PART I. Ir has always been a matter of great surprise to me that, in his very interesting review of the "Ruined Cities of Ceylon," Sir Emerson Tennent omits all description of Yapahoo, which, in point of architectural beauty and richness of design, far excels all the ancient capitals of the island. It is not less remarkable, too, that while the "stock" ruins of Ceylon, such as Anaradhapoora, Pollanarua, &c., are sufficiently remote to make a visit to them something of an undertaking, these, which are little over fifty miles from Kandy and eighty from Colombo, are still comparatively unknown. The existence of the city of Yapahoo, in the district of Seven Korles, has of course been known for many years; but when I first visited its ruins, in 1850, I found myself, according to the testimony of the priests of the adjoining temple, only the third Englishman who had ever explored them. The first being the late General Fraser, so well known in Ceylon, who halted near them when marching some troops through the country during the Kandyan Rebellion, in 1819; the second, my companion in my visit to them, Mr. J. Woodford Birch, of the Civil Service, to whom the merit is due of having first drawn attention to these very beautiful remains. No. 269. A The situation of the ruins is lovely. gigantic boulder, rather than a rocky hill, starts abruptly from the plain, and, wherever a root can cling, it is laden with forest trees and brushwood. The greater part of one side of it, however, is perfectly perpendicular; and at the base of this wall of rock, at a point some 200 feet above the plain, to which the ground slopes with a steep descent, was built the palace, commanding a glorious view over the level country, whose jungle-covered surface is picturesquely broken by the numerous isolated hills and rocks with which it is studded. On one side of the palace stands the Dalada Maligawa, the shrine of the sacred tooth of Buddha, which accompanied the seat of government in all its many changes of site during the later dynasties. Below it lay the city, of which the only vestige remaining is an occasional embankment, which tells of some pleasant tank, that has been dry for ages. The absence of all remnant of the dwellings of the people, which is the case with regard to all the ruined cities in Ceylon, is easily accounted for by the fact that, under the native government, only royal and religious buildings and those of the higher nobility were built of stone; the lower orders being only permitted to erect houses of the most temporary description. Knox, in his history of his captivity in Ceylon, in 1659, describes with great minuteness their "small, low, thatched cottages, built with sticks and daubed with clay," which they were not allowed to build "above one story high," or CC to cover with tiles." "The poorer sort," says he, "have not above one room in their houses; few above two, unless they be the great men. Neither doth the king allow them to build better." So tenacious is the influence of custom, that, even some years after our possession of the Kandyan Provinces, it was found necessary to issue a proclamation, giving to natives of certain rank permission to tile their houses. "The said privilege," however, was only extended to "persons who have or may receive commissions for office under the signature of the governor of the island." It is no wonder, therefore, that no trace of the town itself remains. Of far different material were the palaces and temples. These, as old Knox truly says, were "of rare and exquisite work, built with hewn stones, and engraved with images and figures," so much superior to anything of which the people themselves were capable, that they were ignorant of their history, which, Knox remarks, he, too, "could not attain to know." Yapahoo is certainly the finest specimen of this "exquisite work ;" and had Sir Emerson Tennent visited it, he would not, in his chapter, on the fine arts among the ancient inhabitants, have described stone carving as "so deteriorated in later times that there is little difficulty, at the present day, in pronouncing on the superiority of the specimens remaining at Anaradhapoora over these, which are to be found among the ruins of the later capitals, Polanarua, Yapahoo, and Kornegalle ;* for Yapahoo, though one of the "later capitals," presents by far the finest examples of stone carving in Ceylon. The ruins are not extensive, for Yapahoo was the capital for very few years. They consist only of the palace and the Dalada Maligawa. The latter is a plain stone building, without ornamentation, and hardly worth describing. It is substantial, and in wonderful preservation. But the ruins of the former prove that, in design and execution, the architects of Ceylon, in the thirteenth century, had certainly not deteriorated since the days of their predecessors, when Anaradhapoora flourished. The palace itself was evidently never large; but it is a gem; and it was not until we had felled the huge forest trees-which, thrusting their roots into every crevice, had displaced the noble flight of steps leading from the town to the great entrance of the palace, and completely hid the front of the building that I could realise its great beauty. The palace was approached from a court yard, now a paddy-field, at the foot of the hill, by a succession of apparently three flights of steps. A few of the first flight were, in 1850, in tolerable order. The second has almost entirely disappeared. The nature of the ground, a steep sloping bank, with frequent rocks, required the erection of a mass of masonry to support it. This has fallen away, and the steps are doubtless covered by the débris of the building and the vegetable deposits of ages. Here and there a huge stone shows its edge; My sketch, which gives a very imperfect idea of the general appearance of the ruined palace, shows what remains of the last flight, which, rising from a comparatively level, or probably levelled, piece of ground, approached the entrance hall. Here commences the decorated part of the building, and the ground is absolutely encumbered with sculptured stones. This flight of steps, then, some thirty in number, flanked with balustrades of grotesque design and very elaborate execution, led up to a terrace formed of massive stonework, perfectly chiselled, and in excellent preservation. Here, we may imagine, emerging from the stately building, the king, on great occasions, showed himself