudonym Father P. J. HOEVENAARS, of whose sagacious observations I shall
avail myself repeatedly in the following account of the temple’s history.
[148] Invention being stimulated by quasi-historical novels like GRAMBERG’S Mojopahit.
[149] Vide De Java-Oorlog, commenced by Captain P. J. F. LOUW , continued by Captain E. S. DE KLERCK
and published under the auspices of the Batavian Society of Arts and Sciences, vols. i. and ii.
[150] This holds good for western as well as eastern lands and, whether true or false, the story of
Napoleon’s dragoons converting the refectorium of Santa Maria delle Grazie at Milan into a stable and
adjusting their horses’ mangers against da Vinci’s Cena, expresses very well what cavalry on the warpath
are capable of.
[151] The form of the characters, etc., according to Professor KERN, points to about the year 800 Saka (A.D.
878).
[152] See also the Westminster Review of May and The Antiquary of August, 1912.
[153] ROGER FRY on Oriental Art, January, 1910.
[154] In the position called silo by the natives, but with the body straight, not bent forward.
[155] The lowest circular terrace has or ought to have 32, the second or middle one 24, the highest and last
16 of them.
[156] M. A. FOUCHER points out in the Bulletin de l’Ecole Française d’Extrême Orient, iii., that the Chinese
pilgrim Hiuen Tsiang found another unfinished statue in the Mahabodhi temple near the Bo-tree of
Enlightenment, a statue which, according to the description, represented the Buddha in the same position,
his left hand resting in his lap, his right hand hanging down, etc.
[157] The literature concerning this statue, says GOENA DARMA in the Javapost of December 5, 1903, is
extensive and rich in curious conjectures but poor as to scientific value.
[158] Proceedings of the Batavian Society of Arts and Sciences, January 11, 1910.
[159] Professor Dr. C. SNOUCK HURGRONJE, Nederland en de Islām.
[160] Since this was written, the information reached me that the recho belèq has been taken out of its hole
to give it a place somewhere in the temple grounds where it will be open to inspection, which the
reconstruction of the dagob would have made impossible if left in its original station. The sacrilege may be
condoned to a certain extent if it implies the disappearance of the tablet intended to keep alive the memory
of the disastrous royal visit.
The illustration opposite page 280 shows the upper terraces and the dagob after their restoration: the
pinnacle of the dagob having been reconstructed with its crowning ornament, this was afterwards taken
away because of some uncertainty as to its original arrangement.
[161] Gardus are guard-houses erected for the accommodation of the men who take their turn in watching
the roads at night; near the entrance of each hangs the beloq (block), a piece of wood which, being hollow,
is beaten with a stick to proclaim the hour or to signal fire, amok, the appearance of kechus (armed thieves),
etc.
[162] The Javanese reed-pipe.
[163]

That which I saw, seemed to me

A smile of all creation; ...

