Grennah. — Arab Conversation. — Fountain of Cyre. — Ruins of
Cyrene. — Interrupted by Bedawin. — Ruins of a Theatre. —
Bas-reliefs. — Inscriptions. — Terraces. — Temple of
Æsculapius. — Aqueduct. — Cyrene’s History unknown. — Its
Ruinous state.
My first day in Grennah was entirely occupied in the very matter of
fact, but not less necessary, employment of arranging my encampment,
whilst Mohammed was equally busy in receiving the visits of his Arab
friends, in whose society he entirely forgot me; he seemed to imagine
that he was making a tour of pleasure with the Frank in his suite,
not that he was in the service of the Frank. He took possession of
the Grotto of the Fountain, and established himself on sundry mats
and carpets in a part which is now dry. I also went there for shelter
from the hot sun, while my larger tent was being prepared; and sat
by the bubbling water, out of reach of the Bedawin and their fleas,
but close enough to hear the Babel-screaming of their conversation,
and to be amused by its monotony. The Arabs are great talkers, but
the range of their ideas is remarkably limited, so that the day
is often passed in an unceasing repetition of the same words. I
noted down such a conversation, and, as a favourable specimen of
_causerie_, I transcribe it here. There arrived a gray-bearded
old Bedawy, with a long gun, and pistols in his belt, but in all
other respects a striking contrast to the city _brave_ whom he had
come to see. As he came up, he pronounced, “Es-selam alaik”
(“Peace be with you”); receiving a long, drawling answer,
“Alaik es-selam” (“With you be peace”). He then went up to
Mohammed, and touched his right hand, whereon each kissed the palm
of his own hand; he then literally fell on Mohammed’s neck, and
kissed it on the right side, just below the whisker—a salute which
was immediately returned. Now began a rolling fire of questions and
answers, in such quick succession, that it required a practised ear
to follow their meaning; neither party seeming to pay attention to
question or answer—both being already, no doubt, aware of their
import. After repeating the words, “Es-selam,” several times,
then came the inquiry, “How is your state? How are you? How is
your humour?” The answer was, “May your state be peaceful;” or
“Praise be to God;”—an answer, generally, given only to very
pointed inquiries after health. These questions were repeated three
or four times. Then again, “Es-selam, How is your state? how is
your humour? how is the state behind you?”—meaning the family
left at home. Again, “Es-selam, How is your state? how is the
state of your house (wife)?” Again, “Es-selam, How is the
state of your children?” and so continually with the same words,
varying the final interrogatory by asking after his brother, and
his mare, and his cows, and his sheep,—in fine, after all things
that are his, down to the most insignificant of his possessions;
each being the object of a particular inquiry. Next came the
gist of the conversation—half an hour having been, perhaps,
thus passed in preliminaries—which affected the value of the
inquirer’s own possessions, for the child of Nature has a keen eye
to business. “What is the price of corn in Benghazi?”—then
a string of salams. Presently he asks what barley is selling at,
and then follow renewed inquiries after his friend’s state and
humour; as if the fatigue of answering so many questions may have
altered them. When reassured on this point, he slips in an inquiry,
“How much do oxen fetch?” and if he be a keen politician he next
attacks the local news: “Why has the Pacha come to Benghazi?”
“Is the Bey going to be dismissed?” “Is it true that there
is war with the French in Tripoli?” and so on he questions;
but the great point of interest is the state of the markets. Such
conversations to one who has nothing to buy or sell, are naturally
rather monotonous; and their charm was not sufficient to overcome my
dread of the various parasites which constantly lurk under an Arab
barracan. Had I not at once determined upon excluding the Bedawin
from my tent, I should have sacrificed every moment of study or
quiet. A visit of three hours’ duration is not a long one for
an Arab, though the greater part is sometimes passed in silence,
after the first torrent of words has burst forth; and on seeing a
cool, well-carpeted tent, few of the tribe would make any scruple,
if once admitted, of stretching themselves out, and sleeping through
the heat of the day.
