Jehangir, A.D. 1605-1628.

When we consider how much was done by his father and his son, it is rather startling to find how little Jehangir contributed to the architectural magnificence of India. Partly this may be owing to his not having the same passion for building which characterised these two great monarchs; but partly also to his having made Lahore the capital during his reign, and to his having generally resided there in preference to Agra or Delhi. The great mosque there, however, which was built by him, seems to be equal in magnificence to that built by Shah Jehan at Delhi. This mosque, however, seems to have been surpassed by one erected in the city of Lahore by his vizir. It is in the Persian style, covered with enamelled tiles, and resplendent in colours, but not very graceful in form. His tomb, in which he lies buried with his queen, the imperious Nurjehan, was worthy of its builder, but has been used as a quarry by the Sikhs, and half the splendour of the temple at Amritsir is due to marbles plundered from this mausoleum. The palace, too, which he erected, was worthy of his other buildings, but it has suffered as much as the rest. It has been used as a habitation from that time to this, and so altered, to adapt it to the wants of its successive occupants, that little of its original form remains.

We have, however, no measurements and no information about these monuments which would enable us to speak with any confidence either regarding them, or the other buildings of that city, which seems to owe its principal splendour to the reign of this monarch.

At the other end of his dominions also he built a splendid new capital at Dacca, in supersession to Gaur, and adorned it with several buildings of considerable dimensions. These, however, were principally in brick-work, covered with stucco, and with only pillars and brackets in stone. Most of them, consequently, are in a state of ruinous decay; marvellously picturesque, it must be confessed, peering through the luxuriant vegetation that is tearing them to pieces, but hardly worthy to be placed in competition with the stone and marble buildings of the more northern capitals.

There is one building—the tomb known as that of Eti-mad-Doulah—at Agra, however, which certainly belongs to this reign, and, though not erected by the monarch himself, cannot be passed over, not only from its own beauty of design, but also because it marks an epoch in the style to which it belongs. It is situated on the left bank of the river, in the midst of a garden surrounded by a wall measuring 540 ft. on each side. In the centre of this, on a raised platform, stands the tomb itself, a square measuring 69 ft. on each side. It is two storeys in height, and at each angle is an octagonal tower, surmounted by an open pavilion. The towers, however, are rather squat in proportion, and the general design of the building very far from being so pleasing as that of many less pretentious tombs in the neighbourhood. Had it, indeed, been built in red sandstone, or even with an inlay of white marble like that of Humayun, it would not have attracted much attention. Its real merit consists in being wholly in white marble, and being covered throughout with a mosaic in “pietro duro”—the first, apparently, and certainly one of the most splendid, examples of that class of ornamentation in India.

It seems now to be ascertained that in the early part of the 17th century Italian artists, principally, apparently from Florence, were introduced into India, and taught the Indians the art of inlaying marble with precious stones.[551] No instance of this mode of decoration occurs, so far as I know, in the reign of Akbar; but in that of Shah Jehan it became the leading characteristic of the style, and both his palaces and his tombs owe their principal distinction to the beauty of the mode in which this new invention was employed.

It has been doubted whether this new art was really a foreign introduction, or whether it had not been invented by the natives of India themselves. The question never, probably, would have arisen had one of the fundamental principles of architecture been better understood. When we, for instance, having no art of our own, copy a Grecian or Roman pillar, or an Italian mediæval arch in detail, we do so literally, without any attempt to adapt it to our uses or climate; but when a people having a style of their own wish to adopt any feature or process belonging to any other style, they do not copy but adapt it to their uses; and it is this distinction between adopting and adapting that makes all the difference. We would have allowed the Italians to introduce with their mosaics all the details of their Cinque-cento architecture. The Indians set them to reproduce, with their new materials and processes, the patterns which the architects of Akbar had been in the habit of carving in stone or of inlaying in marble. Every form was adapted to the place where it was to be used. The style remained the same, so did all the details; the materials only were changed, and the patterns only so far as was necessary to adapt them to the smaller and more refined materials that were to be used.[552]

As one of the first, the tomb of Eti-mad-Doulah was certainly one of the least successful specimens of its class. The patterns do not quite fit the places where they are put, and the spaces are not always those best suited for this style of decoration. Altogether I cannot help fancying that the Italians had more to do with the design of this building than was at all desirable, and they are to blame for its want of grace. But, on the other hand, the beautiful tracery of the pierced marble slabs of its windows, which resemble those of Selim Chisti’s tomb at Futtehpore Sikri, the beauty of its white marble walls, and the rich colour of its decorations, make up so beautiful a whole, that it is only on comparing it with the works of Shah Jehan that we are justified in finding fault.

Shah Jehan, A.D. 1628-1658.

