The Wearisome Tropics.--Waterspouts.--Climatic
Conditions.--Length of Days.--A Land Rich in Prehistoric
Monuments.--History and Fable.--Last King of
Ceylon.--Ancient Ruins.--Aged Cave Temples.--Gigantic Stone
Statue of Buddha.--French Vandals.--A Native
Chronicle.--Once the Seat of a Great Empire.--System of
Irrigation.--Mysterious Disappearance of a Nation.--Ruins of
a Vast City.--Departed Glory.--The Brazen Palace.--Asiatic
Extravagance.--Ruined Monument.
The author had been expressing a sense of hearty appreciation, on a
certain occasion, in a domestic circle at Colombo, as to the perennial
character of the vegetation, together with the endless variety of
fruits and flowers in this favored land, but it appeared that those
who had adopted it as their home did not find it to be absolute
perfection. There is no terrestrial paradise; there was never a golden
age; both of these figures of speech are born of poetical license: but
to the traveler who recalled for a moment the ice-bound aspect and
chilling snow of his New England home which must have prevailed at
that moment, the contrast which surrounded him here had a magic charm.
"It seems almost like heresy to say so," remarked the cultured and
amiable wife of our host, an English official, "but one does sometimes
weary of the sameness in the verdure of the tropics, lovely as it is,
while remembering with a sigh the beautiful, varying autumn and the
joyous springtime of more northern regions. Here we are always upon a
dead level, so to speak; no contrasts present themselves. Eternal
summer palls upon one. Perpetual youth in the vegetable kingdom," she
added, "seems as unnatural and undesirable as it would be in human
life. We have no winter, spring, or autumn in our Ceylon calendar."
The equable and fruitful climate of the island is not produced, as is
the case upon the west coast of California, by the influence of the
ocean. There the Kurosiwo or Japanese current, which closely follows
the trend of the land like a mighty river, with a constant temperature
resembling the Gulf Stream of the Atlantic, and a width of five
hundred miles, makes a semi-tropical climate of a latitude which is
often Arctic farther inland. Its equatorial situation alone endows
Ceylon with endless summer.
It is curious to observe how the nature of some plants and trees is
changed by transplanting them hither, and the same is also remarked of
the average individual who has come from other less genial lands to
settle in an equatorial climate. If it proves to be a healthy one, he
takes very kindly to the delightful do-nothing of such a region,
together with its lazy, sensuous enjoyments, losing in a large degree
the energy and ambition naturally developed among the people of the
north. The moral is obvious. He who runs may read. It requires a
colder clime, with a soil not too willing, to awaken human energy, and
to place man at his best. Luxury enervates; necessitous labor
strengthens.
Fruit-bearing trees transplanted from the United States, such as
peach, cherry, and pear trees, have in many instances ceased to
produce fruit, and have become partial evergreens. Experiments with
grapevines from northern climates have met with similar results. In
nearly the same latitude, however, though in opposite hemispheres, the
transplanting of some fruit trees, and especially of the vine, seems
to impart fresh life and fruitfulness. Those brought from France and
Italy put on new vigor when they are domesticated on the Pacific coast
of this continent; while the mission grapevine and others native in
California, exported thence to the countries named, flourish
marvelously and produce abundantly. At this writing, news comes to us
of the partial failure of the grape crop in some of the vineyards of
southern France, and also that, following out the results of late
experiences, the old vines are to be replaced by the introduction of
California varieties. The grapevine does not seem adapted to tropical
climes. It is not a perennial growth, but must enjoy its long winter
rest in order to thrive. Even in mild, equable southern California,
its fruit-bearing branches are cut back annually to the main stalk,
where the principal life is stored. The new branches of the mission
grape, as it is called in this region, produce bunches of the
luscious fruit yearly, which often weigh four and five pounds each;
but as we have said, the new growth is cut away every year after
fruiting.
Checking the vagrant inclination of pen and brain to travel afield,
let us turn to matters more relative to the expressed purpose of these
pages.
