James Fergusson

CONTENTS.

Temple of the Great Dragon—Buddhist Temples—Taas—Tombs—Pailoos—Domestic Architecture.

If we had the requisite knowledge, or if the known examples of Chinese temples were sufficiently numerous, we ought, before describing them, to classify the buildings, apportioning each to that one of the three religions to which it belongs. For the present this must be left to some one on the spot. Meanwhile there is no difficulty in recognising those which belong to the religion of Fo or Buddha. These are generally the nine-storeyed towers or taas, which, as will be explained hereafter, are merely exaggerated tees of the Indian dagobas. The temples, properly so-called, of this religion, are not very magnificent, nor are they generally built in a permanent style of architecture. This is still more the case, apparently, with the temples of Confucius. The only one that has been carefully described and photographed is that at Pekin, which is also probably the most magnificent. Judging from our present information, it more resembles a university than a temple. There are neither images nor altars, but great halls, on which are hung up the names of the emperors and of the most distinguished literates of the kingdom. There are no priests; and though ceremonies are there performed annually by the emperor in honour of the great philosopher, these scarcely can be called worship, or the hall a temple.

Temple of the Great Dragon.

The most magnificent temple in the capital, so far as we know in the empire, is that known as the Temple of Heaven, or the Great Dragon.[656] It is situated close to the southern wall of the city in a square

379. Temple of the Great Dragon. (From a Photograph by Beato.)

enclosure measuring about a mile each way. From the outer gate a raised causeway leads to the temple, on either side of which are numerous buildings for the accommodation of the priests, which are approached by frequent flights of steps leading down to a park beautifully planted. At its inner extremity stands the temple itself, a circular building, three storeys in height, with broad projecting roofs, the upper terminating in a gilt ball, directly under which stands the altar.

The temple is raised on a circular pyramid, the three terraces of which are seen in the woodcut. There are several handsome gateways at intervals across the causeway, so arranged that from the entrance the circular temple itself can be seen through the long vista, framed as it were by them; and as the whole of the upper part is covered with blue tiles and gilding, the effect is said to be very pleasing.

In the same enclosure is another temple called that of the Earth, where sacrifices of animals are annually offered to the gods, whoever they may be, to whom this temple is dedicated.

These temples are said to have been erected about the year 1420, and, if so old, seem to be in a very fair state of preservation, considering the manner in which they are now neglected.

In reading Mr. Michie’s, or any other description of the Dragon Temple of Pekin, it seems impossible to avoid feeling that there are so many points of resemblance between it and the Serpent Temple of Nakhon Wat, that the coincidence can hardly be accidental. The variations are hardly greater than might be expected from difference of age, and the fact that the one was erected by Chinese at the northern extremity of their empire, the other by Cambodians near the southern limit of theirs. All the links, however, which connect the two temples are still wanting; yet, as we have the assertion of the Chinese traveller in 1295 that the Tao-tze religion[657] existed in Cambodia while he was there, we should not feel surprise at any similarity that may be traced between the temples of the two countries.

Buddhist Temples.

The only Buddhist temple in China of which any plans have been made, or which I have myself had an opportunity of inspecting, is that at Honan, opposite Canton. Unfortunately it is very modern, and by no means monumental. It is a parallelogram enclosed by a high wall, measuring 306 ft. by 174 ft. In the shorter front facing the river is a gateway of some pretension. This leads to a series of halls opening into each other, and occupying the whole of the longer axis of the internal court. The first and second of these are porches or antechapels. The central one is the largest, and practically the choir of the building. It contains the altar, adorned by gilt images of the three precious Buddhas, with stalls for the monks and all arrangements necessary for the daily service. Behind this, in the next compartment, is a dagoba, and in its rear another apartment devoted to the goddess Kuan yin, principally worshipped by women—in fact, the Lady Chapel of the church. Around the court are arranged the cells of the monks, their kitchen, refectory, and all the necessary offices of the convent. These are generally placed against the outer wall, and open into the court.