It would be difficult to point out in the whole history of architecture any change so sudden as that which took place between the style of Akbar and that of his grandson Shah Jehan—nor any contrast so great as that between the manly vigour and exuberant originality of the first, as compared with the extreme but almost effeminate elegance of the second. Certainly when the same people, following the same religion, built temples and palaces in the same locality, nothing of the sort ever occurred in any country whose history is now known to us.

Nowhere is the contrast between the two styles more strongly marked than in the palace of Agra—from the red stone palace of Akbar, with its rich sculptures and square Hindu construction, a door opens into the white marble court of the hareem of Shah Jehan, with all its feeble prettiness, but at the same time marked with that peculiar elegance which is found only in the East. The court is not large, 170 ft. by 235 ft., but the whole is finished with the most elaborate care. Three sides of this are occupied by the residences of the ladies, not remarkable for size, nor, in their present state, for architectural beauty; but the fourth, overhanging the river, is occupied by three white marble pavilions of singular elegance, though it is not easy now to see them, some English officer having pitched upon the principal one as a residence, and having in consequence covered the polished marble and elegant arabesques of flowers inlaid in precious stones with thick coatings of that whitewash which was indispensable to his idea of comfort and elegant simplicity.

As in most Moorish palaces, the baths on one side of this court were the most elegant and elaborately decorated apartments in the palace. The baths have been destroyed, but the walls and roofs still show the elegance with which they were adorned.[553]

Behind this, in the centre of the palace, is a great court, 500 ft. by 370 ft. surrounded by arcades, and approached at the opposite ends through a succession of beautiful courts opening into one another by gateways of great magnificence. One one side of this court is the great hall of the palace—the Dewanni Aum—208 ft. by 76 ft., supported by three ranges of arcades of exquisite beauty. It is open on three sides, and with a niche for the throne at the back. This, like the hall at Allahabad, is now an arsenal, and reduced to as near a similarity as possible to those in our dockyards.[554] Behind it are two smaller courts, the one containing the Dewanni Khas, or private hall of audience, the other the hareem. The hall in the former is one of the most elegant of Shah Jehan’s buildings, being wholly of white marble inlaid with precious stones, and the design of the whole being in the best style of his reign.

One of the most picturesque features about this palace is a marble pavilion, in two storeys, that surmounts one of the circular bastions on the river face, between the hareem and the Dewanni Khas. It looks of an earlier style than that of Shah Jehan, and if Jehangir built anything here it is this. On a smaller scale, it occupies the same place here that the Chalîs Sitûn did in the palace at Allahabad; and exemplifies, even more than in their larger buildings, the extreme elegance and refinement of those who designed these palaces.[555]

Palace at Delhi.

Though the palace at Agra is perhaps more picturesque, and historically certainly more interesting, than that of Delhi, the latter had the immense advantage of being built at once, on one uniform plan, and by the most magnificent, as a builder, of all the sovereigns of India. It had, however, one little disadvantage, in being somewhat later than Agra. All Shah Jehan’s buildings there, seem to have been finished before he commenced the erection of the new city of Shah Jehanabad with its palace, and what he built at Agra is soberer, and in somewhat better taste than at Delhi. Notwithstanding these defects, the palace at Delhi is, or rather was, the most magnificent palace in the East—perhaps in the world—and the only one, at least in India, which enables us to understand what the arrangements of a complete palace were when deliberately undertaken and carried out on one uniform plan (Woodcut No. 336).

The palace at Delhi, which is situated like that at Agra close to the edge of the Jumna, is a nearly regular parallelogram, with the angles slightly canted off, and measures 1600 ft. east and west, by 3200 ft. north and south, exclusive of the gateways. It is surrounded on all sides by a very noble wall of red sandstone, relieved at intervals by towers surmounted by kiosks. The principal entrance faces the Chandni Chowk, a noble wide street, nearly a mile long, planted with two rows of trees, and with a stream of water running down its centre. Entering within its deeply-recessed portal, you find yourself

beneath the vaulted hall, the sides of which are in two storeys, and with an octagonal break in the centre. This hall, which is 375 ft. in length over all, has very much the effect of the nave of a gigantic Gothic cathedral, and forms the noblest entrance known to belong to any existing palace. At its inner end this hall opened into a courtyard, 350 ft. square, from the centre of which a noble bazaar extended right and left, like the hall, two storeys in height, but not vaulted. One of these led to the Delhi gate, the other, which I believe was never quite finished, to the garden. In front, at the entrance, was the Nobut Khana (A), or music hall, beneath which the visitor entered the second or great court of the palace, measuring 550 ft. north and south, by 385 ft. east and west. In the centre of this stood the Dewanni Aum (B), or great audience hall of the palace, very similar in design to that at Agra, but more magnificent. Its dimensions are, as nearly as I can ascertain, 200 ft. by 100 ft. over all. In its centre is a highly ornamental niche, in which, on a platform of marble richly inlaid with precious stones,[556] and directly facing the entrance, once stood the celebrated peacock throne, the most gorgeous example of its class that perhaps even the East could ever boast of. Behind this again was a garden-court; on its eastern side was the Rung Mehal (C), or painted hall, containing a bath and other apartments.