The island of Ceylon is favorably situated outside the region of the
cyclones which so frequently prevail in the Bay of Bengal and the
neighboring ocean, while it is also free from the hurricanes of the
Mauritius Sea and the volcanic outbursts of the Eastern Archipelago.
There is no evidence of seismic disturbance in this region, either
past or present. One does not leave waterspouts entirely behind in the
Gulf of Siam, on reaching the shore of this island. Just before the
season of the monsoons, they appear sometimes off this coast. They are
never, however, of a fierce, whirlwind character, so as to cause any
serious harm.
As regards climatic conditions, the coolest season of the year is
during the prevalence of the southwest monsoons, or from the end of
April to the end of October. The northeast monsoon is of shorter
duration, prevailing during November, December, January, and February.
Both these periods are ushered in by heavy thunder-storms and a
liberal downpour of rain. The reader who has never experienced an
equatorial land-storm has no conception of the fury of the elements
under such circumstances. The continued blaze of the fiery lightning
and the deafening crash which echoes through the skies are beyond
description. Timid people try to hide themselves in the dark corners
of the bungalows, while even the natives and animals often become
tremulous with fear. It must be admitted that fatal accidents are
frequent enough during these thunder-storms to keep an apprehension of
danger constantly alive. In the mountain regions about Kandy and
Ratnapura, where the echoes supplement the grand electric discharges,
the deafening noise and reverberation can only be compared to the
quick, sharp, detonating reports of heavy artillery. The monsoons
occur with the utmost regularity, both here and over a large portion
of the neighboring continent, and they are so regular that their
arrival can be calculated upon nearly to a day. Electrical phenomena,
thunder and lightning, are, as just intimated, often very grand. So,
also, is the prevalence of optical displays, such as rainbows and
mirage. As to moonlight nights and their dazzling exhibitions, like
those of the tropical regions generally, words are inadequate to
express their splendor, at once so brilliant and so calm.
The climate is very much like that of Java, humid and hot, especially
in the southern portion nearest to the coast; it is, however,
considerably more moderate than that of the mainland of India.
Although so very warm, it is equable; one is aware of what to expect
and can prepare for it. Occasional frosts occur in the highlands, but
snow is unknown even on the mountain tops. The length of days, owing
to the proximity to the equator, does not vary more than one hour, the
sun setting at Colombo at about six o'clock all the year round. At
Dondra Head, the extreme southern point of Ceylon, the difference
between the longest and shortest day of the year is only forty
minutes.
This interesting island is rich in prehistoric monuments, Buddhist
temples, and lofty dagobas, some of which were originally over three
hundred feet in height, exceeding that of the Cathedral of Notre Dame,
in Paris, by sixty feet. This, be it remembered, was representative of
a civilization which existed upon an island of the Indian Ocean
between two and three thousand years ago. The lofty, gorgeous colored,
and eccentric temples which the traveler regards with such curious
interest in India belong to a much more modern period. They are
structures which have been raised oftentimes upon the site of former
heathen shrines. So in Rome, many of the churches which we visit
to-day and accredit with great antiquity are rebuilt upon edifices
formerly dedicated to strange gods. Some remain intact, like the
Temple of Hercules and the Pantheon. These Ceylon dagobas are only one
class of monuments, and are to be considered in connection with other
vestiges of vast public structures, the origin and purpose of which
have been lost sight of in the lapse of ages. Slabs of granite
engraven with half-effaced inscriptions in Pali, and in unknown
characters, are still found, mystifying the most learned antiquarians,
while the significance of others has been made plain by means of
commendable patience and scholarly acquirements. What an object lesson
is here presented, attesting the evanescence of all mundane power and
glory. Here are evidences of vast and costly enterprises, such as the
rearing of grand monuments whose legitimate object can only be
conjectured, and the names of whose builders are forgotten. The annals
of the Singhalese, to whom we are not accustomed to give much credit
as a literary people, yet afford consecutive historical data for
twenty-four centuries back, though, as in most oriental countries, the
records of their past combine truth and fable almost indiscriminately,
so that it is often difficult to distinguish one from the other. These
Eastern writers had a royal mode of assertion, much more impressive
than convincing; as regards the general fidelity of these annals,
however, there is no reasonable doubt, after allowing for what may be
termed poetical license of expression. We may well ask ourselves how
many lands can, like Ceylon, tell so much of their past history in
authentic records verified by enduring monuments. As is well known, we
in America go back only about four centuries before the trail of
history is lost. To be sure, conjecture is abundant enough, but
conjecture is not history.