Any person familiar with the rock-cut examples in India will easily recognise in this temple all the features he is accustomed to in the earlier Chaityas and Viharas, though strangely altered by their Chinese disguise. The figure which stood in front of the dagoba (Woodcut No. 61) is moved forward and placed on an altar by itself, with two companions added, in accordance with modern Chinese theology; but the general arrangements remain the same. The most interesting part, however, is the arrangement of the cells, &c., relatively to the temple. In one of the caves at Dhumnar (Bhim ka Bazar) something like this has been attempted, but it is evidently so difficult of execution in the rock, that we are not surprised to find it not repeated. It is evidently what was intended to be represented on the central rath of Mahavellipore (Woodcut No. 181), and must indeed have been the general arrangement of Buddhist ecclesiastical establishments. What is now wanted is, that some one should supply information regarding the earlier temples of the Chinese, say of the 12th to the 16th centuries. They no doubt exist, and would throw great light on the earlier Indian examples. In the meanwhile, however, it is curious to refer back to the Woodcut No. 129. From it it will be perceived that as early as the 11th century the Buddhist Chaitya in India, standing in the centre of its Vihara, had already been sublimated into an idol temple, surrounded by a series of idol niches, since there cannot be a doubt that the Jaina temple of Vimala Sah is a reproduction for another purpose of an old Buddhist monastery. The curious point is, that the 18th-century temple of Honan reproduces, for their original purpose, forms which in India had, seven centuries earlier, passed away to another faith, and became wholly conventional. It is still more strange that, if we leap over the intermediate period, and go seven centuries further back, we shall find in India the same ceremonies performed in the same form of temples as those at which any one may assist in China at the present day.

At Pekin there are several Lamaseries or Buddhist monasteries, of a much more monumental character than that at Honan, but it is very difficult indeed to guess at their arrangement from mere verbal descriptions without dimensions. The gateway of one, represented in Woodcut No. 380, gives a fair idea of the usual mode of constructing gateways in China.

It has three openings of pleasing proportions, and is as well designed as any to be found in China. Behind it is to be seen the dagoba, to which it leads: a tall form, with a reverse slope, and an exaggerated tee, so altered from those we are accustomed to in the earlier days of Indian architecture, that it requires some familiarity with the intermediate forms in Nepal and Burmah to feel sure that it is the direct lineal descendant of the topes at Sanchi or Manikyala. Around it are minarets, with a cross-legged seated figure of Buddha on each face. But without a plan or description it is impossible to say whether they come down to the ground, or on what kind of basement they rest.

The ordinary form of a temple, as seen in the villages or towns in China, is extremely simple, and seems to be the same, whether dedicated to Buddha, or to the Queen of Heaven, or to any other deity of the strange pantheon of the Celestial Empire. It generally consists of a square apartment with a highly ornamented roof, and with one of the side-walls removed. The entrance is never at the end, nor the end wall ever removed, as would be the case in the West, but always the side; and it is by no means clear that this is not the right and reasonable way of arranging matters. In very small temples a single beam supports the eaves, and a screen inside forms the back of the porch and the front of the temple. In larger temples two or more pillars are introduced, but the other arrangements remain the same. Both these may be seen in the annexed woodcut (No. 381), and when arranged as picturesquely as in this group, and with their gateways and subsidiary adjuncts, they become very pleasing features in the landscape. As architectural objects, they depend for their effect principally on colour, which is applied with an unsparing hand in the form of glazed tiles, painted ornaments, and frequently also paintings, such as landscapes and figure subjects. Gilding is also employed to a great extent, and with good effect.

Taas.

The objects of Chinese architecture with which the European eye is most familiar are the taas, or nine-storeyed pagodas, as they are usually called. In the south they generally have that number of storeys, but not always, and in the north it ranges from three to thirteen. As before hinted, these are nothing but exaggerated tees of dagobas, and it is easy to trace them through all the stages of the change. In India we can easily trace the single wooden chattah or umbrella of Karli (Woodcut No. 56) to the nine-storeyed tower at Chittore (Woodcut No. 143), and from that the transition is easy to the Chinese examples, although the elaboration of the two was simultaneous, and the Chinese had probably erected tall towers as early as the Jains.

