The next is a small copy of the last to the southward, and measures 11 ft. by 16 ft. in plan, and 20 ft. in height. The third, seen partially in the above woodcut, is very remarkable: it is an oblong building with a curvilinear shaped roof with a straight ridge. Its dimensions are 42 ft. long, 25 ft. wide, and 25 ft. high. Externally, it seems to have been completely carved, but internally only partially excavated, the works being apparently stopped by an accident. It is cracked completely through, so that daylight can be seen through it, and several masses of the rock have fallen to the ground—this has been ascribed to an earthquake and other causes. My impression is, the explanation is not far to seek, but arose from unskilfulness on the part of workmen employed in a first attempt. Having completed the exterior, they set to work to excavate the interior so as to make it resemble a structural building of the same class, leaving only such pillars and supports as were sufficient to support a wooden roof of the ordinary construction. In this instance it was a mass of solid granite which, had the excavation been completed, would certainly have crushed the lower storey to powder. As it was, the builders seem to have taken the hint of the crack and stopped the further progress of the works.

The last, however, is the most interesting of the series. A view of it has already been given (Woodcut No. 66), and it is shown on the right hand of the last woodcut. Its dimensions are 27 ft. by 28 ft. in plan, 34 ft. in height. Its upper part is entirely finished with its sculptures, the lower merely blocked out. It may be, that frightened by the crack in the last-named rath, or from some other cause, they desisted, and it still remains in an unfinished state.

The materials for fixing the age of this rath are, first, the palæographical form of the characters used in the numerous inscriptions with which it is covered.[360] Comparing these with Prinsep’s alphabets, allowing for difference of locality, they seem certainly to be anterior to the 7th century.[361] The language, too, is Sanscrit, while all the Chola inscriptions of the 10th and subsequent centuries are in Tamil, and in very much more modern characters.[362] Another proof of antiquity is the character of the sculpture. We have on this rath most of the Hindu Pantheon, such as Brahma and Vishnu; Siva too appears in most of his characters, but all in forms more subdued than are to be found elsewhere. The one extravagance is that the gods generally have four arms—never more—to distinguish them from mortals; but none of these combinations or extravagances we find in the caves here, or at Ellora or Elephanta. It is the soberest and most reasonable version of the Hindu Pantheon yet discovered, and consequently one of the most interesting, as well, probably, as the earliest.

None of the inscriptions on the raths have dates, but from the mention of the Pallavas in connexion with this place, I see no reason for doubting the inference drawn by Sir Walter Elliot from their inscriptions—“that the excavations could not well have been made later than the 6th century.”[363] Add to all this, that these raths are certainly very like Buddhist buildings, as we learn to know them from the early caves, and it seems hardly to admit of doubt that we have here petrifactions of the last forms of Buddhist architecture,[364] and of the first forms of that of the Dravidians.

The want of interiors in these raths makes it sometimes difficult to make this so clear as it might be. We cannot, for instance, tell whether the apsidal rath in the centre of woodcut No. 181 was meant to reproduce a chaitya hall, or a vihara like that of woodcut No. 48. From its being in several storeys I would infer the latter, but the whole is so conventionalised by transplantation to the south, and by the different uses to which they are applied for the purposes of a different religion, that we must not stretch analogies too far.[365]

There is one other rath, at some distance from the others, called Arjuna’s rath, represented in the above woodcut (No. 182), which, strange to say, is finished, or nearly so, and gives a fair idea of the form these oblong temples took before we have any structural buildings