This range of buildings, extending 1600 ft. east and west, divided the palace into two nearly equal halves. In the northern division of it were a series of small courts, surrounded by buildings apparently appropriated to the use of distinguished guests; and in one of them overhanging the river stood the celebrated Dewanni Khas (D), or private audience hall—if not the most beautiful, certainly the most highly ornamented of all Shah Jehan’s buildings. It is larger certainly, and far richer in ornament than that at Agra, though hardly so elegant in design; but nothing can exceed the beauty of the inlay of precious stones with which it is adorned, or the general poetry of the design. It is round the roof of this hall that the famous inscription runs: “If there is a heaven on earth it is this, it is this,” which may safely be rendered into the sober English assertion, that no palace now existing in the world possesses an apartment of such singular elegance as this.

Beyond this to the northward were the gardens of the palace, laid out in the usual formal style of the East, but adorned with fountains and little pavilions and kiosks of white marble, that render these so beautiful and so appropriate to such a climate.

The whole of the area between the central range of buildings to the south, and eastward from the bazaar, measuring about 1000 ft. each way, was occupied by the hareem and private apartments of the palace, covering, consequently, more than twice the area of the Escurial, or, in fact, of any palace in Europe. According to the native plan I possess, which I see no reason for distrusting, it contained three garden courts, and some thirteen or fourteen other courts, arranged some for state, some for convenience; but what they were like we have no means of knowing. Not one vestige of them now remains. Judging from the corresponding parts of the palace at Agra, built by the same monarch, they must have vied with the public apartments in richness and in beauty when originally erected, but having continued to be used as an abode down to the time of the mutiny, they were probably very much disfigured and debased. Taste was, no doubt, at as low an ebb inside the walls of the palace during the last hundred years as it was outside, or as we find it at Lucknow and elsewhere; but all the essential parts of the structure were there, and could easily have been disencumbered from the accretions that had been heaped upon it. The idea, however, of doing this was far from entering into the heads of our governors. The whole of the hareem courts of the palace were swept off the face of the earth to make way for a hideous British barrack, without those who carried out this fearful piece of Vandalism thinking it even worth while to make a plan of what they were destroying, or preserving any record of the most splendid palace in the world.

Of the public parts of the palace all that now remains is the entrance hall, the Nobut Khana, the Dewanni Aum and Khas, and the Rung Mehal—now used as a mess-room—and one or two small pavilions. They are the gems of the palace, it is true, but without the courts and corridors connecting them they lose all their meaning and more than half their beauty.[557] Being now situated in the middle of a British barrack-yard, they look like precious stones torn from their settings in some exquisite piece of Oriental jeweller’s work and set at random in a bed of the commonest plaster.[558]

Taje Mehal.

It is a pleasure to turn from this destroyed and desecrated palace to the Taje Mehal, which even more, perhaps, than the palace was always the chef-d’œuvre of Shah Jehan’s reign (Woodcut No. 337). It, too, has been fortunate in attracting the attention of the English, who have paid sedulous attention to it for some time past, and keep it now, with its gardens, in a perfect state of substantial repair.

No building in India has been so often drawn and photographed as this, or more frequently described; but, with all this, it is almost impossible to convey an idea of it to those who have not seen it, not only because of its extreme delicacy, and beauty of material employed in its construction, but from the complexity of its design. If the Taje were only the tomb itself, it might be described, but the platform on which it stands, with its tall minarets, is a work of art in itself. Beyond this are the two wings, one of which is a mosque, which anywhere else would be considered an important building. This group of buildings forms one side of a garden court 880 ft. square; and beyond this again an outer court, of the same width but only half the depth. This is entered by three gateways of its own, and contains in the centre of its inner wall the great gateway of the garden court, a worthy pendant to the Taje itself.[559] Beautiful as it is in itself, the Taje would lose half its charm if it stood alone. It is the combination of so many beauties, and the perfect manner in which each is subordinated to the other, that makes up a whole which the world cannot match, and which never fails to impress even those who are most indifferent to the effects produced by architectural objects in general.