Of those which existed in China in our own time the best known is the celebrated porcelain tower at Nankin.[658] Commenced in the year 1412, and finished in 1431, it was erected as a monument of gratitude to an empress of the Ming family, and was, in consequence, generally called the Temple of Gratitude. It was octagonal in form, 236 ft. in height, of which, however, about 30 ft. must be deducted for the iron spire that surmounted it, leaving little more than 200 ft. for the elevation of the building, or about the height of the Monument of London. From the summit of the spire eight chains depended, to each of which were attached nine bells, and a bell was also attached to each angle of the lower roofs, making 144 bells in all, which, when tinkling in harmony to the evening breeze, must have produced an effect as singular as pleasing. It was not, however, either to its dimensions or its bells that the tower owed its celebrity, but to the coating of porcelain which clothed its brick walls, as well as the upper and under sides of the projecting roofs, which mark the division of each storey. The porcelain produced a brilliancy of effect which is totally lost in all the representations of it yet published, but which was, in fact, that on which the architect almost wholly relied for producing the effect he desired, and without which his design is a mere skeleton.

Another celebrated pagoda is that known as “Second Bar Pagoda,” on the Canton river. It is a pillar of victory, erected to commemorate a naval battle which the Chinese claim to have gained near the spot. It is, in design, nearly identical with that of Nankin, but of smaller dimensions, and is now fast falling to ruin.

These two are of the usual and most typical form, and so like hundreds of others, that it is impossible to deduce any sequence from them with such representations as we now possess. Though pleasing and purposelike, as well as original, they are somewhat monotonous in design. A tower divided into nine equal and similar storeys is a very inferior design to that of the minars of the Mahomedans, or the ordinary spires of Christian churches; and, if all were like these, we should be forced to deny the Chinese the faculty of invention in architecture. In the north, however, the forms seem much more various. One in the Summer Palace (Woodcut No. 383) is divided into either three or seven storeys, as you choose to count them. Four of the sides of the octagon are longer than the other four, and altogether there is a play of light and shade, and a variety about the ornaments in this tower, which is extremely pleasing. It is much more like an Indian design than any other known in China, and with the circle of pillars round its base, and the LÂt or Stambha, which usually accompany these objects further west, it recalls the original forms as completely as any other object in this country.

In direct contrast to this is the Pagoda of Tung Chow (Woodcut No. 384). Its thirteen storeys are almost more monotonous than those of the Nankin Pagoda; but they are merely architectural ornaments, string-courses, in fact; and as the tower is not pierced with windows above the base, it becomes, like an Orissan temple, an imposing object of architectural art without any apparent utilitarian object. It thus escapes the charge of littleness in design, which only too justly applies to most of its compeers.

It is extremely difficult to form a correct estimate of the artistic merits of these towers. Edifices so original and so national must be interesting from that circumstance alone, and it seems almost impossible to build anything in a tower-like form of great height, whether as a steeple, a minar, or a pagoda, which shall not form a pleasing object from its salience and aspiring character alone, even without any real artistic merit in itself. Besides these qualifications, I cannot but think that the tapering octagonal form, the boldly-marked divisions, the domical roof, and general consistence in design and ornament of these towers, entitle them to rank tolerably high among the tower-like buildings of the world.

Tombs.

Like all people of Tartar origin, one of the most remarkable characteristics of the Chinese is their reverence for the dead, or as it is usually called, their ancestral worship. In consequence of this, their tombs are not only objects of care, but have frequently more ornament bestowed upon them than graces the dwellings of the living.