of the class. This temple, though entering in the side, was never intended to be pierced through, but always to contain a cell. The large oblong rath, on the contrary, was intended to be open all round, and whether, consequently, we should consider it as a choultrie or a gopura is not quite clear. One thing, at all events, seems certain—and it is what interests us most here—that the square raths are copies of Buddhist viharas, and are the originals from which all the vimanas in southern India were copied, and continued to be copied nearly unchanged to a very late period. Woodcut No. 183, for instance, represents one from Mádura, erected in the 18th century. It is changed, it is true, and the cells and some of the earlier features are hardly recognisable; but the wonder rather is that twelve centuries should not have more completely obliterated all traces of the original. There is nothing, however, in it which cannot be easily recognised in intermediate examples, and their gradual transformation detected by any one familiar with the subject. On the other hand, the oblong raths were halls or porticoes with the Buddhists, and became the gopuras or gateways which are frequently—indeed generally—more important parts of Dravidian temples than the vimanas themselves. They, too, like the vimanas, retain their original features very little changed to the present day, as may be seen from the annexed example from a modern Tamil temple on the opposite shore of the Gulf of Manaar (Woodcut No. 184). To all this, however, we shall have frequent opportunities of referring in the sequel, and it will become much plainer as we proceed.

The other antiquities at Mahavellipore, though very interesting in themselves, are not nearly so important for our history as the raths just described. The caves are generally small, and fail architecturally, from the feebleness and tenuity of their supports. The southern cave diggers had evidently not been grounded in the art, like their northern compeers, by the Buddhists. The long experience of the latter in the art taught them that ponderous masses were not only necessary to support their roofs, but for architectural effect; and neither they nor the Hindus who succeeded them in the north ever hesitated to use pillars of two or three diameters in height, or to crowd them together to any required extent. In the south, on the contrary, the cave diggers tried to copy literally the structural pillars used to support wooden roofs. Hence, I believe, the accident to the long rath, and hence certainly the poor and modern look of all the southern caves, which has hitherto proved such a stumbling-block to all who have tried to guess their age. Their sculpture is better, and some of their best designs rank with those of Ellora and Elephanta, with which they were, in all probability, contemporary. Now, however, that we know that the sculptures in cave No. 3 at Badami were executed in the 6th century[366] (A.D. 579), we are enabled to approximate the date of those in the Mahavellipore caves with very tolerable certainty. The Badami sculptures are so similar in style with the best examples there that they cannot be far distant in date, and if placed in the following century it will not probably be far from the truth.

The great bas-relief on the rock, 90 ft. by 40 ft., is perhaps the most remarkable thing of its class in India. Now that it is known to be wholly devoted to Serpent worship,[367] it acquires an interest it had not before, and opens a new chapter in Indian mythology.[368] There seems nothing to enable us to fix its age with absolute certainty; it can hardly, however, be doubted that it is anterior to the 10th century, and may be a couple of centuries earlier.

There is one other antiquity in a place called Saluvan Kuppan, two miles north of Mahavellipore, which has not yet been drawn or described, but deserves notice as a lineal descendant of the tiger cave at Cuttack (Woodcut No. 73). Here not one but a dozen of tiger heads welcome the anchorite to his abode. Here, too, they are conventionalised as we always find them in Chalukyan art; and this example serves, like every other, to show how the Hindu imagination in art runs wild when once freed from the trammels of sober imitation of natural things, which we find to be its characteristic in the early stages of Buddhist art.

Kylas, Ellora.

From the raths at Mahavellipore to the Kylas at Ellora the transition is easy, but the step considerable. At the first-named place we have manifest copies of structures intended originally for other purposes, and used at Mahavellipore in a fragmentary and disjointed manner. At Ellora, on the contrary, the whole is welded together, and we have a perfect Dravidian temple, as complete in all its parts as at any future period, and so far advanced that we might have some difficulty in tracing the parts back to their originals without the fortunate possession of the examples on the Madras shore.

