MONUMENTAL JAVA
[Illustration]
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TORONTO
[Illustration: 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
[Illustration]
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.
FOOTNOTE:
[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.
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I
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 van Es) 43
3. _Chandi_ Arjuno on the Diëng Plateau (Archaeological Service
through Charls and van Es) 57
4. _Chandi_ Bimo or Wergodoro on the Diëng Plateau
(Archaeological Service through Charls and van Es) 60
5. East Front of the Siva (Loro Jonggrang) Temple of the
Prambanan Group in 1895 (Cephas Sr.) 70
6. Siva (Loro Jonggrang) Temple of the Prambanan Group in
1901 (Cephas Sr.) 78
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 Es) 151
16. _Chandi_ Singosari (Archaeological Service through Charls
and van Es) 157
17. _Chandi_ Toompang (Archaeological Service through Charls
and van Es) 159
18. _Chandi_ Panataran (Archaeological Service through Charls
and van Es) 164
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 Charls and van Es) 199
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
Gallery (C. Nieuwenhuis) 242
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 Sr.) 264
38. Ascending to the Dagob of the Boro Budoor (Cephas Sr.) 270
39. The Dagob of the Boro Budoor before its Restoration
(C. Nieuwenhuis) 276
40. The Dagob of the Boro Budoor after its Restoration
(Archaeological Service) 280
[Illustration]
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!
[Illustration]
FOOTNOTES:
[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?
[Illustration]