[164] J. J. MEINSMA, Babad Tanah Jawa, text and notes, 1874-1877, commented upon by Dr. J. L. A.
BRANDES in Het Tijdschrift voor Indische Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde, 1901.
[165] The insurrection headed by Raden Suryakusumo broke out in 1703 and, according to letters from the
Governor-General then in function at Batavia, to the Honourable Seventeen at home, this Javanese Hotspur
gave a good deal of trouble. Having regained his liberty, he rebelled again at Tagal, was captured once more
and brought to Batavia, whence the Dutch authorities sent him into banishment at the Cape of Good Hope,
agreeably to the request of Mangku Rat IV. Cf. J. K. J. DE JONGE, De Opkomst van het Nederlandsche
Gezag over Java, vol. viii.
[166] To rampok is to attack one, crowding on him, generally with lances. The rampokking of tigers after
they are caught and again set free in a square formed by rows of men with pikes, is still a favourite
amusement.
[167] Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde van Nederlandsch Indië, vi., 1 and 2.
[168] J. K. J. DE JONGE, Op. cit., vol. x., p. 329.
[169] The story points a moral not less relevant to western than to eastern ethics and runs as follows:
Once upon a time there lived in Mathura a courtesan renowned for her beauty and her name was
Vasavadatta. On a certain day her maid, having been sent to buy perfume at a merchant’s, who had a son
called Upagoopta, and having stayed out rather long, she said:
—It appears, my dear, that this youth Upagoopta pleases you exceedingly well, since you never buy in any
shop but his father’s.
—Daughter of my master, answered the maid, besides being comely, clever and polite, Upagoopta, the son
of the merchant, passes his life in observing the law.
These words awakened in Vasavadatta’s heart a desire to meet Upagoopta and she bade her maid go back
and make an appointment with him. But the youth vouchsafed no other reply than:—My sister, the hour has
not yet arrived.
Vasavadatta thought that Upagoopta refused because he could not afford to pay the high price she
demanded for her favours, and she bade her maid tell him that she did not intend to charge him a single
cowry if only he would come. But Upagoopta replied in the same words:—My sister, the hour has not yet
arrived.
Shortly after, the courtesan Vasavadatta, annoyed by the jealousy of one of her lovers, who objected to her
selling herself to a wealthy old voluptuary, ordered her servants to kill the troublesome fellow. They did so
without taking sufficient precautions against discovery; the crime became known and the King of Mathura
commanded the executioner to cut off her hands, feet and nose, and abandon her thus mutilated among the
graves of the dead.
Upagoopta hearing of it, said to himself: When she was arrayed in fine clothes and no jewels were rare and
costly enough to adorn her body, it was a counsel of wisdom for those who aspire to liberation from the
bondage of sin to avoid her; with her beauty, however, she has certainly lost her pride and lustfulness, and
this is the hour.
Accordingly, Upagoopta went up to the cemetery where the executioner had left Vasavadatta maimed and
disfigured. The maid, having remained faithful, saw him approach and informed her mistress who, in a last
effort at coquetterie, told her to cover the hideous wounds with a piece of cloth. Then, bowing her head
before her visitor, Vasavadatta spoke:
—My master, when my body was sweet as a flower, clothed in rich garments and decked with pearls and
rubies; when I was goodly to behold, you made me unhappy by refusing to meet me. Why do you come
now to look at one from whom all charm and pleasure has fled, a frightful wreck, soiled with blood and
filth?
—My sister, answered Upagoopta, the attraction of your charms and the love of the pleasures they held out,
could not move me; but the delights of this world having revealed their hollowness, here I am to bring the
consolation of the lotus of the law.
So the son of the merchant comforted the courtesan doing penance for her transgressions, and she died in a
confession of faith to the word of the Buddha, hopeful of rebirth on a plane of chastened existence.
[170] Sawahs are ricefields, terraced and diked for the purpose of copious irrigation, in contradistinction to
ladangs (Jav. gagas, Soond. humas) without artificial water-supply.
 Transcriber’s Note
Illustrations have been moved to avoid breaking paragraphs, and may not match the page
numbers in the list of illustrations.
Printing errors have been corrected as follows:

Frontispiece “THE BORO BUDOOR” changed to “I. THE BORO BUDOOR”

Illustration after p. 70 “EAST FRONT” changed to “V. EAST FRONT”
Illustration after p. 78 “SIVA (LORO JONGGRANG)” changed to “VI. SIVA (LORO
JONGGRANG)”
p. 172 (note) “silent. Cf” changed to “silent. Cf.”
p. 286 “1907 (new. ed.).” changed to “1907 (new ed.).”
p. 286 “1910 (new. ed.).” changed to “1910 (new ed.).”

The following are used inconsistently in the text:

début and debut

firstborn and first-born
folklore and folk-lore
kachang and kackang
kakèh and kakeh
palmgroves and palm-groves
peepholes and peep-holes

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