Having settled myself comfortably in a delightful position, I now
set about taking a general view of the ruins; and I soon found that,
to obtain any true notion of the details, I must form a plan for
visiting, in some kind of order, the vast labyrinth which lay before
me. There are many miles of Necropolis, extending all round the city;
and, in some places, the monuments and sarcophagi rise in terraces of
ten, and even twelve rows, one above the other. The ruins of the town
itself are in such a state of dilapidation, that it would require no
little study to obtain a satisfactory idea of their nature; there
are few remains of private dwellings above ground, and extensive
excavations would be required to uncover them. The excavator
would doubtless reap a rich harvest, particularly of medals and,
perhaps, of other small works of art. Temples, public buildings,
and tombs, being more exposed to violation, are less likely than
private dwellings to reward the excavator; in modern times, however,
none of the visitors who have excavated here have applied themselves
to clearing the houses, which would require great perseverance and
the expenditure of considerable funds. It is almost impossible for
an amateur traveller to attempt such excavations; for they demand
his continued presence on the spot, to prevent the abstraction of
the smaller objects which may be found, and the wanton destruction
of others; and the jealousy of the natives, who regard him as a
treasure-seeker, can only be effectually repressed by the aid of
the Government. I did not, therefore, push my researches beyond
the platform on which the ancient agora stood, as, my tents being
pitched there, it was easy to watch the excavators.
[Illustration: ENTRANCE TO FOUNTAIN OF APOLLO.]
On arriving at Grennah, the first object which naturally attracts
the traveller’s attention, is the fountain of Cyre—the cause
which led to the choice of this site for building the city, and,
in the days of its prosperity, the spot round which most of the
public buildings were grouped. Though the volume of water which
it pours out has much diminished, even in the memory of man, it is
still the most abundant spring in this neighbourhood; and flocks of
sheep and goats, and herds of cattle, daily cover the ground where
once the sacred rites of Apollo, or the affairs of their prosperous
commerce, assembled the citizens of Cyrene. The stream of water
issues from a natural passage, artificially widened; it falls
into a shallow, square reservoir, cut in the ground of the cave;
and hence it was formerly distributed, through a series of stone
channels, of which many fragments still remain. The external rock
is smoothed to receive the addition of a portico of that beautiful
white limestone, closer-grained than marble, which acquires in
time a warm golden hue. The line of the fronton, deeply cut in
the rock, shows the outline of its architecture, and the three
lower courses of masonry, its material. In the rock to the right
is an inscription, beautifully cut, recording a restoration of the
fountain, which, from its position, as well as its clear, simple
characters, may well be of earlier date than the first century,
which is generally assigned to it. In front of the fountain, two
massive walls support narrow platforms, the lower of which is covered
with the foundations of buildings, whose marble fragments indicate
considerable magnificence. Beneath these extends a broad terrace,
700 feet in length, supported by a lofty and very massive wall,
which is still in great part entire. One end of this terrace is
closed by a wall of more recent construction, built apparently to
shut out the old Greek theatre, which lies beyond it; the other opens
on the street of Battus, and, in part, is bounded by a road running
from this, round the base of the eastern hill. On this platform,
which formed the agora, stood many temples and public buildings;
and it is here that the monument of Battus, mentioned by Pindar, as
standing at the end of the market-place, must be looked for. As one
stands in front of the fountain, looking to the sea, this platform,
covered with ruins, lies at one’s feet; while beyond, the long
lines of the Eastern Necropolis wind round the curves of the hills,
and the plain beneath is seen dotted with ruins, or intersected
by old roads. To the left, immediately beneath the fountain, are
the remains of a very large building, whose massive fragments of
marble cornices and columns indicate its importance, as well as
its more recent date. Among the rubbish lie fluted columns, the
headless statue of a sitting female figure, and some fragments of
inscriptions. No building in the agora seems to have equalled this
in size; and I believe that all my predecessors agree in considering
it to be the Temple of Apollo. To the left of this building, behind,
and almost touching it at one angle, is a temple of more ancient
construction, the lower parts of four of whose columns still remain
_in situ_. Still further to the left, is a small building, in front
of which some former excavator has uncovered a finely-draped statue
of a Roman empress, and on a marble near, is an inscription, nearly
defaced, belonging, perhaps, to its pedestal. The arms and head,
originally separate, have been removed, as well as the, probably,