to admiring crowds assembled in the court below. We have now reached the grand entrance of the palace. A doorway of graceful proportions, supported on each side by ornamental columns, opens into a moderately-sized hall, which was lighted by two windows, one on either side of the door, of rare and exquisite carving. One is perfect still; the other has fallen, and its fragments are scattered round. Indeed, the whole of the superstructure on one side of the doorway has disappeared, and a massive and very beautiful pillar has fallen across the site of the front wall, which contained the missing window. It is probable that the building was never completed; and this its brief occupation as the seat of government renders more than likely. For it is impossible to conceive that masonry so substantial, and sculpture so elaborate, would have been lavished on a building which was intended to be of such modest extent. The existing ruins appear to have been those only of the entrance hall of some magnificent palace which it was designed to complete. For there are no remains but those which my sketches show, which are indeed those of a building too small even for convenient residence, though sufficiently large to have served for the state entrance to a noble palace, which, if completed in the same style, would have far eclipsed in magnificence anything which is to be found at Pollanarua or Anaradhapoora. But forest trees, the growth of ages, and ruthless creepers, have played sad havoc here. One side of the upper flight of steps has been entirely overturned; and the grotesque and emblematic figures which formed that side of the balustrade, lie half, or entirely, buried in the ground. Indeed, it is wonderful that what remains should be so perfect. The lower steps were flanked by pedestals, surmounted by huge stone singhas, or lionsthe national emblem of the Singhalese. One of these is standing yet; but its lion has fallen from his place; and I had some trouble in The situation of the ruins is lovely. A gigantic boulder, rather than a rocky hill, starts abruptly from the plain, and, wherever a root can cling, it is laden with forest trees and brushwood. The greater part of one side of it, however, is perfectly perpendicular; and at the base of this wall of rock, at a point some 200 feet above the plain, to which the ground slopes with a steep descent, was built the palace, commanding a glorious view over the level country, whose jungle-covered surface is picturesquely broken by the numerous isolated hills and rocks with which it is studded. On one side of the palace stands the Dalada Maligawa, the shrine of the sacred tooth of Buddha, which accompanied the seat of government in all its many changes of site during the later dynasties. Below it lay the city, of which the only vestige remaining is an occasional embankment, which tells of some pleasant tank, that has been dry for ages. The absence of all remnant of the dwellings of the people, which is the case with regard to all the ruined cities in Ceylon, is easily accounted for by the fact that, under the native government, only royal and religious buildings and those of the higher nobility were built of stone; the lower orders being only permitted to erect houses of the most temporary description. Knox, in his history of his captivity in Ceylon, in 1659, describes with great minuteness their "small, low, thatched cottages, built with sticks and daubed with clay," which they were not allowed to build "above one story high," or "to cover with tiles." "The poorer sort," says he, "have not above one room in their houses; few above two, unless they be the great men. Neither doth the king allow them to build better." So tenacious is the influence of custom, that, even some years after our possession of the Kandyan Provinces, it was found necessary to issue a proclamation, giving to natives of certain rank permission to tile their houses. "The said privilege," however, was only extended to "persons who have or may receive commissions for office under the signature of the governor of the island." It is no wonder, therefore, that no trace of the town itself remains. Of far different material were the palaces and temples. These, as old Knox truly says, were "of rare and exquisite work, built with hewn stones, and engraved with images and figures," so much superior to anything of which the people ther selves were capable, that they were ignora their history, which, Knox remarks, h "could not attain to know." Yapahoo is certainly the finest this "exquisite work ;" and had Tennent visited it, he would not, in his chapter, on the fine arts among the ancient inhabitants, have described stone carving as "so deteriorated in later times that there is little difficulty, at the present day, in pronouncing on the superiority of the specimens remaining at Anaradhapoora over these, which are to be found among the ruins of the later capitals, Polanarua, Yapahoo, and Kornegalle ;* for Yapahoo, though one of the "later capitals," presents by far the finest examples of stone carving in Ceylon. The ruins are not extensive, for Yapahoo was the capital for very few years. They consist only of the palace and the Dalada Maligawa. The latter is a plain stone building, without ornamentation, and hardly worth describing. It is substantial, and in wonderful preservation. But the ruins of the former prove that, in design and execution, the architects of Ceylon, in the thirteenth century, had certainly not deteriorated since the days of their predecessors, when Anaradhapoora flourished. The palace itself was evidently never large; but it is a gem; and it was not until we had felled the huge forest trees-which, thrusting their roots into every crevice, had displaced the noble flight of steps leading from the town to the great entrance of the palace, and completely hid the front of the building-that I could realise its great beauty. The palace was approached from a court yard, now a paddy-field, at the foot of the hill, by a succession of apparently three flights of steps. A few of the first flight were, in 1850, in tolerable order. The second has almost entirely disappeared. The nature of the ground, a steep sloping bank, with frequent rocks, required the erection of a mass of masonry to support it. This has fallen away, and the steps are doubtless covered by the débris of the building and the vegetable deposits of ages. Here and there a huge stone shows its edge |