373. View of Exterior of Nakhon Wat. (From a Photograph by Mr. J. Thomson.)
both base and capital. This outer range supports what may be called a tie-beam, the one end of which is inserted into the inner column just below the capital. So beautifully, however, is this fitted that M. Mouhot asserts the inner columns are monoliths, and, like the other joints of the masonry, the junction cannot be detected even in the photograph unless pointed out. The beauty of this arrangement will at once strike anyone who knows how difficult it is to keep the sun out and let in the light and air, so indispensable in that climate. The British have tried to effect it in India for 100 years, but never hit on anything either so artistic or convenient as this. It is, in fact, the solution of a problem over which we might have puzzled for centuries, but which the Cambodians resolved instinctively. The exterior cornice here, as throughout the temple, is composed of infinite repetitions of the seven-headed snake.
374. View of Interior of Corridor, Nakhon Wat. (From a Photograph by Mr. J. Thomson.)
The most wonderful parts, however, of these colonnades of Nakhon Wat, are the sculptures that adorn their walls, rather than the architecture that shelters them. These are distributed in eight compartments, one on each side of the four central groups of entrances, measuring each from 250 ft. to 300 ft. in length, with a height of about 6½ ft. Their aggregate length is thus at least 2000 ft., and assuming the parts photographed to be a fair average, the number of men and animals represented extends from 18,000 to 20,000. The relief is so low that in the photograph it looks at first sight as if incised—intagliato—like the Egyptian sculptures; but this is not the case. Generally speaking, these reliefs represent battle-scenes of the most animated description, taken from the ‘Ramayana,’ or ‘Mahabharata,’ which the immigrants either brought with them, or, as the Siamese annals say, received from India in the 4th or 5th century. These, Pathammasurivong, the founder of the city, caused to be translated into Cambodian, with considerable variations, and here they are sculptured almost in extenso.[642]
One bas-relief, however, is occupied by a different subject—popularly supposed to represent heaven, earth, and hell. Above is a procession so closely resembling those in Egyptian temples as to be startling. The king is borne in a palanquin very like those seen in the sculptures on the banks of the Nile, and accompanied by standards and emblems which go far to complete the illusion. In the middle row sits a judge, with a numerous body of assessors, and the condemned are thrown down to a lower region, where they are represented as tortured in all the modes which Eastern ingenuity has devised. It is not clear, however, that this is a theological hell; it seems more probable that it represents the mode in which the Indian immigrants “improved” the natives. One subject alone can be called mythological, and it wears an old familiar face; it represents the second Avatar of Vishnu, the world-supporting tortoise, and the churning of the ocean with the great snake Naga. No legend in Hindu mythology could be more appropriate for a snake-temple; but, notwithstanding this, it is out of place, and I cannot help fancying that it was his choice of this subject that gave rise to the tradition that the king was afflicted with leprosy because he had deserted the faith of his forefathers. This relief is evidently the last attempted, and still remains unfinished.
The only other temples that I am aware of where sculpture is used in anything like the same profusion are those at Boro Buddor in Java and that at Hullabîd, described above, page 401. In the Indian example, however, the principles on which it is employed are diametrically opposed to those in vogue in Cambodia. There all the sculptures are in high relief, many of the figures standing free, and all are essential parts of the architecture—are, in fact, the architecture itself. Here, however, the two arts are kept quite distinct and independent, each mutually aiding the other, but each perfect by itself, and separate in its aim. The Gothic architects attempted to incorporate their sculpture with the architecture in the same manner as the Indian architects. The Greeks, on the contrary, kept them distinct; they provided a plain wall outside the cella of the temple for their paintings and sculpture, and protected it by screens of columns precisely as the Cambodians did; and it is difficult to say which was the best principle. A critic imbued with the feelings of mediæval art would side with the Indians; but if the Greeks were correct in their principle, so certainly were the Cambodians.
Leaving these outer peristyles for the present, and entering by the west door, we find ourselves in an ante-naos measuring 180 ft. by 150 ft., supported by more than 100 columns, and lighted by four small courts open to the sky above; but the floors, as in all Naga temples, are tanks or reservoirs for water. The whole of this part is arranged most artistically, so as to obtain the most varied and picturesque effects, and is as well worthy of study as any part of the temple. Beyond this, on either hand, is a detached temple, similar in plan to those that stand on either side of the causeway, half-way between the entrance and the temple.