Compared with the probable age of the globe, how quickly history fades
into fable! Agassiz thought this to be the oldest country of which we
have any reliable knowledge. The Western mound builders were
undoubtedly a distinctive race, yet who can tell their story? The
mysteries of Yucatan are unsolved. There was a civilization once
existing in Peru whose history is to us a blank. Of the origin of the
Sphinx, older than the Pyramids, what do we really know? On Easter
Island, in the South Pacific, are indestructible evidences of an
ancient people, who possessed a written language so old that no one
can decipher its admirably graven characters. Where did that island
come from, and what became of its people? Were they and their country
submerged, like another Atlantis, and is this island the apex of a
mountain range left above the devouring ocean to tell the tale? This
is not a wild supposition. It has been suggested and declared possible
by more than one astute and scholarly writer upon physical geography.
As to antiquity, the monuments of Egypt enable us to trace back the
history of civilized man only six thousand years, though all
intelligent archaeologists know that the earth must have been inhabited
by human beings an infinite number of years prior to that period.
Philology and geology are sufficient to prove this.
Singhalese annals record in detail the reign of one hundred and sixty
sovereigns during a period extending from the conquest of the island,
B. C. 543, by Wijaya, a prince from northern India, to the deposition
of Wikram Raja Sinka by the English in 1815. This was the last king of
Kandy, the then native capital of Ceylon. Sufficient is recorded of
the personal character of Wijaya, the early conqueror of the island,
to prove his utter barbarity, so that we are naturally led still more
to wonder whence came the artists--for artists they were--who designed
and built such cities as Anuradhapura and Pollonarua, the first of
which was probably founded during his reign. Either the Singhalese as
a race must have retrograded in a most marvelous manner, while other
nationalities were in the line of progress, or foreign artists and
builders must have been imported to rear such grand and beautiful
capitals in this Indian isle. Does the reader realize that our best
architects to-day go back for suggestions to the elaborate and elegant
ornamentations which prevailed at this period in stone columns and
lofty facades? Though scarred by warfare with the ages, these still
form rare and choice object lessons to the appreciative artist.
Among the remarkable evidences of great antiquity in Ceylon, we recall
the elaborate cave-temples of Dambula, hewn out of the primitive rock,
and which have existed at least two thousand years, representing an
infinite amount of patient labor, which must have been executed with
tools admirably adapted to the purpose assigned. The principal
temple--there are four of them--was dedicated to Buddha, whose creed
is still the prevailing faith of Asia,--a doctrine ages older than our
so-called Christian religion. The entrance to the principal
cave-temple is elaborately carved in the solid stone, and is
wonderfully well-preserved. The design is harmonious with the purpose,
presenting a score or more of figures in bas-relief, with
embellishments appropriate to the Buddhist faith. Two mammoth figures,
one on either side, represent, probably, guardian spirits or gods.
Just within, there is an altar with a sitting figure of Buddha,
opposite the entrance. It is interesting to note the ornamental
entrance to the temple, as exhibiting the degree of artistic
appreciation which existed here in Ceylon between two and three
thousand years ago. This largest temple is one hundred and eighty feet
long, eighty wide, and twenty-five high, a gloomy vault at best,
containing a gigantic recumbent stone statue of Buddha, forty-seven
feet in length, the head resting on the right hand, indicating repose,
one of the favorite positions in which the prophet is usually
represented in the temples of Ceylon. The chambers or halls, which are
hollowed out of the rock, are reached by long flights of stone steps.
