5
In Burma all the higher branches of architecture are almost exclusively dedicated to religion. Except the Palace at Mandalay there is hardly a native building of note which is not connected with a shrine or monastery. Burmese architectural forms show most analogy to those of Nepal and perhaps[185] both preserve what was once the common style for wooden buildings in ancient India. In recent centuries the Burmese have shown little inclination to build anything that can be called a temple, that is a chamber containing images and the paraphernalia of worship. The commonest form of religious edifice is the dagoba or zedi[186]: images are placed in niches or shrines, which shelter them, but only rarely, as on the platform of the Shwe Dagon at Rangoon, assume the proportions of rooms. This does not apply to the great temples of Pagan, built from about 1050 to 1200, but that style was not continued and except the Arakan Pagoda at Mandalay has perhaps no modern representative. Details of these buildings may be found in the works of Forchhammer, Fergusson, de Beylié and various archæological reports. Their construction is remarkably solid. They do not, like most large buildings in India or Europe, contain halls of some size but are rather pyramids traversed by passages. But this curious disinclination to build temples of the usual kind is not due to any dislike of images. In no Buddhist country are they more common and their numbers are more noticeable because there is here no pantheon as in China and Tibet, but images of Gotama are multiplied, merely in order to obtain merit. Some slight variety in these figures is produced by the fact that the Burmese venerate not only Gotama but the three Buddhas who preceded him[187]. The Shwe Dagon Pagoda is reputed to contain relics of all four; statues of them all stand in the beautiful Ananda Pagoda at Pagan and not infrequently they are represented by four sitting figures facing the four quarters. A gigantic group of this kind composed of statues nearly 90 feet high stands in the outskirts of Pegu, and in the same neighbourhood is a still larger recumbent figure 180 feet long. It had been forgotten since the capture of Pegu by the Burmans in 1757 and was rediscovered by the engineers surveying the route for the railway. It lies almost in sight of the line and is surprising by its mere size, as one comes upon it suddenly in the jungle. As a work of art it can hardly be praised. It does not suggest the Buddha on his death bed, as is intended, but rather some huge spirit of the jungle waking up and watching the railway with indolent amusement.
In Upper Burma there are not so many large images but as one approaches Mandalay the pagodas add more and more to the landscape. Many are golden and the rest are mostly white and conspicuous. They crown the hills and punctuate the windings of the valleys. Perhaps Burmese art and nature are seen at their best near Sagaing on the bank of the Irrawaddy, a mighty flood of yellow water, sweeping down smooth and steady, but here and there showing whirlpools that look like molten metal. From the shore rise hills of moderate height studded with monasteries and shrines. Flights of white steps lead to the principal summits where golden spires gleam and everywhere are pagodas of all ages, shapes and sizes. Like most Asiatics the Burmese rarely repair, but build new pagodas instead of renovating the old ones. The instinct is not altogether unjust. A pagoda does not collapse like a hollow building but understands the art of growing old. Like a tree it may become cleft or overgrown with moss but it remains picturesque. In the neighbourhood of Sagaing there is a veritable forest of pagodas; humble seedlings built by widows' mites, mature golden domes reared by devout prosperity and venerable ruins decomposing as all compound things must do.
The pagoda slaves are a curious institution connected with temples. Under the Burmese kings persons could be dedicated to pagodas and by this process not only became slaves for life themselves but involved in the same servitude all their posterity, none of whom could by any method become free. They formed a low caste like the Indian Pariahs and though the British Government has abolished the legal status of slavery, the social stigma which clings to them is said to be undiminished.
Art and architecture make the picture of Burma as it remains in memory and they are the faithful reflection of the character and ways of its inhabitants, their cheerful but religious temper, their love of what is fanciful and graceful, their moderate aspirations towards what is arduous and sublime. The most striking feature of this architecture is its free use of gold and colour. In no country of the world is gilding and plating with gold so lavishly employed on the exterior of buildings. The larger Pagodas such as the Shwe Dagon are veritable pyramids of gold, and the roofs of the Arakan temple as they rise above Mandalay show tier upon tier of golden beams and plates. The brilliancy is increased by the equally lavish use of vermilion, sometimes diversified by glass mosaic. I remember once in an East African jungle seeing a clump of flowers of such brilliant red and yellow that for a moment I thought it was a fire. Somewhat similar is the surprise with which one first gazes on these edifices. I do not know whether the epithet flamboyant can be correctly applied to them as architecture but both in colour and shape they imitate a pile of flame, for the outlines of monasteries and shrines are fanciful in the extreme; gabled roofs with finials like tongues of fire and panels rich with carvings and fret-work. The buildings of Hindus and Burmans are as different as their characters. When a Hindu temple is imposing it is usually because of its bulk and mystery, whereas these buildings are lighthearted and fairy-like: heaps of red and yellow fruit with twining leaves and tendrils that have grown by magic. Nor is there much resemblance to Japanese architecture. There also, lacquer and gold are employed to an unusual extent but the flourishes, horns and finials which in Burma spring from every corner and projection are wanting and both Japanese and Chinese artists are more sparing and reticent. They distribute ornament so as to emphasize and lead up to the more important parts of their buildings, whereas the open-handed, splendour-loving Burman puts on every panel and pillar as much decoration as it will hold.
The result must be looked at as a whole and not too minutely. The best work is the wood carving which has a freedom and boldness often missing in the minute and crowded designs of Indian art. Still as a rule it is at the risk of breaking the spell that you examine the details of Burmese ornamentation. Better rest content with your first amazement on beholding these carved and pinnacled piles of gold and vermilion, where the fantastic animals and plants seem about to break into life.
The most celebrated shrine in Burma is the Shwe Dagon Pagoda which attracts pilgrims from all the Buddhist world. No descriptions of it gave me any idea of its real appearance nor can I hope that I shall be more successful in giving the reader my own impressions. The pagoda itself is a gilt bell-shaped mass rather higher than the Dome of St. Paul's and terminating in a spire. It is set in the centre of a raised mound or platform, approached by lofty flights of steps. The platform, which is paved and level, is of imposing dimensions, some nine hundred feet long and seven hundred wide. Round the base of the central pagoda is a row of shrines and another row runs round the edge of the platform so that one moves, as it were, in a street of these edifices, leading here and there into side squares where are quiet retreats with palm trees and gigantic images. But when after climbing the long staircase one first emerges on the platform one does not realize the topography at once and seems to have entered suddenly into Jerusalem the Golden. Right and left are rows of gorgeous, fantastic sanctuaries, all gold, vermilion and glass mosaic, and within them sit marble figures, bland, enigmatic personages who seem to invite approach but offer no explanation of the singular scene or the part they play in it. If analyzed in detail the artistic merits of these shrines might be found small but the total impression is unique. The Shwe Dagon has not the qualities which usually distinguish great religious buildings. It is not specially impressive by its majesty or holiness; it is certainly wanting in order and arrangement. But on entering the platform one feels that one has suddenly passed from this life into another and different world. It is not perhaps a very elevated world; certainly not the final repose of the just or the steps of the throne of God, but it is as if you were walking in the bazaars of Paradise—one of those Buddhist Paradises where the souls of the moderately pure find temporary rest from the whirl of transmigration, where the very lotus flowers are golden and the leaves of the trees are golden bells that tinkle in the perfumed breeze.