Independently, however, of its historical or ethnographical value, the Kylas is in itself one of the most singular and interesting monuments of architectural art in India. Its beauty and singularity always excited the astonishment of travellers, and in consequence it is better known than almost any other structure in that country, from the numerous views and sketches of it that have been published. Unlike the Buddhist excavations we have hitherto been describing, it is not a mere interior chamber cut in the rock, but is a model of a complete temple, such as might have been erected on the plain. In other words, the rock has been cut away, externally as well as internally. The older caves are of a much more natural and rational design than this temple, because, in cutting away the rock around it to provide an exterior, the whole has necessarily been

placed in a pit. In the cognate temples at Mahavellipore (Woodcut No. 181) this difficulty has been escaped by the fact that the boulders of granite out of which they are hewn were found lying free on the shore; but at Ellora, no insulated rock being available, a pit was dug around the temple in the sloping side of the hill, about 100 ft. deep at its inmost side, and half that height at the entrance or gopura, the floor of the pit being 150 ft. wide and 270 ft. in length. In the centre of this rectangular court stands the temple, as shown in the preceding plan (Woodcut No. 186), consisting of a vimana, between 80 ft. and 90 ft. in height, preceded by a large square porch, supported by sixteen columns (owing probably to the immense weight to be borne); before this stands a detached porch, reached by a bridge; and in front of all stands the gateway, which is in like manner connected with the last porch by a bridge, the whole being cut out of the native rock. Besides these there are two pillars or deepdans (literally lamp-posts) left standing on each side of the detached porch, and two elephants about the size of life. All round the court there is a peristylar cloister with cells, and some halls not shown in the plan, which give to the whole a complexity, and at the same time a completeness, which never fail to strike the beholder with astonishment and awe.

As will be seen from the view (Woodcut No. 187) the outline of the vimana is at first sight very similar to that of the raths at Mahavellipore, but on closer inspection we find everything so modified at Ellora as to make up a perfect and well understood design. The vimana with its cells, and the porch in front of it with its side cells, make a complete Hindu temple such as are found in hundreds in southern India, and instead of the simulated cells that surround the hall in the Madras example, they again become realities, but used for widely different purposes. Instead of being the simulated residences of priests, the five or rather seven cells that surround the central object here are each devoted to a separate divinity of the Hindu Pantheon, and group most pleasingly with the central vimana. It is, however, so far as is now known, the last reminiscence of this Buddhist arrangement in Hindu architecture; after the year 1000 even these cells disappear or become independent erections, wholly separated from the temple itself.

Though considerably damaged by Moslem violence, the lower part of the gopura shows a considerable advance on anything found at Mahavellipore, and a close approach to what these objects afterwards became, in so far, at least, as the perpendicular parts are concerned; instead, however, of the tall pyramids which were so universal afterwards, the gopura in the Kylas exhibits only what may be called the germ of such an arrangement. It is only the upper member of a gopura placed in the flat roof of the gateway, and so small as not to be visible except from above. In more modern times from five to ten storeys would have been interposed to connect these two parts. Nothing of the kind however exists here.[369]

On either side of the porch are the two square pillars called deepdans, or lamp-posts, before alluded to, the ornament at the top of which possibly represents a flame, though it is difficult to ascertain what it really is, while the temptation to consider them as representatives of the lion pillars of the Buddhists (Woodcut No. 6) is very great (Woodcut No. 188).

In the south of India, however, among the Jains, as mentioned above (p. 276), such pillars are very common, standing either singly or in pairs in front of the gopuras, and always apparently intended to carry lamps for festivals. They generally consist of a single block of granite, square at base, changing to an octagon, and again to a figure of sixteen sides, with a capital of very elegant shape. Some, however, are circular, and, indeed, their variety is infinite. They range from 30 ft. to 40 ft. and even 50 ft. in height, and, whatever their dimensions, are among the most elegant specimens of art in southern India.

