Smyrna, Nov. 4, 1882.—There are two ways of doing Ephesus: you may
either go there and, like the Apostle, “fight with beasts,” in the shape
of donkeys and donkey boys, or you may wear yourself to death under the
blazing sun, alternately scrambling over its rocks, and sinking ankle
deep in the mire of its marshes. In old days it was an easy two days'
ride from Smyrna to Ephesus, the distance being about fifty miles, but
the Smyrna and Aiden Railway speeds you to the ruins in about two hours
now, first through the romantic little gorge from whose rocky ledge
rises the hill crowned by the ruined castle which overlooks the town,
past a modern and an ancient aqueduct, the latter moss-grown and
picturesque, with its double sets of arches rising one above the other;
through orange and pomegranate groves, and vineyards yellow and
languishing at this season of the year from the drought; across fertile
plains from which the cereals and corn crops have been removed, and
where flocks of sheep and goats are scattered on distant hill slopes, or
follow in long lines the striking figures of the shepherds in their
broad-shouldered felt coats; past the black tents of the Yourouks, a
nomadic tribe of Turcomans, whose kindred extend from here to the great
wall of China, and who vary their pastoral operations from one end of
Asia to the other with predatory raids upon unsuspecting travellers; and
so on into a wilder country, where the mountains close in upon us, and
the Western tourist begins to realize that he is really in Asia, as
groups of grunting camels, collected at the little railway stations, and
their wild-looking owners, tell of journeys into the far interior, and
excite a longing in his Cockney breast to emancipate himself from the
guidance of Cook, and plunge into the remote recesses of Asia Minor or
Kurdistan.
As we approach Ephesus the country again becomes more fertile, and
groves of fig-trees, surpassing all preconceived notions of the size
ordinarily attained by these trees, reveal one of the principal sources
of supply of those “fine fresh figs” which find their way in such
abundance to American railway cars. As the modern Ephesus is a miserable
little village, containing only a few huts and a very limited supply of
donkeys, the wary traveller will see that his are sent on from Smyrna
beforehand, and will probably find some consolation for the absence of
any competent guide or decent accommodation, or appliances for seeing
the ruins, in the evidence which this fact affords of the comparative
rareness of tourist visitors.
So far from being assailed by shouts for backsheesh, or bombarded by
sellers of sham antiques, or struggled for by rival guides, one is left
entirely to one's own devices on that desolate little platform. There is
an apology for a hotel, it is true, where cold potted meats are to be
obtained, and, by dint of much searching, a guide, himself an antique,
turns up, but we are very sceptical of his competency. A row of columns
still standing, which once supported an aqueduct, and the crumbling
ruins of a castle on a conical little hill immediately behind the
railway station, suggest the mistaken idea that these are the ruins of
Ephesus. They are very decent ruins, as ruins go, but the castle is a
comparatively modern Seljük stronghold, and there is nothing certain
about the antiquity of the aqueduct. In exploring the castle we find
that the blocks of stone of old Ephesus have been built into its walls,
and that a still more ancient gateway, dating from the early period of
the Byzantine Empire, is also largely composed of these antique
fragments, upon which inscriptions are to be deciphered, proving that
they formed part of a Greek temple. So, in the old mosque of Sultan
Selim, which is at the base of the hill, we find that the magnificent
monolith columns of a still more ancient edifice have been used in the
construction of what must in its day have been a fine specimen of
Saracenic architecture; but we have not yet reached the site of ancient
Ephesus. As we stand on the steps of the old mosque we look over a level
and marshy plain, about a mile broad, which extends to the foot of two
rocky hills, each about two hundred feet high, and divided from each
other by what appears to be a chasm. Behind these is a higher ridge,
backed by the mountain chain. It is on these two rocky eminences, and on
their farther slopes, now hidden from view, that the ancient Ephesus
stood; but the problem which has for many years vexed antiquarians is
the site, until recently undiscovered, of what gave the town its chief
notoriety.
