his elephants, but declined to enter the enclosure where the tigers were
confined. Some of the houses were Dutch in style; others were Javanese
of the one-story bungalow type, with open fronts. Early the following
day, at 6 A.M.., we drove to the ruined temple of Prambanam, and nine
miles from Djokjakarta, we visited Chandi Kalasan ("chandi" means a
mausoleum), a beautiful ruin, unfortunately too dilapidated to afford
much satisfaction, but from the remains that have been found
archæologists base their belief that it was incomparably beautiful in
conception and workmanship. We also went to another temple, Chandi Sewo,
about half a mile distant, which also showed marks of great beauty.
We drove on, perhaps a mile farther, and came to a wonderful group of
temples, dating about the same period, known as Prambanam, where we saw
what excited our wonder and admiration. Though the ruins did not contain
a single genuine Buddha figure, holding only many images of Hindu gods,
archæologists find ample proof that they were built by Buddhists (they
have been called Hindu temples).
[Illustration: _The ruined temple of Prambanam_]
[Illustration: _Bas-reliefs in the Siva Temple, Prambanam_]
[Illustration: _The stairs leading to a Prambanam temple_]
Time will not, however, permit an elucidation of them further than to
state that Dr. Gronneman, a celebrated writer and archæologist and an
accepted authority, believes that a number of monuments and bo-trees
have within a few years been hewn out around the base of each of the
temples, these being covered with the traditional parasols; many of the
dagoba-shaped bells have also been found,--a symbol of the tree under
which Prince Siddhartha attained Buddha-hood. Dr. Gronneman also calls
them Prambanam. The ruins form a group of eight temples or
chandis,--three greater and three lesser ones in two parallel rows,--the
former on the west, the latter on the east side of the spacious square,
with two smaller ones at the ends. These were doubtless mausolea built
over the ashes of princes or chiefs. The temples were probably
constructed toward the end of the eighth century, and unfinished
sculptures show that the work was stopped before completion. It is
stated that possibly this may have been caused by the overthrow of the
Empire at that time. There are two flights of stairs on each side, the
lower leading to a landing which is raised a few feet above the terrace,
but in the corners between the stairs and the wall of the basement are
miniature temples of exquisite workmanship, the front and side walls of
which had niches, each containing a high-relief figure of a man or a
woman. The upper flight of stairs (three sides lead to the entrance to
three chapels with pyramidal roofs of their own) have suffered much
devastation.
The largest of the temples has a broken image of Siva, more than life
size. This, together with the nature of the bas-reliefs, has caused
archæologists to name it the Siva Temple. In like manner the second
temple has been called Brahma, and the third Vishnu, thus including the
Indian triumvirate of gods. On the upper walls of the basements of all
the principal temples are several series of sculptures, each following
one division of the wall. Most of the niches contain small lions with
curled manes, while some in the projecting part of the wall have three
heavenly nymphs standing in a stately manner with arms interlaced. A
series of sculptures which has been preserved almost intact on the inner
side of the parapet wall of the Siva Temple is a repetition of the first
part of the Rama legend as told in the Indian epic, "Ramayana," and it
is thought that the corresponding series of the other temples may have
represented the sequel to that history. A ponderous cornice richly
ornamented, which is now almost gone, runs over this series of
sculptures. Another series was found on the walls of the temple itself a
few feet higher than the terrace, and still higher up there is a more
continuous series, but the arches and figures are lost in the almost
general wreck which time and the elements have wrought. Only a hint of
the character of these ruins has been given, but with the aid of the
illustrations, some idea of them, of their entire beauty, as well as of
the imposing majesty of the sculptures, may be gained. The Loro Jonggram
Temple has a celebrated bas-relief in an elaborate niche, called the
"Three Graces."