Unfortunately, there is no inscription or other date from which the age of the Kylas can be ascertained with precision. It is safe, however, to assert that it was erected by the southern Dravidians, either the Cheras or the Cholas who held sway here during the eclipse of the Chalukyas, or between A.D. 750 and 950; and Mr. Burgess’s recent researches in Dharwar enable us to assert with tolerable confidence that its age must be nearer the first than the second of these dates. The great temple at Purudkul—his Pattadkal—is covered with inscriptions, none of which unfortunately are dated, but from their import and the form of their characters, both Bhau Daji[370] and himself ascribe to the 8th or 9th century,[371] and I see no reason for doubting the correctness of the date assigned by Mr. Burgess to this temple, which, according to him was erected during the 8th century. In plan it is almost exactly a duplicate of the Kylas, as may be gathered from the annexed woodcut (No. 189), but there is some little difficulty in instituting such a comparison of their architecture as would enable us to feel sure of their relative dates[372]—in the first place, because the one is structural the other rock-cut, but also because we hardly know what allowance to make for distance of locality. On the whole, however, I am inclined to believe the southern temple is the elder of the two, but certainly not distant in date. If, consequently, it were necessary to fix on a date which should correctly represent our present knowledge of the age of the Kylas, I would put down A.D. 800, with considerable confidence that it was not many years from the truth either way, allowing, of course, some thirty to fifty years for the execution of so important a monument.

Considerable misconception exists on the subject of cutting temples in the rock. Almost every one who sees these temples is struck with the apparently prodigious amount of labour bestowed on their excavation, and there is no doubt that their monolithic character is the principal source of the awe and wonder with which they have been regarded, and that, had the Kylas been an edifice of masonry situated on the plain, it would scarcely have attracted the attention of European travellers. In reality, however, it is considerably easier and less expensive to excavate a temple than to build one. Take, for instance, the Kylas, the most wonderful of all this class. To excavate the area on which it stands would require the removal of about 100,000 cubic yards of rock, but, as the base of the temple is solid and the superstructure massive, it occupies in round numbers about one-half of the excavated area, so that the question is simply this—whether it is easier to chip away 50,000 yards of rock, and shoot it to spoil (to borrow a railway term) down a hillside, or to quarry 50,000 cubic yards of stone, remove it, probably a mile at least to the place where the temple is to be built, and then to raise and set it. The excavating process would probably cost about one-tenth of the other. The sculpture and ornament would be the same in both instances, more especially in India, where buildings are always set up in block, and the carving executed in situ. Nevertheless the impression produced on all spectators by these monolithic masses, their unalterable character, and appearance of eternal durability, point to the process as one meriting more attention than it has hitherto received in modern times; and if any rock were found as uniform and as easily worked as the Indian amygdaloidal traps, we might hand down to posterity some more durable monument than many we are now erecting at far greater cost.

Before leaving this branch of the subject there is one other rock-cut example which deserves to be quoted, not either for its size or antiquity, but from the elegance of its details. It is situated at a place called Kûmûlûlû,[373] thirty-five miles south-west from Shivelliputtun, and consequently twice that distance north from Cape Comorin. Like the examples at Mahavellipore, this one never was finished, probably because the person who commenced it did not live to complete it, and it was nobody’s business to finish what was of no use, and intended only to glorify him who made it. It is not cut out of a separate boulder, but out of a ridge, as I fancy those at Mahavellipore to have been, and if successful, any number of others of any dimensions might have followed. The other side of the hill had been occupied by the Jains, and numerous images of their Tirthankars are carved upon it, with inscriptions that could easily be read if any one cared to do so. It was evidently to mark the triumph of Siva over Mahavira that this little shrine was undertaken, probably in the 10th or 11th century, and if it had been completed it would have been one of the most perfect gems of the style. For some reason unexplained it was only blocked out, and the upper part only carved, when it was abandoned, and is now entirely forsaken. From its details, it certainly is more modern than the Kylas—how much we cannot yet say with certainty.

CHAPTER III.

DRAVIDIAN TEMPLES.