Each temple is most grotesquely painted with scenes supposed to
represent the past history of the island. In the first of the caves is
the immense statue already spoken of. In the others are those of
ancient kings in heroic size, but not nearly so large as that of
Buddha. On the several walls are rudely-painted tournament scenes,
elephant hunts, and half-effaced battle pictures. Some of the
apartments have iron-grated windows, and were evidently places of
confinement for political prisoners, some time in the far past. An old
Buddhist priest is in charge, grumpy, reticent, and apparently
dissatisfied with himself and the world generally. In the first and
largest of the stone chambers of this huge rock at Dambula, besides
the large recumbent figure of Buddha, there is a statue of Vishnu,
held especially sacred, and before which solemn oaths in litigated
cases were administered, without any other recourse for settlement.
This was when one of the parties agreed to abide by the solemn oath of
the other, to be given in specified form before this statue of Vishnu.
It is a rudely executed figure in granite, as indeed are all the
statues of the period. In the second chamber or temple there are half
a hundred statues of Buddha, besides representatives in stone of
various heathen gods, painted in yellow, blue, and white robes, but
why the multiplicity of Buddhas it would be difficult to divine. In
front of the cave-temples is a flourishing boo-tree, and a small grove
of cocoanut palms which have grown to a great size. As usual,
centuries of age are claimed for the first-named tree. Round about the
plain, among the rude, wild vegetable growth, a peculiar cactus is
seen, a familiar acquaintance, first met with on the plains of Mexico.
Its thick leaves form also its branches, each leaf being attached to
its neighbor endwise, like links of a chain, and being bordered by a
bright yellow ruffle of profuse blossoms. These cave-temples of
Dambula are cut in a solitary mass of rock, rising from the otherwise
level plain to about five hundred feet in height and four times that
in length. This is undoubtedly the most remarkable group of
cave-temples upon the island.
One is vividly reminded by these peculiar and enduring structures of a
similar famous place of Hindu worship cut out of the solid rock on the
island of Elephanta in the outer harbor of Bombay, and also of those
found at Ellora and Carlee, in India proper. These three Buddhist
temples are known to have been in existence for about twenty
centuries, and are very similar in design. The elaborate sculptures in
bas-relief which decorate them are almost identical in character, but
they have little or no artistic merit, being in fact as crude as
Chinese or Japanese idols, mere caricatures as seen from a modern
point of view, and yet they are clearly the result of a distinctive
purpose. As to depicting the human figure with any regard to its
anatomy, that was not understood by these artists, any more than are
the laws of perspective by the Chinese or Japanese of to-day. So in
ancient Egyptian sculpture, an approximation to the true outline of
the human figure is all that is attempted. The stone pillars and
figures at Elephanta, so venerable from age and association, were
nearly destroyed by French cannon-balls, the guns being brought on
shore at considerable trouble, and maliciously directed, for this
purpose. It seemed to be a fixed principle with the soldiers of the
first Napoleon to purloin everything of value which was portable in
the countries they invaded, and what they could not steal and carry
away, with true barbaric instinct they destroyed. Churches, charitable
institutions, hospitals, were all alike looted by these French
vandals. Even tombs were invaded by them in their rapacity, as at
Granada, where the leaden coffins in the royal vaults were pried open
with bayonets in search of treasures supposed to have been buried with
the bodies. At Seville, they broke open the coffin of Murillo, wherein
finding nothing of commercial value, they scattered the ashes of the
great master in art to the wind. It will also be remembered that
Marshal Soult--to his lasting disgrace be it recorded--treated the
ashes of Cervantes in a similar manner; a most petty and disgraceful
meanness for a marshal of France to be guilty of.