metal girdle of the waist. I continued the excavation round this
monument, with no other result than finding a coarse white mosaic
pavement, and a long subterranean passage, which seems to have been
a sewer. Almost in a line with this building, still to the left,
and close to the boundary-wall, is a monument of great interest. It
is of massive construction, and evidently of ancient date, and,
in plan, bears a strong resemblance to some of the finest monuments
in the Necropolis. Its situation, its size, its antiquity, leave no
doubt on my mind that this is the Heroon of Battus, whose monument
was erected in the market-place, while the kings, his successors,
reposed each in front of his own palace. I had the greater part of
the interior of this monument dug out, without finding anything but
a few fragments of bronze and ivory, of _terra cotta_ of the very
oldest workmanship, and a part of an alabaster vase, of remarkable
thinness; but no inscription rewarded me, either by confirming my
conjecture, or by assigning another origin to the monument. Whilst
digging here, the excavators were interrupted by some Bedawin, who
came to prevent my further researches in the ruins; but, as they
were armed, and seemed half inclined to violence, and were very
impertinent, I refused to listen to them. I told them that the land
was the Sultan’s—a proposition which they did not controvert;
and then I asked if they, or their fathers, had either built or
bought “the castle.” My argument might be bad, but added to a
resolute countenance, it was good enough to prevent any renewal of
such obstructions from the natives.
Turning to the right, we behold a vast mass of confused
substructures, the ground plan of a very large collection
of buildings, though it would be difficult to assign to them
a name. One very large chamber, near the edge of the platform,
I found, on excavation, paved with a coating of the stucco used
for reservoirs, and beneath this a broken pavement of Cipollino
marble. The remaining parts of the building give no indication of its
having been a bath, and its position forbids the idea that it was
a reservoir. Further to the right are two other ruins, with arches
and columns of Cipollino and a coarse white marble. To the right,
the buildings advance to the edge of the platform, while in front
of the fountain, and to the left, there is a wide space between the
large masses of ruin and the well which supports the terrace. In
this there are few remains of old buildings, the ground having
been long used by the Bedawin as a cornfield; but the few fragments
scattered here and there render it probable that buildings were not
wanting in this direction; at least, such as would be required for
the accommodation of the assemblies of the citizens.
Proceeding along the platform, and crossing the wall which
closes it to the west, we come to the best preserved monument in
Cyrene, the old Greek theatre. Its form, nearly three-fourths of a
circle, occupied by seats, is almost perfect, but the proscenium
has disappeared. Some attempts which I made to discover the line
of the stage were fruitless, as they brought to light only loose
stones which had fallen from the wall above. The external wall is
still perfect, rising perpendicularly from the ground beneath in a
curve, and I am inclined to ascribe the disappearance of the stage
and its decorations to a very remote date. It seems, from the wall
which completely sequesters it from the agora, that this theatre,
notwithstanding its admirable position, must have fallen into
disuse, and been dismantled, for not a fragment of marble is to
be found in its circuit. Had the present ruin resulted only from
the barbarians, or from natural causes, there would have remained,
at least, blocks of marble, as in the other monuments of the town,
but none such would be found, if, as I conjecture, the ancients
themselves removed these decorations to use them in some one of
the other theatres, of which we shall find remains. I counted
twenty-seven rows of seats, and conjectured twelve or fourteen
more buried under the ruins fallen from above. I much regretted
that the enormous masses of these ruins made it impossible for
me to attempt clearing the interior, as no building of Cyrene is
of a more interesting epoch, and none so perfect; its form, also,
is uncommon. It is built in the side of the hill, and the rampart
wall which supported the stage is nearly forty feet high to the
level of the orchestra. A flight of steps from the top leads down
to the orchestra; and there seems also to have been an entrance
on a level with it from the east. Immediately beneath the theatre,
on a lower terrace of the hill, are the ruins of a large building,
consisting of three very perfect and beautifully proportioned
arches, with a fourth at right angles to them. In front of them
is a large quadrangle now occupied by a Bedawy, as garden ground,
and beneath lie many remnants of fluted columns in white marble,
and their capitals, whose execution is more pure and careful than
that of any other fragments to be found in the ruins. In Beechey’s
plan this is noted as a temple, and though, at first, I was inclined
to regard it as a reservoir for the waters of the fountain, which
were in part carried in this direction, I, on further examination,
found nothing to justify a disagreement with so great an authority.