When we turn from these few scattered rock-cut examples to the great structural temples of the style, we find their number is so great, their extent so vast, and their variety so perplexing, that it is extremely difficult to formulate any distinct ideas regarding them, and still more so, as a matter of course, to convey to others any clear idea on the subject. To any one at all familiar with the present status of the population of the province, the greatest wonder is how such a people could ever have conceived, much less carried out, such vast undertakings as these, and that so recently that some of the greatest and boldest were only interrupted by our wars with the French little more than a century ago. The cause of this, however, is not far to seek. Ever since we took possession of the country, our countrymen have been actuated by the most beneficent intentions of protecting the poor against the oppression of the rich. By every means we have sought to secure the ryot in his holding, and that he should not be called on to pay more than his fair share of the produce of his land; while to the landowner we have offered a secure title to what belonged to him, and a fixed income in money in lieu of his portion of the produce. To a people, however, in the state of civilization to which India has reached, a secure title and a fixed income only means the power of borrowing on the occasion of a marriage, a funeral, or some great family festival, ten times more than the borrower can ever pay, and our courts as inevitably give the lender the power of foreclosing his mortgage and selling the property. During the century in which this communistic process has been going on the landed aristocracy have gradually disappeared. All the wealth of the country has passed into the hands of the money-lenders of the cities, and by them dissipated in frivolities. If the aim of the government is to reduce the whole population to the condition of peasant proprietors, occupying the land without capital, and consequently on the verge of starvation, they have certainly succeeded. It may be beneficent, and may produce the greatest happiness to the greatest number; but in such a community neither science, nor literature, nor art have any place, and religion itself becomes degraded by the status of its votaries.

Before we interfered, the condition of things was totally different. The practical proprietorship of the land was then in the hands of a few princes or feudal lords, who derived from it immense revenues they had no means of spending, except in works of ostentation, which in certain stages of civilization are as necessary for the employment of the masses as for their own glorification. In such a country as India the employment of one-half of the population in agriculture is sufficient to produce food for the whole, while the other half are free for any employment that may be available. We in this country employ our non-agricultural half in manufactures and commerce. The southern Indians had neither, and found no better occupation for the surplus population than in temple-building. Whether this was more profitable or beneficial than hammering iron or spinning cotton is not a question it is necessary to enter on here. It is enough to know the fact, and to mark its consequences. The population of southern India in the 17th and 18th century was probably hardly less than it is now—some thirty millions—and if one-third or one-fourth of such a population were to seek employment in building, the results, if persevered in through centuries, would be something astonishing. A similar state of affairs prevailed apparently in Egypt in the time of the Pharaohs, but with very different results. The Egyptians had great and lofty ideas, and a hankering after immortality, that impressed itself on all their works. The southern Indians had no such aspirations. Their intellectual status is, and always was, mediocre; they had no literature of their own—no history to which they could look back with pride, and their religion was, and is, an impure and degrading fetishism. It is impossible that anything very grand or imposing should come out of such a state of things. What they had to offer to their gods was a tribute of labour, and that was bestowed without stint. To cut a chain of fifty links out of a block of granite and suspend it between two pillars, was with them a triumph of art. To hollow deep cornices out of the hardest basalt, and to leave all the framings, as if of the most delicate woodwork, standing free, was with them a worthy object of ambition, and their sculptures are still inexplicable mysteries, from our ignorance of how it was possible to execute them. All that millions of hands working through centuries could do, has been done, but with hardly any higher motive than to employ labour and to conquer difficulties, so as to astonish by the amount of the first and the cleverness with which the second was overcome—and astonished we are; but without some higher motive true architecture cannot exist. The Dravidians had not even the constructive difficulties to overcome which enabled the mediæval architects to produce such noble fabrics as our cathedrals. The aim of architects in the Middle Ages was to design halls which should at the same time be vast, but stable, and suited for the accommodation of great multitudes to witness a lofty ritual. In their struggle to accomplish this they developed intellectual powers which impress us still through their works. No such lofty aims exercised the intellectual faculties of the Hindu. His altar and the statue of his god were placed in a dark cubical cell wholly without ornament, and the porch that preceded that was not necessarily either lofty or spacious. What the Hindu architect craved for, was a place to display his powers of ornamentation, and he thought he had accomplished all his art demanded when he covered every part of his building with the most elaborate and most difficult designs he could invent. Much of this ornamentation, it is true, is very elegant, and evidences of power and labour do impress the human imagination, often even in defiance of our better judgment, and nowhere is this more apparent than in these Dravidian temples. It is in vain, however, we look among them for any manifestation of those lofty aims and noble results which constitute the merit and the greatness of true architectural art, and which generally characterise the best works in the true styles of the western world.