The Mahawanso, "Genealogy of the Great," a native chronicle, contains
a history of the several dynasties which have controlled the island
from B. C. 543 down to A. D. 1758. This unique and remarkable
Singhalese book is a metrical chronicle written in Pali verse, and
forms what is universally received as an authentic and most invaluable
record of the national history of Ceylon. A scholarly translation of
the same is now extant in English. Pali, as the reader doubtless
knows, is a dead language founded upon the Sanscrit, though Buddhists
claim that it is the original of all tongues. This is an assumption
easily disproved by Egyptian inscriptions dating back over six
thousand years. The island, under its Sanskrit name of Lanka, is also
the subject of a mythical poem of the Hindus, and its conquest by Rama
is the theme of the Ramayana, doubtless one of the most ancient epics
in existence. The Mahawanso, though the oldest, is by no means the
only Singhalese chronicle of a historic character. It was designed by
a priest named Mahanamo, who compiled the early portion, commencing
five centuries and more before Christ, and bringing it down to the
year 301 of our era. After this it was continued by able successors,
who carried on the original plan of the beginner to the period when
the English took forcible possession of Ceylon. There are several
comprehensive manuscripts devoted to native history, written upon
talipot palm-leaf, carefully preserved in the museum at Colombo.
Besides these important records there is abundant evidence of a
tangible character to show that there once existed upon this island a
great and powerful empire in a condition of advanced civilization.
The gigantic remains of palaces and temples tell us this. There are
also evidences of a system of irrigation which was remarkably perfect
in conception and consummation, though it must have been achieved by
the simplest means, that is, by the aid of no mechanical facilities
such as we possess. This system covered the face of the country, north
and south, like a network. Immense lakes were formed by damming the
natural outlets of the mountain streams at the mouth of extensive
valleys, and that was all that was artificial about them. Nature had
prepared the way; still, the amount of labor involved in the practical
application of the principle was enormous. The remains of these great
reservoirs thus created are objects of admiration to our modern
engineers, not only for the boldness and magnificence of their
construction, but also for the beneficence of their purpose. The
marvelous ruins of these reservoirs are the proudest and most
significant monuments which remain of the former greatness of this
country. No constructions for a similar purpose found in any part of
the world have ever surpassed them. So long as they were in repair and
fully operative, the people of Ceylon had no occasion to go abroad for
rice upon which to subsist. The grand supply of water for the
distributing tanks was conducted from the distant mountains, through
dense forests, across broad ravines, and around the sides of
intervening hills, by stout channel-ways miles and miles in length. No
considerable population could have been supported in a country
subject to prolonged droughts without the aid of some such fertilizing
agency, and no other system would have been so well adapted to the
raising of the staple grain of the island. Most of these artificial
lakes are now in ruins, overgrown with jungle grass, and in some
instances by heavy forests.
No one can truly say what caused the decadence of the several ancient
capitals now lying in the dust, leaving only a blank memorial of their
former existence. It is a puzzling question as to what could have
swept a population of millions from the face of the globe and left no
clearer record of their occupancy and departure. When there is pointed
out to the traveler in Japan a location where a big and populous city
once stood, but which is now only a series of thrifty grain-fields, no
great surprise is felt. Japanese houses are only constructed, as a
rule, of bamboo frames with tissue coverings, but the ruined cities of
Ceylon were built of stone and brick, presumedly indestructible except
by some great and general catastrophe. The ruins of Anuradhapura show
that in mediaeval times it must have been a city containing a vast
concourse of people. We know that it was recognized as the capital of
Ceylon from three to four hundred years prior to the birth of Christ
down to the year 770 of the present era. It has been justly called the
Palmyra of Ceylon, and was contemporary with Babylon and Nineveh. It
was a royal city, wherein ninety kings reigned in succession, and its
dimensions exceeded the present area of London. What a grand and
imperial metropolis it must have been in its pristine glory! At a time
when England was still in a condition of barbarism, this capital of an
island in the Indian Ocean was at the zenith of its prosperity,
enjoying luxuries which argued a high condition of civilization. The
reason for selecting this plain in the heart of the country as a
suitable location for its capital is not obvious, except that from the
earliest ages the spot has been sacred to the votaries of Buddha. Its
site is near the centre of the great plain which occupies the northern
portion of the island, about one hundred miles from Kandy, and three
hundred feet above the level of the sea.