[Illustration: _The Three Graces in the Lara Jongram Temple, Java_]
About a quarter of a mile distant from the Prambanam there is another
group of temples covering the largest circumference of any other group
in the region. The principal temple, much surpassing the others in size,
stood on a raised rectangular terrace, enclosed by a low wall with a
gateway in the middle of each side. A little lower there were
twenty-eight temples forming a rectangular enclosure, and another more
spacious court was enclosed by forty-four temples. There was a still
larger rectangular terrace with eighty temples, and a lower terrace
with eighty-eight temples, making two hundred and forty in all; hence,
by exaggeration, the name, "One Thousand Temples." Each of the temples,
which diminish in size, forms a square with a little approach and small
_steos_ leading to the inner room. The largest temple of the group was
rich in detail and sculpture designs, which, like the Prambanam group,
relate to the Indian triumvirate, Siva, Brahma, and Vishnu, with the
same evidences, however, as to Buddhist origin. There were still other
ruined temples in the vicinity which could not be visited, but we drove
back the nine miles to Djokjakarta, feeling that we had had a rich
morning's experience and also deeply impressed with the labor, patience,
and skill which these ruins represented.
We arrived at the Hotel Mataram in time for luncheon in the pleasant
open dining-room, leading to a garden filled with trees, from whose
branches were suspended orchids of various hues. February 24th was the
date fixed for a trip of twelve miles by carriage to the Buddhist
temple, Boro Boedor, but the late rains of the monsoon season had
carried away a bridge that must be crossed; hence a grave doubt arose as
to whether we would be able to go. Our enthusiasm, however, led us to
take the risk, with the result that on reaching the scene of the wreck
we found an improvised footbridge and another train awaiting us on the
opposite side. Our railway journey terminated, we took a carriage for a
drive of several miles, stopping on our way at the old temple of
Mendoet, small but very perfect in its construction, with fine
bas-reliefs and large architectural ornaments; also some immense savage
gargoyles, which were especially noticeable.
[Illustration: _The old temple at Mendoet_]
We ascended the stairs to the inner room, where was a large-sized figure
of Buddha, with the attendant figures at each side called his sons,
Buddhavista, meaning "future Buddhas." Driving on, we came to another
missing bridge. Here we were taken across on a rude raft, the carriage
following, and then the horses. As we drew near Boro Boedor, a feeling
of awe came over us, for we were to behold a temple which for centuries
had been buried from the sight of man. Indeed, until the debris of time
was removed, after English occupation in 1811, not a hint of its
existence even had been known. This work was undertaken by Sir Stamford
Raffles before the cession of Java to the Dutch in 1816, and carried on,
aided by eminent archæologists. Much has been done by the Government and
by an Archæologist Society since 1885, and at the time we were there it
was said that about one thousand workmen were employed on the temple.
The approach being over a hill, the view of the temple is suddenly
disclosed, but from the rest house we had a side glimpse. This is
confusing at first, and the structure seems too broad for the height,
thus lacking in impressiveness; but as one approaches and the huge mass
takes on color and expression, with the many-sided pyramids of dark gray
stone, the mass of cupolas, spires, and walls surrounded by a high
central dome, the impression taken altogether becomes almost
overpowering. It is a structure difficult to describe, but a few
outlines with the aid of the illustrations may give you some idea at
least of its size and impressiveness.
First, it is not a building in the ordinary sense and has no entrance.
It is the top of a hill, artificially lowered and encircled with
galleries built by human hands. The lowest terrace, which is shown in
the picture, forms the upper portion of a terrace wall, which is still
submerged below the soil. This terrace has thirty-six sides, measuring
three hundred and seventy-four feet in diameter. Below is a larger
terrace, square in shape, estimated at five hundred feet; it is
underground, while above it is another of the same shape as the middle
terrace, from which it is reached by stairways on each of the four
sides. Some years ago it was discovered that three terraces were of a
later date than the original internal structure, which is more slender
in shape, and that they were constructed in order to support the latter
when it began to show signs of settling. The base of the lower terrace
has been exposed in places in order to obtain photographs of the
beautiful bas-reliefs, but it was subsequently covered, inasmuch as it
would have been a grave mistake to run the risk of leaving it
permanently exposed.
The building above the three terraces consists of four parapeted
galleries, erected upon the internal walls of the lower gallery, and of
four upper terraces, the three highest of which are circular. The
topmost terrace is crowned by a large cupola, or dagoba. The Boro
Boedor, from its base to the top of the cupola, has a height of
ninety-seven feet, while the elevation of the hill to the lower step is
about fifty-five feet, making a total of one hundred and fifty-two feet.