The plan and section (Woodcuts Nos. 338, 339) explain sufficiently the general arrangement and structural peculiarities of the tomb or principal building of the group. The raised platform on which it stands is 18 ft. high, faced with white marble, and exactly 313 ft. square. At each corner of this terrace stands a minaret 133 ft.

in height, and of the most exquisite proportions, more beautiful, perhaps, than any other in India. In the centre of this marble platform stands the mausoleum, a square of 186 ft., with the corners cut off to the extent of 33 ft. 9 in. The centre of this is occupied by the principal dome, 58 ft. in diameter and 80 ft. in height, under which is an enclosure formed by a screen of trellis-work of white marble, a chef-d’œuvre of elegance in Indian art.[560] Within this stand the tombs—that of Mûmtaz-i-Mehal in the centre, and that of Shah Jehan on one side. These, however, as is usual in Indian sepulchres, are not the true tombs—the bodies rest in a vault, level with the surface of the ground (as seen in the section) beneath plainer tombstones, placed exactly underneath those in the hall above.

In every angle of the building is a small domical apartment of two storeys in height, 26 ft. 8 in. in diameter, and these are connected, as shown in the plan, by various passages and halls.

The light to the central apartment is admitted only through double screens of white marble trellis-work of the most exquisite design, one on the outer, and one on the inner face of the walls. In our climate this would produce nearly complete darkness; but in India, and in a building wholly composed of white marble, this was required to temper the glare that otherwise would have been intolerable. As it is, no words can express the chastened beauty of that central chamber, seen in the soft gloom of the subdued light that reaches it through the distant and half-closed openings that surround it. When used as a Barrah Durrie, or pleasure palace, it must always have been the coolest and the loveliest of garden retreats, and now that it is sacred to the dead it is the most graceful and the most impressive of the sepulchres of the world.

This building, too, is an exquisite example of that system of inlaying with precious stones which became the great characteristic of the style of the Moguls after the death of Akbar. All the spandrils of the Taje, all the angles and more important architectural details, are heightened by being inlaid with precious stones, such as agates, bloodstones, jaspers, and the like. These are combined in wreaths, scrolls, and frets, as exquisite in design as beautiful in colour; and, relieved by the pure white marble in which they are inlaid, they form the most beautiful and precious style of ornament ever adopted in architecture; though, of course, not to be compared with the intellectual beauty of Greek ornament, it certainly stands first among the purely decorative forms of architectural design. This mode of ornamentation is lavishly bestowed on the tombs themselves and the screen that surrounds them, though sparingly introduced on the mosque that forms one wing of the Taje, or on the fountains and surrounding buildings. The judgment, indeed, with which this style of ornament is apportioned to the various parts is almost as remarkable as the ornament itself, and conveys a high idea of the taste and skill of the Indian architects of that age.

The long rows of cypresses, which line the marble paths that intersect the garden at right angles, are now of venerable age; and, backed up by masses of evergreen foliage, lend a charm to the whole which the founder and his children could hardly have realised. Each of the main avenues among these trees has a canal along its centre studded with marble fountains, and each vista leads to some beautiful architectural object. With the Jumna in front, and this garden with its fountains and gateways behind; with its own purity of material and grace of form, the Taje may challenge comparison with any creation of the same sort in the whole world. Its beauty may not be of the highest class, but in its class it is unsurpassed.

Though neither so magnificent nor so richly ornamented as some of his other buildings, the Mûti Musjid, or Pearl Mosque, which Shah Jehan erected in the fort of Agra, is one of the purest and most elegant buildings of its class to be found anywhere (Woodcut No. 340). It is not large, measuring only 187 ft. by 234 ft. over all externally; and though raised on a lofty stylobate, which ought to give it dignity, it makes no pretentions to architectural effect on the outside; but the moment you enter by the eastern gateway the effect of its courtyard is surpassingly beautiful. The whole is of white marble, and the forms all graceful and elegant. The only ornament introduced which is not strictly architectural, is an inscription in black marble, inlaid in the frieze of the mosque itself. The courtyard is nearly a square, 154 ft. by 158 ft. On three sides it is surrounded by a low colonnade 10 ft. 10 in. deep; but on the west, by the mosque itself, 159 ft. by 56 ft. internally. It opens on the court by seven arches of great beauty, and is surmounted by three domes of the bulbous form that became universal about this time (Woodcut No. 341). The woodcut cannot do it justice, it must be seen to be appreciated; but I hardly know, anywhere, of a building so perfectly pure and elegant, or one that forms such a wonderful contrast with the buildings of Akbar in the same palace.

The Jumma Musjid at Delhi is not unlike the Mûti Musjid in plan, though built on a very much larger scale, and adorned with two noble minarets, which are wanting in the Agra example; while from the somewhat capricious admixture of red sandstone with white marble, it is far from possessing the same elegance and purity of effect. It is, however, one of the few mosques, either in India or elsewhere, that is designed to produce a pleasing effect externally. As will be seen from the woodcut (No. 342), it is raised on a lofty basement, and its three gateways, combined with the four angle-towers and the frontispiece and domes of the mosque itself, make up a design where all the parts are pleasingly subordinated to one another, but at the same time produce a whole of great variety and elegance. Its principal gateway cannot be compared with that at Futtehpore Sikri (Woodcut No. 331); but it is a noble portal, and from its smaller dimensions more in harmony with the objects by which it is surrounded.