Here, amid tall trees and thick undergrowth, are scattered hundreds,
nay, thousands of stone columns, huge monoliths, granite statues,
fragments of grand palaces, and elaborate public buildings, which once
adorned broad and level thoroughfares, while the surrounding country
exhibited a wide expanse of rice-fields irrigated by numberless
canals, together with all the beauty of cultivated tropical
vegetation. The early chronicles tell us of the surprising loveliness
of this region round about the ancient metropolis, the brilliancy of
its native jewels, the fertility of its carefully nurtured soil, its
magnificent palms, the abundance of its fruits, the sagacity of its
elephants, and the constant fragrance of its spice-laden atmosphere.
Anuradhapura! how little we of the nineteenth century have even heard
of its people, who built temples of stone and palaces of marble,--a
nation which lived for twenty centuries in oriental splendor; a city
which was rich, populous, and famous, long before Rome had risen to
power; a capital which achieved such ambitious architectural results
only to sink at last suddenly and mysteriously into oblivion. What the
possible purpose could have been in creating such a singular page in
the annals of history as the building and peopling of a giant
metropolis on this Indian island, whose accomplished mission
illustrates only the mutability of all terrestrial things, only that
inscrutable Wisdom which rules the universe can answer.
Except the mountain range which so nearly divides the island at its
centre, and the spurs which it throws out at intervals, there are few
elevations worthy of notice in Ceylon. One, known as Mihintale, about
a thousand feet in height, dominates the ruins of the ancient city
just described, and is so perpendicular that to reach its summit one
must avail himself of the artificial steps cut in the solid rock.
These stones, smoothed and indented by centuries of use, are said to
have been thus worn by thousands and thousands of pilgrims, who
ascended to the shrine above upon their knees. This notable hill,
which almost deserves the name of mountain, was fortified by the
aborigines in the olden time, as shown by irregular lines of
defensive works in stone, whose dismantled and disintegrated condition
testifies to their antiquity. On the summit stands a shrine, showing
that it was held to be a sacred spot from the earliest ages, probably
long before the date when the now mouldering capital was founded. The
view afforded on either hand from the apex of the mount embraces the
far-away ocean, and the nearer sea of undulating forests and groves of
palms, clad in the exquisite verdure of the tropics.
Anuradhapura was the largest city in the island, and is confidently
asserted to have contained, in its prime, three million people, over
four hundred thousand of whom were fighting-men. But there were
others, considerable in size and importance, which existed during the
period of its prosperity. The records show that this ancient
metropolis was fifty-two miles in circumference, or sixteen miles
across in a straight line from the north to the south gate, covering
two hundred and fifty-six square miles! What have we in modern times
to equal these ruins in spaciousness? Perhaps some deduction should be
made from such remarkable figures. Of course, the reader will
understand that the area here given was not actually covered by solid
blocks of dwellings. Private residences were generally surrounded by
small but elaborate gardens. There was ample air space about the
temples, palaces, and public buildings, together with large open
commons for military parades, for public baths, for elephant fights,
for political forums, and market-places. Spaciousness and elegance
were the characteristics of this ancient Singhalese metropolis, this
grand city of the plains, where one stands to-day surrounded by
centuries of tangible history. The eye rests upon miles and miles of
broken stone statues of bulls, elephants, sarcophagi, and heavy
capitals of granite columns, many of whose delicate, artistic capitals
and designs are still intact.
All oriental narrative is tinctured with exaggeration, but Sir James
Emerson Tennent, so long officially connected with the island, and
personally familiar with the ruins of Anuradhapura, says no one who
visits the place to-day can doubt that Ceylon, in the zenith of its
prosperity, contained ten times its present population; and as he
wrote this in 1859, when the aggregate was about one million, he
wished to signify that the number of inhabitants, at the period to
which he referred, was probably ten millions. The same writer tells us
that this density of population must have been preserved through many
centuries, in spite of revolutions and invasions, in order to produce
the results, the ruins of which are still visible to all observers.
