PUPPET RULERS AND COMIC OPERA COURTS
Hamangkoe Boewoenoe Senopati Sahadin Panoto Gomo Kalif Patelah Kandjeng
VII, Ruler of the World, Spike of the Universe, and Sultan of
Djokjakarta, is an old, old man, yet his brisk walk and upright
carriage betrayed no trace of the worries which might be expected to
beset one who is burdened with the responsibility of supporting three
thousand wives and concubines. When one achieves a domestic
establishment of such proportions, however, he doubtless shifts the
responsibility for its administration, discipline and maintenance to
subordinates, just as the commander of a division delegates his
authority to the officers of his staff. The Sultan, who is now in his
eighty-ninth year, is a worthy emulator of King Solomon, the lowest
estimate which I heard crediting him with one hundred and eighty
children. These are the official ones, as it were. How many unofficial
ones he has, no one knows but himself. The youngest of his children,
now five years old, was, I imagine, a good deal of a surprise, being
sometimes referred to by disrespectful Europeans as "the Joke of
Djokjakarta."
Djokjakarta, or Djokja, as it is commonly called, is set in the middle
of a broad and fertile plain, at the foot of the slumbering volcano of
Merapi, whose occasional awakenings are marked by terrific earthquakes,
which shake the city to its foundations and usually result in
wide-spread destruction and loss of life. It is a city of broad,
unpaved thoroughfares, shaded by rows of majestic waringins, and lined,
in the European quarter, by handsome one-story houses, with white
walls, green blinds and Doric porticos. There are two hotels in the
city, one an excellently kept and comfortable establishment, as hotels
go in Java; a score or so of large and moderately well-stocked European
stores, and many small shops kept by Chinese; an imposing bank of stone
and concrete; and one of the most beautiful race-courses that I have
ever seen, the spring race meeting at Djokja being one of the most
brilliant social events in Java. The busiest part of the city is the
Chinese quarter, for, throughout the Insulinde, commerce, both retail
and wholesale, is largely in the hands of these sober, shrewd,
hard-working yellow men, of whom there are more than three hundred
thousand in Java alone and double that number in the archipelago.
Beyond the European and Chinese quarters, scattered among the palms
which form a thick fringe about the town, are the _kampongs_ of the
Javanese themselves--clusters of bamboo-built huts, thatched with
leaves or grass, encircled by low mud walls. Standing well back from
the street, and separated from it by a splendid sweep of velvety lawn,
is the Dutch residency, a dignified building whose classic lines
reminded me of the manor houses built by the Dutch _patroons_ along
the Hudson. A few hundred yards away stands Fort Vredenburg, a moated,
bastioned, four-square fortification, garrisoned by half a thousand
Dutch artillerymen, whose guns frown menacingly upon the native town
and the palace of the Sultan. Though its walls would crumble before
modern artillery in half an hour, it stands as a visible symbol of
Dutch authority and as a warning to the disloyal that that authority is
backed up by cannon.
Between Fort Vredenburg and the Sultan's palace stretches the broad
_aloun-aloun_, its sandy, sun-baked expanse broken only by a splendid
pair of waringin-trees, clipped to resemble royal _payongs_ or
parasols. In the old days those desiring audience with the sovereign
were compelled to wait under these trees, frequently for days and
occasionally for weeks, until "the Spike of the Universe" graciously
condescended to receive them. Here also was the place of public
execution. In the days before the white men came, public executions on
the _aloun-aloun_ provided pleasurable excitement for the inhabitants
of Djokjakarta, who attended them in great numbers. The method employed
was characteristic of Java: the condemned stood with his forehead
against a wall, and the executioner drove the point of a kris between
the vertebrae at the base of the neck, severing the spinal cord. But
the gallows and the rope have superseded the wall and the kris in
Djokjakarta, just as they have superseded the age-old custom of hurling
criminals from the top of a high tower in Bokhara or of having the
brains of the condemned stamped out by an elephant, a method of
execution which was long in vogue in Burmah.
But, though certain peculiarly barbarous customs which were practised
under native rule have been abolished by the Dutch, I have no intention
of suggesting that life in Djokjakarta has become colorless and tame.