Their tombs are of different kinds; often merely conical mounds of earth, with a circle of stones round their base, like those of the Etruscans or ancient Greeks, as may be seen from the woodcut (No. 385) borrowed from Fortune’s ‘China’—which would serve equally well for a restoration of those of Tarquinia or Vulci. More generally they are of a hemispherical shape, surmounted with a spire, not unlike the Indian and Ceylonese examples, but still with a physiognomy peculiarly Chinese. The most common arrangement is that of a horseshoe-shaped platform, cut out of the side of a hill. It consequently has a high back, in which is the entrance to the tomb, and slopes off to nothing at the entrance to the horseshoe, where the wall generally terminates with two lions or dragons, or some fantastic ornament common to Chinese architecture. When the tomb is situated, as is generally the case, on a hillside, this arrangement is not only appropriate, but elegant. When the same thing is imitated on a plain, it is singularly misplaced and unintelligible. Many of the tombs are built of granite, finely polished, and carved with a profusion of labour that makes us regret that the people who can employ the most durable materials with such facility should have so great a predilection for ephemeral wooden structures.

When the rock is suitable for the purpose, which, however, seems to be rarely the case in China, their tombs are cut in the rock, as in Etruria and elsewhere; and tombs of the class just described seem to be a device for converting an ordinary hillside into a substitute for the more appropriate situation.

Occasionally, however, the Chinese do erect tombs, which, though ornamental, are far from being in such good taste as the two forms just quoted. A tumulus is considered appropriate for this purpose all the world over, and so is the horseshoe form under the circumstances in which the Chinese employ it; but what can be said in favour of such an array of objects as those shown in the Woodcut No. 387? Judged by the standard of taste which prevails in China at the present day, they may be considered by the natives as both elegant and ornamental, but it would be difficult to conceive anything which spoke less of the sepulchre, even from a Chinaman’s point of view; while, on the other hand, their dimensions are such as to deprive them of all dignity as architectural objects.

Pailoos.

The Pailoos, or “triumphal gateways,” as they are most improperly called, are another class of monument almost as frequently met with in Chinese scenery as the nine-storeyed pagodas, and consequently nearly as familiar to the European eye. Their origin is as distinctly Indian as the other, though, from their nature, being easily overthrown, but few examples can be found in a country that has so long ceased to be Buddhist. Fortunately, however, we still possess in the gateway of Sanchi (Woodcut No. 10) the typical example of the whole class; and we find them afterwards represented in bas-reliefs and in frescos in a manner to leave no doubt of the frequency of their application.

In China they seem almost universally to be employed as honorific monuments of deceased persons—either men of distinction, or widows who have not married again, or virgins who have died unmarried. Frequently they are still constructed in wood, and when stone is used they retain to this hour the forms and details of wooden construction. Whatever the material, they consist of either two or four posts, set either on the ground, so as to allow a passage through, or on a platform, as in Woodcut No. 388. This is as usual a form as the other, and shows how inapplicable the term gateway is to these monuments. The posts always carry a rail or frieze, bearing an inscription, which is, in fact, the object for which the monument was erected. Above this are various architectural details, which complete the design in a manner both original and artistic.

One serving as the portal to a dagoba has already been given (Woodcut No. 380), and though rich, can hardly be considered as superior to that in Woodcut No. 389, which spans a street in Amoy. Instead of leading to a dagoba, as was the case at Sanchi, and generally in India, we have, in this instance, what appears to be a simulated coffin placed under a canopy, and above the principal cornice, which is an essentially Chinese idea. With them a handsome coffin is an object of the highest ambition, and is, consequently, a luxury which the rich take care to provide themselves with during their lifetime. So far as we know, no great structural dagobas ever existed in China, so that their form is generally unfamiliar to the people.

Probably the Chinese would have spent more pains on their tombs had they not hit on the happy device of separating the monument from the sepulchre. We do so in exceptional cases, when we erect statues and pillars or other monuments to our great men on hill-tops or in market-places; but as a rule, a man’s monument is placed where his body is laid, though it would probably be difficult to assign a good logical reason for the practice. The great peculiarity of China is that in nine cases out of ten they effect these objects by processes which are exactly the reverse of those of Europe, and in most cases it is not easy to decide which is best. In erecting the Pailoo, or monument, in a conspicuous place apart from the sepulchre, they seem to have shown their usual common sense, though an architect must regret that the designs of their tombs suffered in consequence, and have none of that magnificence which we should expect among a people at all times so addicted to ancestral worship as the Chinese.