It is not a little singular, looking at the magnificent mosque

which Akbar built in his palace at Futtehpore Sikri, and the Mûti Musjid, with which Shah Jehan adorned the palace at Agra, that he should have provided no place of worship in his palace at Delhi. The little Mûti mosque that is now found there was added by Aurungzebe, and, though pretty enough in itself, is very small, only 60 ft. square over all, and utterly unworthy of such a palace. There is no place of prayer, within the palace walls, of the time of Shah Jehan, nor, apparently, any intention of providing one. The Jumma Musjid was so near, and so apparently part of the same design, that it seems to have been considered sufficient to supply this apparently anomalous deficiency.

Aurungzebe, A.D. 1658-1707.

There are few things more startling in the history of this style than the rapid decline of taste that set in with the accession of Aurungzebe. The power of the Mogul empire reached its culminating point in his reign, and there were at least no external signs of decay visible before the end of his reign. Even if his morose disposition did not lead him to spend much money on palaces or civil buildings, his religious fanaticism might, one would think, have led him to surpass his predecessors in the extent or splendour of their mosques or religious establishments. This, however, is far from being the case. He did, indeed, as mentioned above, pull down the temple of Vishveshwar, at Benares, in order to erect a mosque, whose tall and graceful minarets still form one of the most prominent features in every view of the city. It was not, however, from any love of architectural magnificence that this was done, but to insult his Hindu subjects and mark the triumph of Islam over Hinduism. The mosque itself is of no great magnificence, but none more important was erected, so far as I know, during his reign.

Few things can show how steadily and rapidly the decline of taste had set in than the fact that when that monarch was residing at Aurungabad between the years 1650-70, having lost his favourite daughter, Rabia Dûranee, he ordered his architects to reproduce an exact copy of his father’s celebrated tomb, the Taje Mehal, in honour of her memory. They believed they were doing so, but the difference between the two monuments, even in so short an interval, is startling. The first stands alone in the world for certain qualities all can appreciate; the second is by no means remarkable for any qualities of elegance or design, and narrowly escapes vulgarity and bad taste. In the beginning of the present century a more literal copy of the Taje was erected in Lucknow over the tomb of one of its sovereigns. In this last, however, bad taste and tawdriness reign supreme. It is difficult to understand how a thing can be so like in form and so unlike in spirit; but so it is, and these three Tajes form a very perfect scale by which to measure the decline of art since the great Mogul dynasty passed its zenith and began its rapid downward career.

Aurungzebe himself lies buried in a small hamlet just above the caves of Ellora. The spot is esteemed sacred, but the tomb is mean and insignificant beyond what would have sufficed for any of his nobles. He neglected, apparently, to provide for himself this necessary adjunct to a Tartar’s glory, and his successors were too weak, even had they been inclined, to supply the omission. Strange to say, the sacred Tulsi-tree of the Hindus has taken root in a crevice of the brickwork, and is flourishing there as if in derision of the most bigoted persecutor the Hindus ever experienced.

We have scarcely any remains of Aurungzebe’s own works, except, as before observed, a few additions to the palace at Delhi; but during his reign many splendid palaces were erected, both in the capital and elsewhere. The most extensive and splendid of these was that built by his aspiring but unfortunate son Dara Shekoh. It, however, was converted into the English residency; and so completely have improvements, with plaster and whitewash, done their work, that it requires some ingenuity to find out that it was not wholly the work of the Anglo-Saxons.

In the town of Delhi many palaces of the age of Aurungzebe have escaped this profanation, but generally they are either in ruins or used as shops; and with all their splendour show too clearly the degradation of style which had then fairly set in, and which is even more apparent in the modern capitals of Oude, Hydrabad, and other cities which have risen into importance during the last hundred years.

Even these capitals, however, are not without edifices of a palatial class, which from their size and the picturesqueness of their forms deserve attention, and to an eye educated among the plaster glories of the Alhambra would seem objects of no small interest and beauty. Few, however, are built of either marble or squared stone: most of them are of brick or rubble-stone, and the ornaments in stucco, which, coupled with the inferiority of their design, will always prevent their being admired in immediate proximity with the glories of Agra and Delhi.

In a history of Mahomedan art in India which had any pretensions to be exhaustive, it would be necessary to describe before concluding many minor buildings, especially tombs, which are found in every corner of the land. For in addition to the Imperial tombs, mentioned above, the neighbourhoods of Agra and Delhi are crowded with those of the nobles of the court, some of them scarcely less magnificent than the mausolea of their masters.