_Au contraire!_ If you will take the trouble to cross the _aloun-aloun_
to the gates of the palace, your attention will be attracted by a row
of iron-barred cages built against the kraton wall. Should you be so
fortunate as to find yourself in Djokjakarta on the eve of a religious
festival or other holiday, each of these cages will be found to contain
a full-grown tiger. For tiger-baiting remains one of the favorite
amusements of the native princes. Nowhere else, so far as I am aware,
save only in East Africa, where the Masai warriors encircle a lion and
kill it with their spears, can you witness a sport which is its equal
for peril and excitement.
On the day set for a tiger-baiting the _aloun-aloun_ is jammed with
spectators, their gorgeous sarongs and head-kains of batik forming a
sea of color, while from a pavilion erected for the purpose the Sultan,
surrounded by his glittering household and a selection of his favorite
wives, views the dangerous sport in safety. In a cleared space before
the royal pavilion several hundred half-naked Javanese, armed only with
spears, stand shoulder to shoulder in a great circle, perhaps ten-score
yards across, their spears pointing inward so as to form a steel fringe
to the human barricade. A cage containing a tiger, which has been
trapped in the jungle for the occasion, is hauled forward to the
circle's edge. At a signal from the Sultan the door of the cage is
opened and the great striped cat, its yellow eyes glaring malevolently,
its stiffened tail nervously sweeping the ground, slips forth on padded
feet to crouch defiantly in the center of the extemporized arena.
Occasionally, but very occasionally, the beast becomes intimidated at
sight of the waiting spearmen and the breathless throng beyond them,
but usually it is only a matter of seconds before things begin to
happen. The long tail abruptly becomes rigid, the muscles bunch
themselves like coiled springs beneath the tawny skin, the sullen
snarling changes to a deep-throated roar, and the great beast launches
itself against the levelled spears. Sometimes it tears its way through
the ring of flesh and steel, leaving behind it a trail of dead or
wounded spearmen, and creating consternation among the spectators, who
scatter, panic-stricken, in every direction. But more often the
spearmen drive it back, snarling and bleeding, whereupon, bewildered by
the multitude of its enemies and maddened by the pain of its wounds, it
hurls itself against another segment of the steel-fringed cordon. After
a time, baffled in its attempts to escape, the tiger retreats to the
center of the circle, where it crouches, snarling. Then, at another
signal from the Sultan, the spearmen begin to close in. Smaller and
smaller grows the circle, closer and closer come the remorseless
spear-points ... then a hoarse roar of fury, a spring too rapid for the
eye to follow, a wild riot of brown bodies glistening with sweat ...
spear-hafts rising and falling above a sea of turbaned heads as the
blades are driven home ... again ... again ... again ... yet again ...
into the great black-and-yellow carcass, which now lies inanimate upon
the sand in a rapidly widening pool of crimson.
* * * * *
Like the palaces of most Asiatic rulers, the kraton of the Sultan of
Djokjakarta is really a royal city in the heart of his capital. It
consists of a vast congeries of palaces, barracks, stables, pagodas,
temples, offices, courtyards, corridors, alleys and bazaars, containing
upward of fifteen thousand inhabitants, the whole encircled by a high
wall four miles in length. Everything that the sovereign can require,
every necessity and luxury of life, every adjunct of pleasure, is
assembled within the kraton. As the Sultan's world is practically
bounded by his palace walls, the kraton is to all intents and purposes
a little kingdom in itself, for there dwell within it, besides the
officials of the household and the women of the harem, soldiers,
priests, gold and silversmiths, tailors, weavers, makers of batik,
civil engineers, architects, carpenters, stonemasons, manufacturers of
musical instruments, stage furniture, and puppets, all supported by the
court. The Sultan rarely leaves the kraton save on occasions of
ceremony, when he appears in state, a thin, aristocratic-looking old
man, somewhat taller than the average of his subjects, wrapped in a
sarong of cloth-of-gold, hung with jewels, shaded by a golden parasol,
surrounded by an Arabian Nights court, and guarded--curious
contrast!--by a squadron of exceedingly businesslike-looking Dutch
cavalry in slouch hats and green denim uniforms.