In an historical point of view, the most curious thing connected with these Pailoos seems to be, that at Sanchi, about the Christian Era, we find them used as gateways to a simulated tomb. In India both the tumulus and the Pailoo had at that time passed away from their original sepulchral meaning; the one had become a relic-shrine, the other an iconostasis. Two thousand years afterwards in China we find them both still used for the purposes for which they were originally designed.

Domestic Architecture.

It is in their domestic architecture, if in any, that the Chinese excel; there we do not look either for monumental grandeur or for durability, and it is almost impossible to resist being captivated by the gaiety and brilliancy of a Chinese dwelling of the first class, and the exuberant richness and beauty of the carvings and ornaments that are heaped on every part of it.

One of the most remarkable peculiarities of their houses is the almost universal concave form of roof, which writers on the subject have generally referred to as a reminiscence of the tent of the Tartars, who are supposed to have introduced it. The authors of this theory, however, forgot that the Chinese have been longer out of tents, and know less of them, than any other people now on the face of the globe. The Tartar conquest, like our Norman one, has long been a fusion rather than a subjection, and does not seem to have produced any visible effect on the manners or customs of the original inhabitants of China. It may also be observed that the typical form of the roof of a Tartar tent was and is domical, like those represented in the Assyrian sculptures, and seldom, if ever, constructed with a hollow curve; so that the argument tells the other way. Be this as it may, the form of roof in question arose from a constructive exigence, which others would do well to imitate. In a country like China, where very heavy rains fall at one season of the year, tiled roofs, such as they almost universally use, require a high pitch to carry off the water; but the glaring sunshine of another season renders shade to walls and windows absolutely necessary. If (as on the left of the annexed diagram) the slope of the roof is continued so far out as to be effective for the last purpose, the upper windows are too much darkened, and it is impossible to see out of them. To remedy this defect, the Chinese carry out their eaves almost horizontally from the face of the walls, where a leak becomes of slight importance; and then, to break the awkward angle caused by the meeting of these two slopes, they ease it off with a hollow curve, which not only answers the double purpose of the roof more effectually, but produces what the Chinese think—and perhaps rightly—the most pleasing form of roof.

The only parts of such a roof that admit of decoration by carving are evidently either the central or angular ridges; and here they exaggerate their favourite hollow curve to an extent unpleasing to a European eye—the angles being, in some instances, actually turned back, and the ridge being also ornamented by upturned ornaments at its ends, to an extent we cannot reconcile with our notions; nor indeed is it possible we should, when they are overloaded with grotesque ornaments to the extent too often found.

Another peculiarity that gives a very local character to their architecture is their mode of framing a roof, so unlike that of any other people. This arises from the timber most easily available for the purpose being a small pine, which has the peculiarity of being soft and spongy in the inside, while the outer rims of wood, just under the bark, retain their hardness and strength; it is thus practically a hollow wooden cylinder, which, if squared to form a framing as we do, would fall to pieces; but merely cleaned and used whole, it is a very strong and durable building-material, though one which requires all a Chinaman’s ingenuity and neatness to frame together with sufficient rigidity for the purposes of a roof.

The uprights which support these roofs are generally formed of the same wood, though not unfrequently they are granite posts—they cannot be called pillars—of the same dimensions, and strengthened, or rather steadied, by transverse pieces of wood, the space between which and the roof is generally filled with open-work carving, so as to form a species of frieze.

The roof is usually constructed (as shown in diagram No. 390) by using three or four transverse pieces or tie-beams, one over the other, the ends of each beam being supported on that below it by means of a framed piece of a different class of wood. By this method, though to us it may look unscientific, they make up a framing that resists the strongest winds uninjured. Sometimes, as shown in the dotted lines of the same woodcut, they carry the curve across the top of the roof; but, when this is done, they are obliged to have recourse to metal roofing, or to tiles of a greater length than are usually found or easily made.