Each of the lower galleries is about seven feet wide, the walls on
either side being lined with sculptures which, if they could be extended
in a line, would cover three miles. We walked around the galleries and
ascended the steps.
In the lower gallery there is, beneath every Buddha, a representation of
a man, on either side of which are groups of three figures, each bearing
lotus flowers and fans.
The inner circle of the second gallery contains, in the upper row,
bas-reliefs representing scenes connected with the history of Prince
Siddhartha (Gautama) from his infancy to the period when he attained
Nirvana.
The third gallery wall contains one hundred and eighty bas-reliefs,
depicting the apotheosis of Buddha. The fourth, in eighty different
scenes, pictures the rewards given to kings who have been Buddha
worshippers, while the fifth contains a large number of images of Buddha
and of two kings, probably the founders of the temple. Other bas-reliefs
that are interspersed represent fanciful subjects and scenes from life
or are illustrations of legends; one of the latter deals with the
turtle, which is regarded as sacred by all true Buddhists.
Staircases ascend from gallery to gallery in a straight line on each of
four sides. These have pointed arches with carved keystones, and
formerly were guarded by heavy banisters and carved lions. The parapeted
walls of the galleries were once decorated with four hundred and
thirty-two niches, each with three turrets, and contained four hundred
and thirty-two life-sized Buddhas, seated on lotus cushions.
[Illustration: _Boro Boedor, in Java_]
[Illustration: _Stairway of Boro Boedor, Java_]
[Illustration: _Boro Boedor, Java, showing one part of the gallery_]
The three upper circular terraces are individually adorned with
thirty-two, twenty-four, and sixteen openwork bell-shaped cupolas, or
dagobas, each containing a Buddha in sitting posture. Inside this circle
rises the central dagoba of huge, imposing dimensions, the final crown
to the whole structure. This is modelled after the same type as the
smaller ones, but its walls rise perpendicularly from the base, which
has the form of a huge lotus cushion in a beautiful frame, and ends at
the top in a slightly rounded dome rising at least twenty-seven feet
above the highest terrace. Of the cone which formerly surrounded this
dagoba nothing is left except part of the pedestal, a stone block
afterwards fashioned into a seat five feet high by ten feet broad. This
is reached by some rough stone steps. The cupola, or dagoba, was at one
time entirely closed, but when opened some years ago it was found to
contain a large unfinished figure of Buddha.
Our party climbed to the seat alluded to, and what a view presented
itself!--a wide valley or plain, miles in extent, surrounded by the
towering Minoch mountains in the distance, with lesser mountains
seemingly as foothills, but nevertheless some of them volcanic craters;
villages almost concealed by the masses of foliage, with whole tracts of
palms and masses of green,--and all bathed in the glorious sunlight. We
sat spellbound, and finally descended the long flight of stairs feeling
we had had a morning's experience which never could be repeated. In the
words of Dr. Gronneman (to whom we owe a debt of gratitude for his
explanations), "upwards of a thousand years have since rolled over the
Boro Boedor; earthquakes and ash showers have disjointed its walls, and
rank vegetation has disintegrated its foundation, ... and shortsighted
fanatics have defaced its works of art, but still the ruin stands there,
an imposing fact, a powerful creation of the thinking mind, an epic in
stone, immortal even in its decadence."
We walked to the pleasant rest house, called Passagrahan, for our
luncheon. Soon the rain which had threatened us fell in torrents, but
neither this fact nor any other obstacle dimmed our enthusiasm as we
sped on our homeward way. To prove my own absorption in the day's
programme I would state that I amused the party on our arrival at the
train by saying to our Malay servant, "Buddha, will you take my wrap?"
his name being Pandox.
The next morning I drove about Djokjakarta in search of photographs and
found the place much more attractive than I had supposed. One long
avenue of trees in particular impressed me; on alternate sides were the
tamarind and the canary tree, forming a perfect arch overhead. This
continued for a long way, and there were various other shaded streets
that attracted my attention.