The first impression which one receives upon entering the inner
precincts of the kraton is of tawdriness and dilapidation. Half-naked
soldiers of the royal body-guard, armed with ten-foot pikes and clad
only in baggy, scarlet breeches and brimless caps of black leather,
shaped like inverted flower-pots, lounge beside the gateway giving
access to the Sultan's quarters or snore blissfully while stretched
beneath the trees. The "Ruler of the World" receives his visitors--who,
if they are foreigners, must always be accompanied by the Dutch
Resident or a member of his staff--in the _pringitan_, or hall of
audience, an immense, marble-floored chamber, supported by many marble
columns. The _pringitan_ is open on three sides, the fourth
communicating with the royal apartments and the harem, to which
Europeans are never admitted. At the rear of the _pringitan_ are a
number of ornate state beds, hung with scarlet and heavily gilded,
evidently placed there for purposes of display, for they showed no
evidences of having been slept in. Close by is a large glass case
containing specimens of the taxidermist's art, including a number of
badly moth-eaten birds of paradise. On the walls I noticed a
steel-engraving of Napoleon crossing the Alps, a number of English
sporting prints depicting hunting and coaching scenes, and three
villainous chromos of Queen Wilhelmina, Prince Henry of the
Netherlands, and the Princess Juliana.
Thanks to the courtesy of the Resident, who had notified the
authorities of the royal household of our visit in advance, we found
that a series of Javanese dances had been arranged in our honor. Now
Javanese dancing is about as exciting as German grand opera, and, like
opera, one has to understand it to appreciate it. Personally, I should
have preferred to wander about the kraton, but court etiquette demanded
that I should sit upon a hard and exceedingly uncomfortable chair
throughout a long and humid morning, with the thermometer registering
one hundred and four degrees in the shade, and watch a number of
anaemic and dissipated-looking youths, who composed the royal ballet,
go through an interminable series of posturings and gestures to the
monotonous music of a native orchestra.
Those who have gained their ideas of Javanese dancing from the
performances of Ruth St. Denis and Florence O'Denishawn have
disappointment in store for them when they go to Java. To tell the
truth I found the dancers far less interesting than their audience,
which consisted of several hundred women of the harem, clad in filmy,
semi-transparent garments of the most beautiful colors, who watched the
proceedings from the semi-obscurity of the _pringitan_. I cannot be
certain, because the light was poor and their faces were in the
shadow, but I think that there were several extremely good-looking
girls among them. There was one in particular that I remember--a
slender, willowy thing with an apricot-colored skin and an oval,
piquant face framed by masses of blue-black hair. Her orange sarong was
so tightly wound about her that she might as well have been wearing a
wet silk bathing-suit, so far as concealing her figure was concerned.
Whenever she caught my eye she smiled mischievously. I should have
liked to have seen more of her, but an unamiable-looking sentry armed
with a large scimitar prevented.
By extraordinary good fortune we arrived in Djokjakarta on the eve of
the celebration of a double royal wedding, two of the Sultan's
grandsons marrying two of his granddaughters. Thanks to the cooperation
of the Dutch Resident, Hawkinson was enabled to obtain a remarkable
series of pictures of the highly spectacular marriage ceremonies, it
being the first time, I believe, that a motion-picture camera had been
permitted within the closely guarded precincts of the kraton.
The festivities, which occupied several days, consisted of receptions,
fireworks, reviews, games, dances, and religious ceremonies,
culminating in a most impressive and colorful pageant, when the two
bridegrooms proceeded to the palace in state to claim their brides.
Nowhere outside the pages of _The Wizard of Oz_ could one find such
amazing and fantastic costumes as those worn by the thousands of
natives who took part in that procession. Every combination of colors
was used, every period of European and Asiatic history was
represented. Some of the costumes looked as though they owed their
inspiration to Bakst's designs for the Russian ballet--or perhaps Bakst
obtained his ideas in Djokjakarta; others were strongly reminiscent of
Louis XIV's era, of the courts of the great Indian princes, of the
Ziegfeld Follies.