As before remarked, however, it is not so much on its forms that Chinese architecture depends as on its colours—the pillars being generally painted red, the friezes and open work green; blue marks the floors and stronger lines, and gilding is used profusely everywhere. Whether this would improve a finer or more solid style of art may admit of doubt; but it is certainly remarkably pleasing in China, and singularly appropriate to the architecture we have been describing; and grouped as these buildings usually are around garden courts, filled with the gayest flowers, and adorned with rock-work and fountains more fantastic than the buildings themselves, the fancy may easily be charmed with the result, though taste forbids us to approve of the details.

The same ephemeral system of construction which prevailed in dwellings of the rich merchants and mandarins was carried out in the royal palaces without any increase of monumental character, but, of course, with greater richness of ornament, and upon a larger scale. Like most Oriental palaces, however, those at Pekin consist of a number of detached pavilions, rather than of numerous suites of apartments grouped under one roof, as is usually the case in Europe; and they consequently never attain the magnitude essential to architectural dignity. In the Summer Palace at Pekin there were many detached pavilions similar to that represented in Woodcut No. 391, which, when interspersed with trees and water and rocky scenery, aid in making up a very fairy-like landscape, but in themselves can hardly be considered as objects of dignified architecture.

Occasionally, however, the Chinese attempted something more monumental, but without much success. Where glass is not available of sufficient size and in sufficient quantities to glaze the windows, there is a difficulty in so arranging them that the room shall not be utterly dark when the shutters are closed, and that the rain shall not penetrate when they are open. In wooden construction these difficulties are much more easily avoided; deep projecting eaves, and light screens, open at the top, obviate most of them: at least, so the Chinese always thought, and they have consequently so little practice, that when they tried solid architecture in a palace they could only produce such a pavilion as that figured in Woodcut No. 392, which, though characteristic of the style, cannot be praised either for the elegance of its form or the appropriateness of its ornamentation.

Perhaps their most successful efforts in this direction were when they combined a solid basement of masonry with a light superstructure of wood, as in the Winter Palace at Pekin (Woodcut No. 393). In this instance the height and solidity of the basement give sufficient dignity to the mass, and the light superstructure is an appropriate termination upwards.

This last illustration is interesting, because it enables us to realise more distinctly than any other example yet known, what must have been the effect of the palaces of Nineveh and Khorsabad in the days of their splendour. Like this palace, they were raised on a solid basement of masonry, and were themselves composed of pavilions of light and ornamental woodwork; the great difference being that they had flat-terraced roofs instead of those covered with tiles, as in snowy Pekin; but the resemblance is curious, and examples even more nearly akin might probably be found if looked for.

The engineering works of the Chinese have been much extolled by some writers, but have less claim to praise as works of science than their buildings have as works of art. Their canals, it is true, are extensive; but with 300 millions of inhabitants this is small praise, and their construction is most unscientific. Their bridges, too, are sometimes of great length, but generally made up of a series of small arches constructed on the horizontal-bracket principle, as nine-tenths of the bridges in China are, and consequently narrow and unstable. When they do use the true arch, it is timidly, and without much knowledge of its principles.

Their most remarkable engineering work is certainly the Great Wall, which defends the whole northern frontier of the country, extending over hill and dale for more than 1200 miles as the crow flies. It is, however, of very varying strength in different places, and seems to be strongest and highest in the neighbourhood of Pekin, where it has generally been seen by Europeans. There it is 20 ft. in height, and its average thickness is 25 ft. at the base, tapering to 15 ft. at the summit. There are also towers at short distances whose dimensions are generally about double those just quoted for the wall.