The temple of the great goddess Diana, about a quarter of the way across
the plain, was a wide, low mound, and here it is that the recent
excavations of Mr. Wood have laid bare one of the most interesting
archæological discoveries of modern times. We eagerly tramp across the
mud and over the corn-stalks of this year's crop to the débris, and,
climbing up it, look down upon a vast depressed area, filled with
fragments of magnificent marble columns, and with carved blocks on which
are inscriptions so fresh that they seem to have been engraved
yesterday, all jumbled together in a hopeless confusion, but from amid
which Mr. Wood, who has had a force of three hundred men excavating here
for the three previous years, has unearthed many valuable memorials. At
the time of our visit the work was suspended and Mr. Wood was away, nor
was it possible to obtain from the utterly dilapidated old Arab who
called himself a guide, any coherent account of the last results, beyond
the fact that a ship had come to take them away.
I made out one inscription, which was apparently a votive tablet to the
daughter of the Emperor Aurelius Antoninus, but in most cases, though
the engraving, as far as it went, was clear, the fragments were too
small to contain more than a few words. In places the marble pavement of
the temple was clearly defined, and its size was well worthy the fame
which ranked it among the seven wonders of the world. From here a long,
muddy trudge took us to the base of the hill, or mount, called Pion, on
the flank of which is the cave of the Seven Sleepers, and attached to it
is the well-known legend of the seven young men who went to sleep here,
and awoke, after two hundred years, to find matters so changed that they
were overcome by the shock. When I surmounted the hill and looked down
upon the Stadium, the Agora, the Odeon, and other ruins, I was conscious
of two predominating sentiments. One was surprise and the other
disappointment; surprise, that one of the most populous and celebrated
cities in the world should have arisen on such a site; and
disappointment, that so little of its magnificence remained.
From an architectural point of view there is absolutely nothing left
worth looking at. Lines of broken stone mark the limits of the principal
buildings. The Stadium, which accommodated 76,000 persons, and one of
the theatres, which accommodated over 56,000, are almost shapeless
mounds. The whole scene is one of most complete desolation, and we are
driven to our imagination to realize what Ephesus once must have been.
In the case of Palmyra and Baalbec no such effort is necessary; enough
is left for us to repeople without difficulty those splendid solitudes;
but in Ephesus all is savage and dreary in the extreme; deep fissures
run into the rock, which must have formed nearly the centre of the town;
huge boulders of natural stone suggest the wild character of some
portion of the city in its palmiest days. It is difficult to conceive to
what use the citizens devoted this Mount Pion, with its crags and
caverns and fissures. The lines of the old port are clearly defined by
the limits of a marsh, from which a sluggish stream, formerly a canal,
runs to the sea, about three miles distant, not far from the debouchure
of the Meander. No doubt the mass of the city surrounded the port, but
there is a marvellous lack of débris in this direction. Between the
Temple of Diana and the foot of Mount Pion there is not a stone, so that
the probability is that the temple was situated amid groves of trees. On
the hill there are stones, or, rather, rocks, enough, but they are of
huge size, and for the most part natural. Of actual city comparatively
few remains still exist. No doubt its columns and monuments and slabs
have supplied materials for the ornamentation and construction of many
cities, and the convenience of getting to it by sea has materially aided
the spoilers. Still, the site of ancient Ephesus affords abundant
material for conjecture, and the more one studies the local topography
the more difficult is it to picture to one's self what the ancient city
was like.
From historical association it must ever remain one of the most
interesting spots in the East, while, even from a purely picturesque
point of view, the wild and rugged grandeur of the scenery amid which it
is situated cannot fail to stamp it upon the memory. As I believe it is
intended to continue excavations, we may hope for still further results,
and there can be no doubt that, when once the obstacles which are now
thrown in the way by the present government, to all scientific or
antiquarian research in Turkey, are removed by the political changes new
pending in the East, a rich field of exploration will be opened, not at
Ephesus alone, but throughout the little-known ruined cities of Asia
Minor.