Forty Thousand Miles Over Land and Water / The Journal of a Tour Through the British Empire and America

by Ethel Gwendoline Vincent

Muhammed Ali Shah at length succeeded in accomplishing a finished work in the Husainabad, but, as will be seen, one can hardly say, after all his endeavours, that his name will be handed worthily down to posterity. Entering under a gateway, we are met by the stone figures of two women, holding the chains hanging from the archway, and which is gaudily decorated with green fishes and dolphins against a yellow ground. We find ourselves in a pretty court with a garden crowded with a great variety of buildings; among others a bad model of the Taj, a very terrible object for those who are still looking forward to see the beauties of that matchless tomb for the first time. The tank in the centre is guarded at intervals with painted wooden figures. There are centaur women, soldiers in uniform, like the Highlanders of tobacco shops, and maidens representative of the figure-heads of barges. At the further end of the garden is the palace, containing a wonderful collection of rubbish. There are glass chandeliers swathed in linen covers and priced at 6000 rupees, models of pagodas and temples in ivory and wood under glass cases. A bottle containing a carved figure, suggesting the riddle how it ever got inside, is shown as a priceless treasure. There are gilded thrones and chairs, and the temple modelled entirely in coloured wax, which is carried in procession at the festival of Muhurrum and destroyed yearly.

The Imambara, Lucknow.

Page 291.

In the midst of these tawdry and gilded surroundings sleep Muhammed Ali and his mother, under their canopied tombs, surrounded by gilded railings. Disgusted with this incongruous mass we passed into another small building. Here we see a collection of full-length portraits of many kings of Oude—bright, realistic paintings, in each of which the artist has flattered the oriental vanity of his subject by painting him as large and as blazoned as possible.

Opposite the Husainabad stands the Musa Bagh, or the "Tomb of the Rat." Two curious origins are attributed to it. One says that the Nawab Asaf-ud-Daulah, when out riding one day, crushed a rat under his horse's feet, and erected this tomb over it; the other says that it was built by a Frenchman, whose name is lost to posterity, but which tradition tries to preserve in the Musa, or corruption of monsieur!

After this we looked into the Jumna Mosque, and I experienced the feeling of disappointment which I suppose nearly every one does on entering a mosque for the first time. The interior is so utterly bare, so cold and uninteresting. I expected to see rich drapings and hanging lights, instead of the bare marble pavement, with the kibla as the only sign of the worship performed there. I admired, however, the delicate triangle device in blue and green, traced on the inside of the three domes, the unfailing characteristic of all mosques.

And then we went to that gem of architecture, the great Imambara. Few things exceed in beauty, in the conception of the design and in execution, the great prize springing from the competition offered by Asaf-ud-Daulah. The result has been prodigious in the perfection of delicacy. It is as if the imagination of all the great architects of our generation had united together, and each contributing his own idea formed the perfect whole. It is almost impossible to believe that from the brain of one man could have emanated such a multitude of fanciful styles of architecture. I speak of the delicate arches crowning the massive walls, and which, open to the daylight, trace their delicate proportions against the blue sky; of the row upon row of tiny domes that crown each arch, while these again, repeated in tiers above and below each other, line the three sides of the quadrangle. And again, the walls which support these airy structures are a study in themselves, replete with carving and coloured with pale tints of cream or pink.

The Imambara forms one immense square. Entering under a gateway you find yourself in a court, paved and vast. On this archway we see the green fishes and dolphins, the never-wanting emblem of good luck on all these ancient buildings, and without which the superstitious Oriental would hardly care to continue the work. Three sides of the square are parallel and at right angles to each other, but the fourth is cut slanting-wise by the mosque with its gilded dome, from whence spring those slender minarets, the pride and landmarks of the city. They also add their graceful proportions to perfect the whole. Facing us there is another of those beautiful Saracenic rows of arches, and we think we see the whole. But no, there is yet another court within this court, and this gateway, through which we gain access to it, was used by the harem. Passing through, we come to the last grand conception. Standing on a marble platform, the beauty of the frontage is seen to its greatest advantage. We look wonderingly at the labour expended upon the carvings of the twisted pilasters, the open fretwork of the little galleries, and the coping-stones that crown the turrets. If executed in a model miniature, the fretwork and carving would be delicate enough to form one of those Chinese toy-houses in ivory carving. And yet all this is worked in concrete, for there is no wood used in the construction of the Imambara.