Besides the tombs, however, in the capitals of the empire, there is scarcely a city of any importance in the whole course of the Ganges or Jumna, even as far eastward as Dacca, that does not possess some specimens of this form of architectural magnificence. Jaunpore and Allahabad are particularly rich in examples; but Patna and Dacca possess two of the most pleasing of the smaller class of tombs that are to be met with anywhere.

Oude and Mysore.

If it were worth while to engrave a sufficient number of illustrations to make the subject intelligible, one or two chapters might very easily be filled with the architecture of these two dynasties. That of Mysore, though only lasting forty years—A.D. 1760-1799—was sufficiently far removed from European influence to practise a style retaining something of true architectural character. The pavilion called the Deriah Doulut at Seringapatam resembles somewhat the nearly contemporary palace at Deeg in style, but is feebler and of a much less ornamental character.[561] The tomb, too, of the founder of the dynasty, and the surrounding mausolea, retain a reminiscence of former greatness, but will not stand comparison with the Imperial tombs of Agra and Delhi.

On the other hand, the tomb of Saftar Jung, the founder of the Lucknow dynasty, situated not far from the Kutub at Delhi, is not quite unworthy of the locality in which it is found. Though so late in date (A.D. 1756), it looks grand and imposing at a distance, but it will not bear close inspection. Even this qualified praise can hardly be awarded of any of the buildings in the capital in which his dynasty was finally established.

If mass and richness of ornamentation were in themselves sufficient to constitute architecture, few capitals in India could show so much of it as Lucknow. It is, in fact, amazing to observe to what an extent this dynasty filled its capitals with gorgeous buildings during the one short century of its existence, but all—or with the fewest possible exceptions—in the worst possible taste. Whatever may be said of the Renaissance, or revival of classical architecture in Europe in the 16th century, in India it was an unmitigated misfortune. The unintelligent vulgarity with which the “Orders” are there used, by a people who were capable of such noble things in their own styles, is one of the most startling phenomena in the history of architecture. The subject hardly belongs to this work, and has already been treated of in the ‘History of Modern Architecture.’[562]

Even at Lucknow, however, there are some buildings into which the European leaven has not penetrated, and which are worthy of being mentioned in the same volume as the works of their ancestors. Among these is the great Imambara, which, though its details will not bear too close an examination, is still conceived on so grand a scale as to entitle it to rank with the buildings of an earlier age.

As seen by the plan of the Imambara (Woodcut No. 343), the principal apartment is 162 ft. long by 53 ft. 6 in. wide. On the two sides are verandahs, respectively 26 ft. 6 in. and 27 ft. 3 in. wide, and at each end an octagonal apartment, 53 ft. in diameter, the whole interior dimensions being thus 263 ft. by 145 ft. This immense building is covered with vaults of very simple form and still simpler construction, being of a rubble or coarse concrete several feet in thickness, which is laid on a rude mould or centering of bricks and mud, and allowed to stand a year or two to set and dry. The centering is then removed, and the vault, being in one piece, stands without abutment or thrust, apparently a better and more durable form of roof than our most scientific Gothic vaulting; certainly far cheaper and far more easily made, since it is literally cast on a mud form, which may be moulded into any shape the fancy of the architect may dictate.

It would be a curious and instructive subject of speculation to try to ascertain what would have been the fate of Mahomedan architecture in India had no European influence been brought to bear upon it. The materials for the inquiry are not abundant, but we can perceive that the decadence had set in long before the death of Aurungzebe. It is also evident that in such buildings as were erected at Agra or Delhi during the lapse of the 18th century, even where no European influence can be traced, there is a feebleness and want of true perception, though occasionally combined with a considerable degree of elegance. There, however, the inquiry fails, because European influence made itself felt before any actual change had developed itself, but in remote

corners the downward progress became apparent without any extraneous assistance. This is partially the case, as just mentioned, in the Mysore; but there is a cemetery at Junaghur, in Gujerat, where there exists a group of tombs, all erected within this century, some within the last twenty or thirty years, which exhibit more nearly than any others I am acquainted with the forms towards which the style was tending. The style is not without a certain amount of elegance in detail (Woodcut No. 344). The tracery of the windows is frequently fascinating from its beauty, and all the carving is executed with precision and appropriateness—but it is all wooden, or, in other words, every detail would be more appropriate for a sideboard or a bedstead, or any article of upholstery, than for a building in stone. The domes especially can hardly be traced back to their grand and solemn form as used by the Pathan architects. The pinnacles are fanciful, and the brackets designed more for ornament than work. It is a style, in fact, broken loose from the true principles of constructive design, and when this is the case, no amount of ornament, however elegant it may be, will redeem the want of propriety it inevitably exhibits.

