They, in their turn, were driven out to make place for the Chaldean dynasties, which we have every reason to suppose were those founded by Nimrod about the year 2235 B.C.
This kingdom seems to have lasted about seven centuries without any noticeable interruption, and then to have been overthrown by an invasion from the west about the year 1518 B.C. Can this mean the Egyptian conquest under the kings of the great 18th dynasty?
The depression of the Chaldeans enabled the Assyrians to raise their heads and found the great kingdom afterwards known as that of Nineveh, about the year 1273. For six centuries and a half they were the great people of Asia, and during the latter half of that period built all those palaces which have so recently been disinterred.
They were struck down in their turn by the kings of Babylonia, who established the second Chaldean kingdom about the year 625, but only to give place to the Persians under Cyrus in the year 538, after little more than a century of duration.
As in the Valley of the Nile, the first kingdom was established near the mouths of the Euphrates, and flourished there for centuries before it was superseded by the kingdom of Nineveh, in the same manner as Thebes had succeeded to the earlier seat of power in the neighbourhood of Memphis.
Owing to the fortunate employment of sculptured alabaster slabs to line the walls of the palaces during the great period of Assyrian prosperity, we are enabled to restore the plan of the royal palaces of that period with perfect certainty, and in consequence of the still more fortunate introduction of stone masonry during the Persian period—after they had come into contact with the Greeks—we can understand the construction of these buildings, and restore the form of many parts which, being originally of wood, have perished. The Plains of Shinar possessed no natural building material of a durable nature, and even wood or fuel of any kind seems to have been so scarce that the architects were content too frequently to resort to the use of bricks only dried in the sun. The consequence is that the buildings of the early Chaldeans are now generally shapeless masses, the plans of which it is often extremely difficult to follow, and in no instance has any edifice been discovered so complete that we can feel quite sure we really know all about it. Fortunately, however, the temples at Wurka and Mugheyr become intelligible by comparison with the Birs Nimroud and the so-called tomb of Cyrus, and the palaces of Nineveh and Khorsabad from the corresponding ones at Susa and Persepolis. Consequently, if we attempt to study the architecture of Chaldea, of Assyria, or of Persia, as separate styles, we find them so fragmentary, owing to the imperfection of the materials in which they were carried out, that it is difficult to understand their forms. But taken as the successive developments of one great style, the whole becomes easily intelligible; and had the southern excavations been conducted with a little more care, there is perhaps no feature that would have been capable of satisfactory explanation. Even as it is, however, the explorations of the last fifteen years have enabled us to take a very comprehensive view of what the architecture of the valley of the Euphrates was during the 2000 years it remained a great independent monarchy. It is a chapter in the history of the art which is entirely new to us, and which may lead to the most important results in clearing our ideas as to the origin of styles. Unfortunately, it is only in a scientific sense that this is true. Except the buildings at Persepolis, everything is buried or heaped together in such confusion that the passing traveller sees nothing. It is only by study and comparison that the mind eventually realises the greatness and the beauty of the most gorgeous of Eastern monarchies, or that any one can be made to feel that he actually sees the sculptures which a Sardanapalus set up, or the tablets which a Nebuchadnezzar caused to be engraved.
Owing to the fragmentary nature of the materials, it must perhaps be admitted that the study of the ancient architecture of Central Asia is more difficult and less attractive than that of other countries and more familiar forms. On the other hand, it is an immense triumph to the philosophical student of art to have penetrated so far back towards the root of Asiatic civilisation. It is besides as great a gain to the student of history to have come actually into contact with the works of kings whose names have been familiar to him as household words, but of whose existence he had until lately no tangible proof.
In addition to this it must be admitted that the Assyrian exploration commenced in 1843 by M. Botta, at Khorsabad, and brought to a temporary close by the breaking out of the war in 1855, have added an entirely new chapter to our history of architecture; and, with the exception of that of Egypt, probably the most ancient we can ever now hope to obtain. It does not, it is true, rival that of Egypt in antiquity, as the Pyramids still maintain a pre-eminence of 1000 years beyond anything that has yet been discovered in the valley of the Euphrates, and we now know, approximately at least, what we may expect to find on the banks of that celebrated river. There is nothing certainly in India that nearly approaches these monuments in antiquity, nor in China or the rest of Asia; and in Europe, whatever may be maintained regarding primæval man, we can hardly expect to find any building of a date prior to the Trojan war. All our histories must therefore begin with Egypt and Assyria—beyond them all is speculation, and new fields of discovery can hardly be hoped for.
The Assyrian discoveries are also most important in supplying data which enable us to understand what follows, especially in the architectural history of Greece. No one now probably doubts that the Dorian Greeks borrowed the idea of their Doric order from the pillars of Beni-Hasan (Woodcuts Nos. [15] and [16]) or Nubia—or rather perhaps from the rubble or brick piers of Memphis or Naucratis,[[65]] from which these rock-cut examples were themselves imitated. But the origin of the Ionic element was always a mystery. We knew indeed that the Greeks practised it principally in Asia Minor—hence its name; but we never knew how essentially Asiatic it was till the architecture of Nineveh was revealed to us, and till, by studying it through the medium of the buildings at Persepolis, we were made to feel how completely the Ionic order was a Grecian refinement on the wooden and somewhat Barbaric orders of the Euphrates valley.
It is equally, or perhaps almost more, important to know that in Chaldea we are able to trace the origin of those Buddhist styles of art which afterwards pervaded the whole of Eastern Asia, and it may be also the germs of the architecture of Southern India.[[66]] These affinities, however, have not yet been worked out, hardly even hinted at; but they certainly will one day become most important in tracing the origin of the religious development of the further East.