Djokjakarta is a place of importance, the capital of a native State; the
Sultan preserves some semblance of power and lives in regal style,
keeping up all the ceremonials of his high office. This was one of the
last provinces to yield to Dutch rule. There is a Dutch resident to
whom the Sultan must pay deference and from whom he accepts advice. We
did not see the Sultan, but we saw four sons of his out driving, dressed
in red and each carrying a red silk umbrella, the emblem of royalty.
[Illustration: _A public square in Djokjakarta, Java_]
The life at Djokjakarta is much like that of old Java, and the peasants
are said to be of a higher type than those corresponding to the coolie
class in India and Ceylon, many of this class in Java being Sudanese.
There are several strains of blood in Java, and a mixture of Arab
ancestry with Mohammedan faith; for centuries, Java passed through many
transitions, and it would be interesting to trace her history backward.
Djokjakarta being but twelve miles from the Indian Ocean, the heat is
never oppressive, and the breezes from sea and mountain produce an
agreeable temperature, as I found one morning, much to my delight. The
bazars were not enticing, but there were various attractive articles for
sale at the hotel,--cardcases made with tiny feathers, portemonnaies,
woven baskets, and, above all, sarongs, the product of a large factory
near by, which has been fostered by English and Dutch women as a kind of
philanthropy for the teaching and employment of girls, as the
"manageress" at the hotel explained to us. These sarongs are four and a
half yards long by one and one-half wide, the fabric, though heavier,
being similar to calico. The patterns are quite artistic, and the
process of designing, drawing, stamping, and weaving is complicated.
The Water Castle was formerly like a summer-house in an Oriental garden,
with its underground chambers and all manner of appliances for luxurious
ease. It has now fallen into decay; the aqueducts and fountains are
stilled; the statues are covered with moss, and the gardens are a
perfect tangle. It was the device of a Portuguese architect of a century
ago.
The streets were less crowded in Djokjakarta than one would expect in a
city which ranks the fifth in Java; everywhere there were groups of
really happy-faced children, and mothers looking like mere girls, with
infants carried usually on the left hip, sometimes in a sling over the
shoulders. In Java, as in other countries we have visited, there is no
middle-aged class among the women; they are either young or old,
although in reality not old. One is considerably handicapped in Java
unless Dutch or the dialect can be spoken, for, in learning from others
the true inwardness of things, we are powerless without language,
however much we might supply certain physical needs by the use of
pantomime.
* * * * *
MAOS, _February 25th_: At 2 P.M. on the 25th of February, we took the
train for Maos, in order to break the long railway journey to Batavia.
The ride of three and a half hours carried us through the same
diversified landscape of fertile fields or plains of rice, palms, and
bamboo, with mountains in the distance. One feature, however, deserves
special mention; it was a country roadway, visible at frequent intervals
for at least two hours, and lined on each side with tall trees which met
in many arches. This was evidently a highway or postroad, worthy of
emulation in other lands, and planned by the Government, a veritable
blessing to man and beast.
[Illustration: _Designing sarongs in Batavia_]
We passed a comfortable night in Maos at the Government rest house,
Staats, and left at the early hour of 6 A.M. for a return journey to
Batavia. We found that when we reached a junction, our train diverged
over a new route, giving us a different outlook, not unlike our first
experience, but, it seemed, with finer mountain scenery. First we
climbed to an altitude of about twenty-two hundred feet; then gradually
descended, our objective point, Batavia, being at sea-level. Many of the
high mountains showed cultivation to the very top, while the plains with
their alternate groups of bamboo, cocoanut, and other palms, were green
with the new rice crop, the cultivation of this commodity being
different in Java from that in Burma. Great care is expended on the
culture of the rice, the tiny plants first being put in small wet
enclosures; then, when sufficiently developed, they are planted
separately by the small army of workers, in receptacles made for them,
and set with the greatest regularity. The workers consist usually of
women or young girls, and the varied colors of their dress--or
undress--presented a marked feature. We also saw more coffee cultivated
than on any previous route, and it is to be regretted that the blight of
ten years ago has taken this old form of industry from the Javanese.
Strange as it may seem, we had no Java coffee in Java, the land of the
celebrated brand; nor did we see anything but a very strong extract of
coffee (to which was added a large quantity of milk), good and
convenient, no doubt, but not at all like the real article.