Turning from these generalities to the temples themselves, the first great difficulty experienced in attempting either to classify or describe them is that no plans of them exist. I know myself upwards of thirty great Dravidian temples, or groups of temples, any one of which must have cost as much to build as an English cathedral, some a great deal more; but of all these there are only three, or it may be four, of which even a moderately trustworthy plan is available. Two-thirds of these have been sufficiently photographed by Dr. Hunter, Capt. Lyon,[374] and others; the remaining third I know either from personal inspection or from drawings and descriptions. This is, of course, irrespective of village temples, and, it may be, of some extensive groups which have been overlooked. If these temples had been built like those of the Greeks, or even as the Christian churches in the Middle Ages, on one uniform plan, changing only with the progress of time, one or two plans might have sufficed; but the fact is that, in nine cases out of ten, Dravidian temples are a fortuitous aggregation of parts, arranged without plan, as accident dictated at the time of their erection; and, without plans, no adequate idea can be conveyed to those who have not seen them. The one great exception to this rule is to be found at Tanjore. The great Pagoda there was commenced on a well-defined and stately plan, which was persevered in till its completion. As will be seen from the annexed diagram (Woodcut No. 190) it consists of two courts,[375] one a square of about 250 ft., originally devoted to minor shrines and residences; but when the temple was fortified by the French in 1777[376] it was converted into an arsenal, and has not been re-appropriated to sacred purposes. The temple itself stands in a courtyard extremely well proportioned to receive it, being about 500 ft. long by half that in width, the distance between the gateway and the temple being broken by the shrine of the Bull Nundi,[377] which is sufficiently important for its purpose, but not so much so as to interfere with the effect of the great vimana, which stands near the inner end of the court. The perpendicular part of its base measures 82 ft. square, and is two storeys in height, of simple outline, but sufficiently relieved by niches and pilasters. Above this the pyramid rises in thirteen storeys to the summit, which is crowned by a dome said to consist of a single stone, and reaching a height of 190 ft. The porch in front is kept low, and as will be seen from the woodcut (No. 191) the tower dominates over the gopuras and surrounding objects in a manner that imparts great dignity to the whole composition.

Besides the great temple and the Nundi porch there are several other smaller shrines in the enclosure, one of which, dedicated to Soubramanya, a son of Siva’s, is as exquisite a piece of decorative architecture as is to be found in the south of India, and though small, almost divides our admiration with the temple itself (Woodcut No. 192). It is built behind an older shrine, which may be coeval with the great temple as originally designed.

One of the peculiarities of the Tanjore temple is that all the sculptures on the gopuras belong to the religion of Vishnu, while everything in the courtyard is dedicated to the worship of Siva. At first I felt inclined to believe it had been erected wholly in honour of the first-named divinity, but am now more inclined to the belief that it is only an instance of the extreme tolerance that prevailed at the age at which it was erected, before these religions became antagonistic.

What, then, was that age? Strange to say, though so complete and uniform, and standing, as it does, almost alone, its date is not known. Mr. Norman, a competent authority, in the text that accompanied Tripe’s photographs, says it was erected by Kadu Vettiya Soran, or Cholan,[378] a king reigning at Conjeveram in the beginning of the 14th century. At one time I hoped it was earlier, but on the whole I am now convinced that this must be very nearly the truth.