It is curious, however, and instructive, in concluding our history of architecture as practised within the limits of India properly so called, to observe how completely we have been walking in a circle. We began by tracing how, two hundred years before Christ, a wooden style was gradually assuming lithic forms, and by degrees being elaborated into a style where hardly a reminiscence of wood remained. We conclude with finding the style of Hullabîd and Bijapur, or Delhi, returning to forms as appropriate to carpentry but as unsuited to masonry as the rails or gateways at Bharhut or Sanchi. It might some time ago have been a question worth mooting whether it was likely it would perish by persevering in this wrong direction. That enquiry, however, seems idle now, as it is to be feared that the death-blow will be given, as at Lucknow and elsewhere, by the fatal imitation of a foreign style.

CHAPTER XI.

WOODEN ARCHITECTURE.

Turning for the nonce from this quasi-wooden style—which is only an indication of decadence and decrepitude—it would be pleasing if we could finish our narrative with the description of a true wooden style as it exists in Kashmir. The Jumma Musjid, in the city of Srinugger, is a large and important building, and if not so magnificent as some of those described in the preceding pages, is of great interest from being designed to be constructed in wood, and wood only. A knowledge of its peculiarities would, consequently, help us much in understanding many problems that arise in investigating the history of architecture in India. Unfortunately it is not a fashionable building, and of the 1001 tourists who visit the valley no one mentions it, and no photographer has yet set up his camera within its precincts.[563]

Its plan apparently is the usual one: a courtyard surrounded by cloisters, longer and loftier on the side towards Mecca, its peculiarity being that all the pillars that support its roofs are of Deodar pine—not used, of course, to imitate stone or stone construction, but honest wooden forms, as in Burmese monasteries and elsewhere. The carving on them is, I believe, rich and beautiful, and though dilapidated, the effect is said to be still singularly pleasing.

There is one other mosque in the same city, known as that of Shah Hamadan (Woodcut No. 345), which is equally erected wholly in wood, and though very much smaller than the Jumma Musjid, is interesting, in the first place, because its roof is probably very similar to that which once covered the temple at Marttand (Woodcut No. 161), and the crowning ornament is evidently a reminiscence of a Buddhist Tee, very much altered, it must be confessed, but still not so very unlike some found in Nepal, as at Swayambunath (Woodcut No. 170), for instance, and elsewhere.

The walls, too, are of interest to us, because the mode in which the logs are disposed and ornamented resembles the ornamentation of the Orissan temples more clearly than any stone forms we can call to mind. The courses of the stone work in the tower of the great temple at Bhuvaneswar (Woodcut No. 233), the Moitre Serai, and other temples there, produce so nearly the same effect, that it does not seem improbable they may have been derived from some such original. The mode, too, in which the Orissan temples are carved, and the extent to which that class of ornamentation is carried, is much more suggestive of a wooden than of a lithic origin.

These, however, are questions that can only be profitably discussed when we have more knowledge of this Kashmiri style than we now possess. When the requisite materials are available for the purpose, there are few chapters that will be of greater interest, or that will more worthily conclude the Architectural History of India than those that treat of the true and false styles of wooden art, with which the narrative begins, and with which it also ends.

BOOK VIII.

FURTHER INDIA.

CHAPTER I.

BURMAH.

The first of these countries to which we naturally turn is Burmah, which adopted the religion of Sakya Muni at a very early period, and borrowed also many of the Indian forms of architecture, but with differences we are now at a loss to account for. It may be, that, as we know nothing practically of the architectural forms of the Lower Bengal provinces before the beginning of the 6th century, these forms may have been taken to Prome and Pegu before that time; or it may be that a northern or Thibetan element crept into Burmah across the northern mountains by some route we cannot now follow. These are interesting problems we shall not be able to solve till we have a more critical knowledge than we now possess of Burmese buildings. Thanks to the zeal and intelligence of some recent English travellers, we do know a great deal about Burmese art. The works of Symes,[564] Crawfurd,[565] and, above all, of Colonel Yule,[566] are replete with information; but what they did was done in the intervals they were able to snatch from pressing public duties. What is really wanted is, that some qualified person should take up the subject specially, and travel through the country with no other object than to investigate its antiquities. With the knowledge we now have, six months spent on such a mission ought to tell us all, or nearly all, we now want to know.[567] Pending that being done, we must be content to leave a good deal still to be explained by future investigators.

Thatún.