We arrived in Batavia during the afternoon; the hotel wore a homelike
air, and we passed a restful twenty-four hours with only a drive as the
regular programme. I have already treated of the marked natural
advantages of Java, and of the temples; too much cannot be said of this
"Garden of the East," with its varied landscape of alternating mountains
and plains, its wealth of trees in myriad forms, its shrubs which in
their luxuriance seem tree-like, and its tangle of vines and blossoming
flowers. But it appeared to me as if this holiday side of nature and the
workaday aspect of the life in Java did not harmonize, and I wondered if
this condition was caused by Dutch thrift being grafted on to the
native Javanese temperament, which in its incipiency was simple and
disinclined to much exertion. Certain it is that the women of Java,
while apparently contented, look careworn and have deep lines in their
faces, and the perfect cultivation of the soil,[5] which is largely done
by women, shows that constant toil must be required of them. Added to
this is the care of a bevy of little ones--more infants to the square
yard than I had ever seen before.
[Illustration: _Landscape near Batavia_]
These true children of Nature are seemingly trusting and believing, and
they ask no better fate than they have. The question obtrudes itself,
Would life have been easier if the English had not again ceded Java to
Holland in 1816, after only a five years' tenure? This query regarding
the Orient in general also comes up: Is it better to leave the peoples
undisturbed in their ignorance of the broader life and higher
conditions, or to try to teach them ways foreign to their
nature,--efforts which might end in failure? This is the problem that
confronts the philanthropist at every turn, and were it not for the
possibility of alleviating the condition of womanhood, it might be well
to abandon all charitable effort. Scientists believe, nevertheless, that
while it will be a slow, laborious process, much can be done in time;
it behooves us who have our homes in a country where it is a pleasure to
live not to turn a deaf ear to appeals like that made by Ramabai, who at
Pina, near Bombay, is laboring to uplift the condition of child widows
in India. The great volume of missionary effort is also turned in the
same direction, and through schools and hospitals the social workers are
paving the way toward better conditions, in spite of the criticism of
some who derisively speak of the failure to "save souls," without
thinking that the first step is to emancipate the body.
When I regard the condition of the women of the Orient, I feel like
starting an immediate crusade--in Egypt they are slaves or toys; in
India, bound by the iron laws of custom and caste, sad and dejected; in
Burma, happy because independent on business and property lines, thanks
to the English Government; in Ceylon, cheerful but with no recognized
positions; in Java, children of toil; in Siam, fearless and intrepid in
temperament, but subject to the conditions of the Orient; in China,
Manchuria, and Korea, seemingly impassive but bound by traditional
customs, enforced for centuries; in Japan, bright and winsome, true
children of Nature, still held by the customs of years, however much the
barriers are being broken down by the progressive policy of the country.
[Illustration: _Javanese vegetable sellers_]
As tourists remaining but a short time in a place, we did not have the
pleasure of meeting the higher class of women in any of the countries
visited, but I saw a Javanese lady in Kyoto who dined several times with
an English lady; her self-possession and dignity of manner were pleasant
to note, while her responsive smile showed quick intelligence. She had
been the wife of an English gentleman for twenty years, but still wore
the graceful kimono, which showed her good sense. Strange as it may
seem, the founder of Buddhism, with all his teaching of love to mankind,
filial duty, kindness to animals, and moral precepts in general, failed
to extend to women, for whom he is said to have had little respect, any
encouragement other than the abolishing of the law of caste. But,
notwithstanding, he had many women followers, some even becoming nuns.
The vehicles of the countries we visited were always individual, and I
have failed to allude to the peculiar sadoe of Java, a two-wheeled cart
drawn by a small horse, a seat for four persons being placed over the
axle. The driver is comfortable, but the passengers with no backs for
support are tossed about unmercifully. This sadoe has a canopy top; it
is like the jinrikisha, convenient for a shopping excursion, but I pity
any one who attempts to take a long drive in it! One morning I went out
alone, and in turning a street corner I was nearly thrown and my
packages flew in every direction. I felt that I needed a little
sympathy, but the imperturbable Dutch coachman(?) never even smiled, so
I concluded it was an every-day occurrence. A dignitary with attendants
on each side carrying umbrellas is amusing.