The procession was led by four peasant women bearing trays of
vegetables and fruits, symbols of fecundity, I assumed. Behind them,
sitting cross-legged in glass cages swung from poles, each borne by a
score of sweating coolies in scarlet liveries, were the four chief
messengers of the royal harem--former concubines of the Sultan who had
once been noted for their influence and beauty. The cages--I can think
of no better description--were of red lacquer, about four feet square,
with glass sides, and, so far as I could see, entirely air-tight. They
looked not unlike large goldfish aquariums. As they were passing us the
procession halted for a few moments and the panting coolies lowered
their burdens to the ground. Whereupon Hawkinson, who is no respecter
of persons when the business of getting pictures is concerned, set up
his camera within six feet of one of the cages and proceeded to take a
"close-up" of the indignant but helpless occupant, who, unable to
escape or even turn away, could only assume an indifference which she
was evidently far from feeling.
Following the harem attendants marched a company of the royal
body-guard, in scarlet cutaway coats like those worn by the British
grenadiers during the American Revolution, pipe-clayed cross-belts,
white nankeen breeches, enormous cavalry boots, extending half-way up
the thigh, and curious hats of black glazed leather, of a shape which
was a cross between a fireman's helmet and the cap of a Norman
man-at-arms. They were armed indiscriminately with long pikes and
ancient flint-locks, and marched to the music of fife and drum. The
leader of the band danced a sort of shimmy as he marched, at the same
time tootling on a flute. He looked like the Pied Piper of Hamelin.
Perhaps the most curious feature of the procession was provided by the
clowns, both men and women--an interesting survival of the
court-jesters of the Middle Ages--powdered and painted like their
fellows of the circus, and performing many of their stereotyped antics.
One of them, wearing an enormous pair of black goggles, bestrode a sort
of hobby-horse, made of papier-maché, and, when he saw that Hawkinson
was taking his picture, cavorted and grimaced, to the huge delight of
the onlookers. The female clowns, all of whom were burdened by
excessive avoirdupois, wiggled their hips and shoulders as they marched
in a sort of Oriental shimmy.
[Illustration: A Dyak girl at Tenggaroeng, Dutch Borneo]
[Illustration: A Dyak head-hunter, Dutch Borneo]
[Illustration: The Captain of the body-guard of "The Spike of the
Universe"]
[Illustration: A clown in the royal wedding procession at Djokjakarta]
Following a gorgeous cavalcade of mounted princes of the blood, in
uniforms of all colors, periods, and descriptions, their képis
surmounted by towering ostrich plumes, came a long procession of the
great dignitaries of the household--the royal betel-box bearer, the
royal cuspidor-carrier, and others bearing on scarlet cushions the
royal toothpicks, the royal toothbrush, the royal toilet set, and the
royal mirror, all of gold set with jewels. The mothers of the brides,
painted like courtesans and hung with jewels, were borne by in
sedan-chairs, in which they sat cross-legged on silken cushions. Then,
after a dramatic pause, their approach heralded by a burst of barbaric
music, came the brides themselves, each reclining in an enormous
scarlet litter borne by fifty coolies. Beside them sat attendants who
sprinkled them with perfumes and cooled them with fans of
peacock-feathers. In accordance with an ancient Javanese custom, the
faces, necks, arms, and breasts of the brides were stained with saffron
to a brilliant yellow; their cheeks were as stiff with enamel as their
garments were with jewels. Immediately behind the palanquins bearing
the brides--one of whom looked to be about thirteen, the other a few
years older--rode the bridegrooms; one, a sullen-looking fellow who, I
was told, already had five wives and plainly showed it, astride a
magnificent gray Arab; the other, who was still a boy, on a showy bay
stallion, both animals being decked with flowers and caparisoned in
trappings of scarlet leather trimmed with silver. The bridegrooms,
naked to the waist, were, like their brides, dyed a vivid yellow; their
sarongs were of cloth-of-gold and they were loaded with jeweled
necklaces, bracelets, and anklets. Royal grooms in scarlet liveries led
their prancing horses and other attendants, walking at their stirrups,
bore over their heads golden _payongs_, the Javanese symbol of
royalty. Following them on foot was a great concourse of dignitaries
and courtiers, clad in costumes of every color and description and
walking under a forest of gorgeous parasols, the colors of which
denoted the rank of those they shaded. The _payongs_ of the Sultan, the
Dutch Resident, and the royal princes are of gold, those of the
princesses of the royal family are yellow, of the great nobles white,
of the ministers and the higher officials of the country, red; of the
lesser dignitaries, dark gray, and so on. This sea of swaying parasols,
the gorgeous costumes of the dignitaries, the fantastic uniforms of the
soldiery, the richly caparisoned horses, the gilded litters, the
burnished weapons, the jewels of the women, the flaunting banners, and
the rainbow-tinted batiks worn by the tens of thousands of native
spectators combined to form a scene bewildering in its variety,
dazzling in its brilliancy and kaleidoscopic in its coloring. Mr.