That the people of Anuradhapura were early and skillful workers in
brass, iron, and glass, articles unearthed among these ruins
abundantly testify. Further explorations and excavations will
doubtless result in valuable information. Five or six feet of earth,
upon an average, must be removed before the process of uncovering can
be said to have fairly commenced, so that the prospective labor of
exhumation is simply immense. Still, almost every year brings some new
enthusiast to the front, whose time and money are freely devoted to
this object until his ardor is appeased, and he leaves the field to
some one else. A steadily sustained effort, aided and directed by the
government, might accomplish something worth recording, but such
desultory and spasmodic attempts are of very little account. At
Pompeii, where, by persistent effort, a whole city has been unearthed,
we see what such exhumation signifies, though the circumstances are
not precisely similar, the one having been suddenly covered by an
eruption of the neighboring volcano, while the other yielded to the
wear of time and the effect of foreign invasions. A score of cities,
however, like Pompeii would not cover the area once occupied by this
vanished metropolis.
The ancient capital was named in honor of a certain prince, Anuradha,
by whom it was founded twenty-five centuries ago. A thousand years
since, this city was still populous, gay, and beautiful, with fragrant
gardens, thriving shops, proud dwellings, gilded palaces, lofty
temples, religious processions, and frequent displays of royal
pageants. The Singhalese chronicles are full of references to
agricultural prosperity, to ample herds, the breeding of cattle, and
the extensive culture of grain. They speak of women who were treated
with great deference, and of priestesses and queens who held high
places with honor. Rich furniture was used in the dwellings, and
costly textures for dress, these of course imported from other
countries. Though the inhabitants of Anuradhapura were not themselves
a maritime people, they were constantly visited by others from afar,
who brought with them rich goods to exchange for pearls and precious
stones. We know that Ceylon was rich in these at that period, even as
she is at the present time, and exported peacocks, apes, and ivory. In
the ancient Hebrew records, the names of these were the same as those
known at present to the natives in this island. To-day, mutability is
written upon its scattered and neglected ruins in a language all can
understand. Who can wonder that individuals perish and are forgotten,
when the entire population of a great, imperial metropolis thus
vanish, while their noblest and most enduring works crumble into dust?
The significance of such instances should humble the proudest mortal
who walks the earth. The spot where the Brazen Palace, so-called, once
stood in the ancient capital still shows scores of granite columns in
the shape of undressed monoliths, projecting about twelve feet above
the level of the ground, upon some of which there exist the remains of
elaborate capitals, closely resembling the Grecian Corinthian order.
This edifice, dating about two hundred years before Christ, was not
the royal residence, but a palace devoted to accommodation of the
priesthood, and was originally nine stories in height, covering a
square of ground measuring two hundred and thirty feet each way. "The
roof," according to native chronicles, "was of brass, and its great
hall, which was supported by golden pillars, also contained a throne
of solid ivory," though what the Buddhist priesthood required of a
"throne" we are not informed.
This description of the great hall with its golden pillars sounds
perhaps like an oriental exaggeration, but the people of those days
came originally from India, where such examples of extravagance were
by no means unknown during the Mogul dynasty. The probability is that
the Brazen Palace was in reality the royal residence. Speaking of
Indian extravagance, we all remember the peacock throne of the king of
Delhi,--a throne of solid gold, six feet long and four feet broad,
surmounted by a canopy of gold, and supported by twelve pillars
composed of the same precious material. The back of this costly
structure was made to represent a peacock with its tail-feathers
expanded, hence the name. The natural colors of the feathers were
closely imitated with rubies, sapphires, diamonds, and other precious
stones. The total value of the whole exceeded thirty million dollars.