The Soubramanya is certainly one century, probably two centuries, more modern. The Bull itself is also inferior in design, and therefore more modern than those at Hullabîd, which belong probably to the 13th century, and the architecture of his shrine cannot be carried back beyond the 15th century. It may even be considerably more modern. It is disappointing to find the whole so recent in date, but there seems no excuse for ascribing to this temple a greater antiquity than that just mentioned.

Tiruvalur.

The temple at Tiruvalur, about thirty miles west of Madras, contrasts curiously with that at Tanjore in the principles on which it was designed, and serves to exemplify the mode in which, unfortunately, most Dravidian temples were aggregated.

The nucleus here was a small village temple (Woodcut No. 193), drawn to the same scale as the plan of Tanjore in Woodcut No. 190. It is a double shrine, dedicated to Siva and his consort, standing in a cloistered court which measures 192 ft. by 156 ft. over all, and has one gopura in front. So far there is nothing to distinguish it from the ordinary temples found in every village. It, however, at some subsequent period became sacred or rich, and a second or outer court was added, measuring 470 ft. each way, with two gopuras, higher than the original one, and containing within its walls numberless little shrines and porches.

Additions were again made at some subsequent date, the whole being enclosed in a court 940 ft. by 701 ft.—this time with five gopuras, and several important shrines. When the last addition was made, it was intended to endow the temple with one of those great halls which were considered indispensable in temples of the first class. Generally they had—or were intended to have—1000 columns; this one has only 688, and only about one-half of these carry beams or a roof of any sort. There can, however, be very little doubt that, had time and money been available, it would have been completed to the typical extent. As it is, it is probably owing to our management of the revenues of the country that the requisite funds were not forthcoming, and the buildings stopped probably within the limits of the present century.

The general effect of such a design as this may be gathered from the bird’s-eye view (Woodcut No. 194). As an artistic design, nothing can be worse. The gateways, irregularly spaced in a great blank wall, lose half their dignity from their positions; and the bathos of their decreasing in size and elaboration, as they approach the sanctuary, is a mistake which nothing can redeem. We may admire beauty of detail, and be astonished at the elaboration and evidence of labour, if they are found in such a temple as this, but as an architectural design it is altogether detestable.

Seringham.

The temple which has been most completely marred by this false system of design is that at Seringham, which is certainly the largest, and, if its principle of design could be reversed, would be one of the finest temples in the south of India (Woodcut No. 195, p. 349). Here the central enclosure is quite as small and as insignificant as that at Tiruvalur, and except that its dome is gilt has nothing to distinguish it from an ordinary village temple. The next enclosure, however, is more magnificent. It encloses the hall of 1000 columns, which measures some 450 ft. by 130 ft. The number of columns is, I believe, sixteen in front by sixty in depth, or 960 altogether; but I do not feel sure there is not some mistake in my observations, and that the odd forty are to be found somewhere. They consequently are not spaced more than 10 ft. apart from centre to centre; and as at one end the hall is hardly over 10 ft. high, and in the loftiest place only 15 ft. or 16 ft., and the pillars spaced nearly evenly over the floor, it will be easily understood how little effect such a building really produces. They are, however, each of a single block of granite, and all carved more or less elaborately. A much finer portico stretches across this court from gopura to gopura; the pillars in it are much more widely spaced, and the central aisle is double that of those on the sides, and crosses the portico in the centre, making a transept; its height, too, is double that of the side aisles. It is a pleasing and graceful architectural design; the other is only an evidence of misapplied labour. The next four enclosures have nothing very remarkable in them, being generally occupied by the Brahmans and persons connected with the temple. Each, however, has, or was intended to have, four gopuras, one on each face, and some of these are of very considerable magnificence. The outer enclosure is, practically, a bazaar, filled with shops, where pilgrims are lodged, and fed, and fleeced. The wall that encloses it measures 2475 ft. by 2880 ft.,[379] and, had its gopuras been finished, they would have surpassed all others in the south to the same extent as these dimensions exceed those of any other known temple. The northern gopura, leading to the river and Trichinopoly, measures 130 ft. in width by 100 ft. in depth; the opening through it measures 21 ft. 6 in., and twice that in height. The four jambs or gateposts are each of a single slab of granite, more than 40 ft. in height, and the roofing-slabs throughout measure from 23 ft. to 24 ft. Had the ordinary brick pyramid of the usual proportion been added to this, the whole would have risen to a height of nearly 300 ft. Even as it is, it is one of the most imposing masses in southern India, and probably—perhaps because it never was quite finished—it is in severe and good taste throughout.[380] Its date, fortunately, is perfectly well known, as its progress was stopped by its being occupied and fortified by the French during our ten years’ struggle with them for the possession of Trichinopoly; and if we allow fifty years for its progress, even this would bring the whole within the limits of the 18th century. The other three gopuras of this enclosure are in the same style, and were commenced on the same scale, but not being so far advanced when we stopped the work, their gateposts project above their walls in a manner that gives them a very singular appearance, and has led to some strange theories as to their design.