Ziegfeld never produced so fantastic and colorful a spectacle. It would
have been the envy and the despair of that prince of showmen, the late
Phineas T. Barnum.
* * * * *
A dozen miles or so northwest of Djokjakarta, standing in the middle of
a fertile plain which stretches away to the lower slopes of slumbering
Merapi, are the ruins of Boro-Boedor, of all the Hindu temples of Java
the largest and the most magnificent and one of the architectural
marvels of the world. They can be reached from Djokjakarta by motor in
an hour. The road, which skirts the foothills of a volcanic mountain
range, runs through a number of archways roofed with red tiles which in
the rainy season afford convenient refuges from the sudden tropical
showers and in the dry season opportunities to escape from the blinding
glare of the sun. Leaving the main highway at Kalangan, a quaint hamlet
with a picturesque and interesting market, we turned into a side road
and wound for a few miles through cocoanut plantations, then the road
ascended and, rounding the shoulder of a little hill, we saw, through
the trees, a squat, pyramidal mass of reddish stone, broken, irregular
and unimposing. It was Tjandi Boro-Boedor (the name means "shrine of
the many Buddhas") considered by many authorities the most interesting
Buddhist remains in existence. Though in magnitude it cannot compare
with such great Buddhist monuments as those at Ajunta in India, and
Angkor in Cambodia, yet in its beautiful symmetry and its wealth of
carving it is superior to them all.
Strictly speaking, Boro-Boedor is not a temple but a hill, rising about
one hundred and fifty feet above the plain, encased with terraces
constructed of hewn lava-blocks and crowded with sculptures, which, if
placed side by side, would extend for upwards of three miles. The
lowest terrace now above ground forms a square, each side approximately
five hundred feet long. About fifty feet higher there is another
terrace of similar shape. Then follow four other terraces of more
irregular contour, the structure being crowned by a dome or cupola,
fifty feet in diameter, surrounded by sixteen smaller bell-shaped
cupolas, known as _dagobas_. The subjects of the bas-reliefs lining the
lowest terrace are of the most varied description, forming a picture
gallery of landscapes, agricultural and household episodes and
incidents of the chase, mingled with mythological and religious scenes.
It would seem, indeed, as though it had been the architect's intention
to gradually wean the pilgrims from the physical to the spiritual, for
as they began to ascend from stage to stage of the temple-hill they
were insensibly drawn from material, every-day things to the realities
of religion, so that by the time the _dagoba_ at the top was reached
they had passed through a course of religious instruction, as it were,
and were ready, with enlightened eyes, to enter and behold the image of
Buddha, symbolically left imperfect, as beyond the power of human art
to realize or portray. From base to summit the whole hill is really a
great picture-bible of the Buddhist creed.
The building of Boro-Boedor was probably begun in the ninth century,
when King Asoka was distributing the supposed remains of Buddha
throughout all the countries of the East in an endeavor to spread the
faith. A portion of the remains was brought to Boro-Boedor, which had
been the center of Buddhist influence in Java ever since 603, when the
Indian ruler, Guzerat, settled in Middle Java with five thousand of his
followers. In the sixteenth century, when a wave of Mohammedanism swept
the island from end to end, the Buddhist temples being destroyed by
the fanatic followers of the Prophet and the priests slaughtered on
their altars, the Buddhists, in order to save the famous shrine from
desecration and destruction, buried it under many feet of earth. Thus
the great monument remained, hidden and almost forgotten, for three
hundred years, but during the brief period of British rule in Java, Sir
Stamford Raffles ordered its excavation, the work being accomplished in
less than two months. Since then the Dutch have taken further steps to
restore and preserve it, though unfortunately the stone of which it is
built was too soft to withstand the wear and tear of centuries, many of
the bas-reliefs now being almost effaced. It remains, however, one of
the greatest religious monuments of all time.