However absurd such a wall may be as a defensive expedient, it proves that 200 years B.C. the Chinese were capable of conceiving and executing works on as great a scale as any ever undertaken in Egypt. The wonder is, that a people who 2000 years ago were competent to such undertakings should have attempted nothing on the same scale since that time. With their increasing population and accumulating wealth we might have expected their subsequent works to have far surpassed those of the Egyptians. It, however, remains a problem to be solved, why nothing on so grand a scale was ever afterwards attempted.

In the rear of the Great Wall, in the Nankau Pass, there is an archway of some architectural pretension, and which is interesting as having a well-ascertained date, A.D. 1345.[659] Its dimensions are considerable, and it is erected in a bold style of masonry (Woodcut No. 394). The upper part is a true arch, though it was thought necessary to disguise this by converting its form into that of a semi-octagon, or three-sided arch. On the keystone is a figure of Garuda, and on either side of him a Naga figure, with a seven-headed snake hood, and beyond that a class of flowing tracery we are very familiar with in India about the period of its erection. Its similarity to the Nepalese gateway at Bhatgaon (Woodcut No. 174) has already been remarked upon, and altogether it is interesting, as exemplifying a class of Indian ornamentation that came into China from the North. If we had a few specimens of art penetrating from the south, we might find out the secret of the history of Buddhist art in China.

A few years hence it may be possible to attempt to write a history of architecture in China. At present, all that can be done is to describe the style as practised at the present day, and to point out in what respect it differs from the styles prevailing in neighbouring countries. Beyond this we shall not be able to advance till some qualified person, accompanied by a photographer, is enabled to visit the central and western provinces of the empire. Even then his visit will be of very little use, unless he is sufficiently familiar with the style as now known, to be able to discriminate between what is new and what is old, and by an extended series of inductions to check the absurdities of native tradition, and form his own opinion on the facts presented to him. Assuming all this, it is still doubtful whether the materials exist in China for any extended history of the art. Such facts as have come to light are not encouraging. Wood has been far too extensively used throughout for any very permanent style of architecture ever having been employed. But there are things in Cambodia, and other neighbouring states, which seem to have come neither from India, nor from any other country we are acquainted with, but are nevertheless of foreign origin, and must have been imported from some extraneous land; and it is difficult to say where we are to look for their originals if not in central or western China.

The same remarks apply to Japan. So far as our knowledge at present extends, there is not a single permanent building in the island of so monumental a character to deserve being dignified by being classed among the true architectural examples of other countries. It may be that the dread of earthquakes has prevented them raising their buildings to more than one or two storeys in height, or constructing them of more solid materials than wood. It may be, however, that the Japanese do not belong to one of the building races of mankind, and have no taste for this mode of magnificence. It is the same story as in China; we shall not know whether it is true that there are no objects worthy to be styled architecture in Japan till the island is more scientifically explored than it has been; nor, if they do not exist, shall we till then be able to say to which of the two above causes their absence is to be ascribed. Such information as we have is very discouraging; and it is to be feared that, though quaint and curious in itself, and so far worthy of attention, it is of little interest beyond the shores of the islands themselves. On the other hand, it is to be feared that the extent of our knowledge is sufficient to make it only too clear that the art, as practised in Japan, has no title to rank with that already described in the preceding pages, and consequently no claim to a place in a general history of architectural art.

However admirable and ingenious the modern Chinese may be, it is in the minor arts—such as carving in wood and ivory, the manufacture of vessels of porcelain and bronze, and all that relates to silk and cotton manufactures. In these they certainly excel, and reached a high degree of perfection while Europe was still barbarous, but in all the higher branches of art they take a very low position, and seem utterly unprogressive.

They have no poetry, properly so called, and no literature worthy of the name. Their painting never rose much above the scale of decoration, their sculpture is more carving than anything we know by the higher name, and their architecture stands on the same low level as their other arts. It is rich, ornamental, and appropriate for domestic purposes, but ephemeral and totally wanting in dignity and grandeur of conception. Still it is pleasing, because truthful; but after all, its great merit in the eyes of the student of architecture will probably turn out to rest on the light it throws on the earlier styles, and on the ethnographic relations of China to the surrounding nations of Eastern Asia.