The earliest really authentic notice we have of these countries is in the ‘Mahawanso.’ It is there related that, after the third convocation—B.C. 246—Asoka despatched two missionaries, Sono and Uttaro, to Souverna Bhumi, the Golden Land, to carry the glad tidings of the religion of the Vanquisher.[568] It is now perfectly ascertained that this place was almost certainly the Golden Chersonese of classical geographers, situated on the Sitang river, and now called Thatún, about forty miles’ travelling distance north from Martaban.[569] Since it ceased to be a place of importance, either by the silting up from the river or the elevation of the land, it is now no longer a port; but there can be little doubt that for some centuries before and after the Christian Era it was the emporium through which a very considerable portion of the trade between China and the western world was carried on. The line of passage was apparently across the Bay of Bengal from the delta of the Kistnah and Godavery; and it was to this trade route that we probably owe the rise and importance of Amravati till it was superseded by the direct sea-voyage from Gujerat and the west coast of India in the 6th century. The place was sacked and entirely destroyed, according to Sir A. Phayre, in A.D. 1080, by Anauratha, king of Pegu; but long before that time it had been dwindling, from the growing importance of Pegu, which was founded in A.D. 517 or A.D. 573.[570]

The only description of its ruins is by St. Andrew St. John, in the second volume of the ‘Phœnix’ above referred to; but they seem even now to be very extensive, in spite of neglect and consequent decay. The walls can still be traced for 7700 ft. in one direction by 4000 ft. in another, enclosing a regular oblong of more than 700 acres. In this enclosure are several old pagodas, some, unfortunately, recently repaired, but all of a form we have not yet met with, though we shall presently when we come to speak of Java.

The principal pagoda here, like all the others, is built of hewn laterite. Its base is a square, measuring 104 ft. each way, and 18 ft. high; the second storey is 70 ft. square and 16½ ft. high; the third 48 ft. square and 12 ft. high. On this now stands a circular pagoda, making up the whole height to 85 ft. Mr. St. John fancies this circular part may be much more modern than the rest, but he adds, “the whole face of the pagoda has been carved in patterns; but the most remarkable part is the second storey, to which access is given by four flights of steps, one in the centre of each face. The whole was apparently adorned with sculptures of the most elaborate character.”

There seem to be no data to enable us to fix with certainty the date of this or of other similar pagodas in this place, and no photographs to enable us to speak with certainty as to their details, which is to be regretted, as it is just in such an old city as this that we may expect to find those early forms which may explain so much that is now unintelligible in subsequent examples. Thatún was coeval with Anuradhapura in Ceylon, and if examined with care, might do as much for the square form of temple as the island capital may do for the round form. Their greatest interest would, however, arise from the light they might throw on the square temples of Pagan and other Burmese cities, whose origin it has hitherto been impossible to explain. Meanwhile it is a fact worth bearing in mind that we find here square three-storeyed pagodas, which certainly were erected before A.D. 1080, when the city was destroyed, and probably before the 6th century, when it was practically superseded by the rise of the new city and kingdom of Pegu.

Prome.

If we might trust the Burmese annals, Prome was a capital city as early as the year 101 of Faith, or after the Nirvana of Buddha.[571] In other words, it seems probable that Buddhist missionaries from the second convocation held under Kalasoka, in the previous year (B.C. 433), established themselves here, and introduced the new religion into the country.[572] The real political capital of the country at that time seems to have been Tagoung, half-way between Ava and Bhamo, on the Upper Irawaddi.[573] Prome, however, seems to have continued the religious capital till A.D. 107, when the two capitals were amalgamated, under the name of Old Pagan on the northern site, to be again transferred to New Pagan, below Ava, about the year 847.[574] Upper Pagan seems to have been visited by Captain Hannay, in A.D. 1835, and by others subsequently, and the remains are described as extensive, but too much ruined and obscured by jungle to admit of any scientific investigation. Those of Prome would probably be even more interesting; but I know of no description that enables us to ascertain what they really are. I have photographs of some dagobas—rather too tall to be very old—but, without some mouldings or architectural details, it is impossible to guess even what their age may be; so that practically the architectural history of Burmah begins with the foundation of Pagan in the middle of the 9th century, and as it was destroyed by the Chinese, or rather the Tartar army of Kublai Khan, in 1284,[575] its glory lasted little more than four centuries. During that period, however, it was adorned by a very extensive series of monuments, most of which still remain in a state of very tolerable preservation.

It will thus be observed that the rise and fall of Pagan are, as nearly as may be, coincident with that of Pollonarua, in Ceylon; but the Burmese city seems to have excelled the Ceylonese capital both in the extent of its buildings and in their magnificence. Their differences, too, both in form and detail, are very remarkable, but, if properly investigated, would throw light on many religious and ethnographical problems that are now very obscure.

Pagan.

The ruins of Pagan extend about eight miles in length along the river, with an average breadth of about two miles, and within that space Colonel Yule estimates there may still be traced the remains of 800 or 1000 temples. Several of these are of great magnificence, and are kept in a state of repair; but the bulk of them are in ruins, and the forms of the greater part hardly distinguishable.