* * * * *
Conditions at Surakarta--usually called Solo for short--are the exact
counterpart of those in Djokjakarta: the same puppet ruler, who is
called Susuhunan instead of Sultan, the same semi-barbaric court life,
the same fantastic costumes, a Dutch resident, a Dutch fort, and a
Dutch garrison. But the kraton of the Susuhunan is far better kept than
that of his fellow ruler at Djokjakarta, and shows more evidences of
Europeanization. The troopers of the royal body-guard are smart,
soldierly-looking fellows in well-cut uniforms of European pattern, to
which a distinctly Eastern touch is lent, however, by their steel
helmets, their brass-embossed leather shields, their scimitars, and
their shoulder-guards of chain mail. The royal stables, which contain
several hundred fine Australian horses and a number of beautiful
Sumbawan ponies, together with a score or more gilt carriages of state,
are as immaculately kept as those of Buckingham Palace. In the palace
garage I was shown a row of powerful Fiats, gleaming with fresh varnish
and polished brass, and beside them, as among equals, a member of the
well-known Ford family of Detroit, proudly bearing on its panels the
ornate arms of the Susuhunan. I felt as though I had encountered an old
friend who had married into royalty.
As though we had not seen enough dancing at Djokjakarta, I found that
they had arranged another performance for us in the kraton at
Surakarta. This time, however, the dancers were girls, most of them
only ten or twelve years old and none of them more than half-way
through their teens. They wore sarongs of the most exquisite
colors--purple, heliotrope, violet, rose, geranium, cerise, lemon,
sky-blue, burnt-orange--and they floated over the marble floor of the
great hall like enormous butterflies. As a special mark of the
Susuhunan's favor, the performance concluded with a spear dance by four
princes of the royal house--blasé, decadent-looking youths, who spend
their waking hours, so the Dutch official who acted as my cicerone told
me, in dancing, opium-smoking, cock-fighting and gambling, virtually
their only companions being the women of the harem. If the Dutch
Government does not actively encourage dissipation and debauchery among
the native princes, neither does it take any steps to discourage it,
the idea being, I imagine, that Holland's administrative problems in
the _Vorstenlanden_ would be greatly simplified were the reigning
families to die out. The princes, who were armed with javelins and
krises, performed for our benefit a Terpsichorean version of one of the
tales of Javanese mythology. The dance was characterized by the utmost
deliberation of movement, the dancers holding certain postures for
several seconds at a time, reminding me, in their rigid
self-consciousness, of the "living pictures" which were so popular in
America twenty years ago.
All of the dancers, as I have already remarked, were of the blood royal
and one, I was told, was in the direct line of succession. Judging from
the vacuity of his expression, the Dutch have no reason to anticipate
any difficulty in maintaining their mastery in Soerakarta when he comes
to the throne. But the Dutch officials take no chances with the
intrigue-loving native princes; they keep them under close surveillance
at all times. It is one of the disadvantages of Christian governments
ruling peoples of alien race and religion that methods of revolt are
not always visible to the naked eye, and even the Dutch Intelligence
Service in the Indies, efficient as it is, has no means of knowing what
is going on in the forbidden quarters of the kratons. In Java, as in
other Moslem lands, more than one bloody uprising has been planned in
the safety and secrecy of the harem. Potential disloyalty is
neutralized, therefore, by a discreet display of force. Throughout the
performance in the palace a Dutch trooper in field gray, bandoliers
stuffed with cartridges festooned across his chest and a carbine tucked
under his arm, paced slowly up and down--an ever-present symbol of
Dutch power--watching the posturing princes with a sardonic eye. That
is Holland's way of showing that, should disaffection show its head,
she is ready to deal with it.