Looked at from a distance, or in any direction where the whole can be grasped at once, these fourteen or fifteen great gate towers cannot fail to produce a certain effect, as may be gathered from the view in Woodcut No. 195; but even then it can only be by considering them as separate buildings. As parts of one whole, their arrangement is exactly that which enables them to produce the least possible effect that can be obtained either from their mass or ornament. Had the four great outer gopuras formed the four sides of a central hall, and the others gone on diminishing, in three or four directions, to the exterior, the effect of the whole would have been increased in a surprising degree. To accomplish this, however, one

other defect must have been remedied: a gateway even 150 ft. wide in a wall nearly 2000 ft. in extent is a solecism nothing can redeem; but had the walls been broken in plan or star-shaped, like the plans of Chalukyan temples, light and shade would have been obtained, and due proportions of parts, without any inconvenience. But if the Dravidians ever had it in them to think of such things, it was not during the 17th and 18th centuries, to which everything in this temple seems to belong.

Chillambaram.

The temple at Chillambaram is one of the most venerated, and has also the reputation of being one of the most ancient, temples in southern India. It was there, therefore, if anywhere, that I at one time hoped to find some remains that would help to elucidate the history of the style. It was, besides, so far removed from any capital city or frequented haunt of man that one might hope to find its original form unaltered.

It is old, but I am afraid the traditions that connect its foundation with Hiranya Verma of Kashmir, in the beginning of the 6th century, on which I was at one time inclined to rely,[381] are of too impalpable a nature to be depended upon. I see no great reason for doubting that there may have been a connexion between the kings of Chola and those of Kashmir at the period; but I cannot see anything in this temple either of so early an age, or any feature in the style of Kashmiri architecture. On the other hand, the foundation of the temple appears to be clearly described in the following passage of the Kongadesa Raja Kal:—“Vira Chola Raya (A.D. 927 to 977) one day saw on the sea-shore the Sabhápati of Chillambara (Siva), attended by Parvati, dancing and beating the damaraka (a kind of drum); he therefore expended great sums of money in building the Kanaka, or Golden Sabha.”[382] A little further on, it is said, “Ari Vari Deva (A.D. 1004), observing that his grandfather had built only a Kanaka Sabhá to the Chillambara deity, he built gopuras, maddals (enclosures), madapanas (image-houses), sabhás (holy places or apartments), and granted many jewels to the deity.” If this last could be applied to the great enclosure, it would be a most important date; but on a careful examination of the whole circumstances of the case I feel convinced that these passages refer only to the two inner enclosures, B B, at the west end of the tank (Woodcut No. 196). They, indeed, measuring about 320 ft. square, appear to have been the whole of the original temple, at least in the 10th and 11th centuries, always supposing