The author has stood within this royal chamber at Delhi, but the
gorgeous throne has long since disappeared. Enough, however, still
remains to show what regal splendor must have existed in this
marvelous palace. These Mogul rulers used costly gems, gold and
silver, together with precious marbles and rarest stones, as freely as
modern potentates employ granite, combined with bricks and mortar. The
wealth of the then known world was in the possession of a very few
individuals, and the poor were all the poorer in comparison; despotism
was rampant, and royalty commanded at will the unpaid services of the
million.
Near the site of the Brazen Palace of Anuradhapura are several
dagobas, partially hidden by rank tropical verdure. One of these
peculiar structures was originally over four hundred feet in height,
antedating the Christian era by many years. Does the reader realize
what an amount of solid masonry such a structure represents? When we
say that this dagoba was nearly twice the height of Bunker Hill
Monument, and that it was three hundred and sixty feet in diameter at
the base, the comparison may aid the imagination. Verily, nothing but
the Egyptian pyramids compare in magnitude with these shrines of
Ceylon, while no modern engineering enterprise excels in immensity the
artificial lakes which were created upon her surface. One writer has
gone into a careful calculation regarding the structure, and says that
it contained material enough originally to build a wall ten feet high
from London to Edinburgh.
These peculiarly shaped dagobas are scattered all over the island,
each being the receptacle of some saintly relic. Tradition says they
are thus formed to resemble a bubble floating upon the water, but they
are really bell-shaped, and most of them have a low, ornamental spire.
Near the summit is the secret chamber wherein is deposited the sacred
treasure. Time effaces all mundane things. With the exception of the
Temple of the Tooth, at Kandy, no one can say what special relic any
one of these remarkable structures was originally designed to shelter.
Let us quote for the reader's edification an ancient native
description of this famous city of the plain when it was in its glory.
It is a literal translation from the original:--
"The magnificent city of Anuradhapura is refulgent from the numerous
temples and palaces whose golden pinnacles glitter in the sky. The sides of
its streets are strewed with black sand; they are spanned with arches
bearing flags of gold and silver; on either side are vessels of the same
precious metals, containing flowers; and in niches are statues holding
lamps of great value. In the streets are multitudes of people, armed with
bows and arrows; also men powerful as gods, who with their huge swords
could cut asunder a tusk elephant at one blow. Elephants, horses, carts,
and myriads of people are constantly passing and repassing. There are
jugglers, dancers, and musicians of various nations, whose chank shells and
other musical instruments are ornamented with gold. The distance from the
principal gate to the opposite gate is four gaws (sixteen miles); and from
the north gate to the south gate four gaws. The principal streets are Moon
Street, Great King Street, and Great Sandy Street. In Chandrawakkawidiya
are eleven thousand houses, many of them being two stories in height; the
smaller streets are innumerable. The palace has immense ranges of
buildings, some of two, others of three stories in height; and its
subterranean apartments are of great extent."
Sir J. E. Tennent gathers from various ancient sources, including the
veritable Mahawanso, that Anuradhapura, between four and five
centuries before Christ, contained the temples of various
religions,--"temples and palaces whose golden pinnacles glittered in
the sky,"--besides spacious public gardens and free baths, together
with almshouses and hospitals, in which animals as well as human
beings were tenderly cared for.
One king gave the "corn of a thousand fields" for the support of the
hospitals, another set aside a certain quantity of rice to feed the
squirrels which frequented the city gardens, while a third monarch
displayed his skill in treating the diseases of elephants, horses, and
domestic cattle. The streets were lined with grand shops and bazaars.
On festive occasions, barbers and dressers were stationed at each
entrance to the capital for the convenience of strangers who visited
the city. Public officials vied with each other in their patriotic
deeds designed for the public good.
In one corner of the widespread ruins of Anuradhapura there is now a
small village, with a Christian mission and school for the native
children. There are also a few bazaars, a post-office, telegraph
station, and a court house, which serve, by affording a strong
contrast to the former splendor which reigned here, to emphasize the
historic grandeur of the defunct capital.