Leaving the fountain, we proceed in a southerly direction up the
ravine, which forms the street of Battus; on either side the hills
are steep, presenting surfaces of rock, in some of which tombs had
been evidently excavated; while to the right, although the rock
has been in many places smoothed away, or even hollowed, it is
more probable, from the remains of masonry, that the ground was
occupied by public or private buildings. The facility with which
cellars and magazines can be excavated in the soft limestone, of
which the hills are composed, would naturally be taken advantage
of, for increasing the accommodation of the private dwellings, and
in two instances, as I shall afterwards have occasion to mention,
I found unmistakable evidence of this. Where the ravine widens, to
the right above the road, are remains supposed to mark the site of
the temple of Juno, an inscription relating to the priestesses of
the goddess having been found here by Beechey; but the little that
remains of the temple presents nothing of peculiar interest, a remark
which, unfortunately, with few exceptions, is applicable to almost
all the ruins found within the circuit of the city. Above this, on
the summit of the western hill, is the corner of a building, which,
seen from below, looks like a tower, and here the substructures
are very large, covering a great portion of the plateau. All this
part has been extensively excavated in certain directions, by order
of the Grand Vizier, who presented the spoil to France. Some small
statues in the best style of Greek art, I am told, were found here,
but I speak only on hearsay. There still remains a good cubical altar
of white marble, which the Arab labourers were obliged to abandon
on account of its weight; it having broken down the rude carriage
which they had constructed for its removal. On the four sides are
bas-reliefs, each representing a figure standing in a quadriga; and
when I first saw it there was on one side a votive inscription,
which it was difficult to decipher; unfortunately I deferred
copying it at the time, and on my return, some days afterwards,
I found that it had been defaced by the Arabs. They had probably
seen me stopping before and examining the inscription, which was,
I fear, with them, reason sufficient for its destruction.
Proceeding up the street we reach the line of a large building,
marked by many fallen columns, and then we come to the well-defined
outline of a large theatre, once adorned with a colonnade of
marble; among the _débris_ of which are many fragments of red and
gray granite, and some mutilated statues, once the decorations of
its proscenium. A flight of steps leads to the orchestra from the
rising ground above. Further on is a large building also, with many
fallen columns, having in its north-west extremity an apsis of small
dimensions. It seems to have been a basilica, as its architecture
is too good to suppose that it was a Christian church. On the
left nothing but scattered formless heaps of stone are to be seen,
until after passing this building, when we reach a lofty tower, of
which one corner remains; extensive ruins also attract attention
on account of the numerous arches, not of the best construction,
which still show their curves above the encumbered ground. An apse,
having the same direction as that in the other building, is still
standing, and many marble columns strew the ground. This is marked
in Beechey’s plan as a church, a conjecture which the debased
style of architecture, as well as the general plan, fully justifies,
and which is, perhaps, confirmed by a stone which I turned up among
the ruins, on which a Greek cross is coarsely carved. On either
side are smaller heaps of ruins, and thence a grass-covered plain,
almost unmarked by any building, but once, perhaps, covered with
private dwellings, reaches to the city walls. Just beyond there
is a piece of ground covered with what seems to be gravestones,
some marked with the cross, and others with the double triangle,
commonly called Solomon’s Seal. This may be an old Jewish and
Christian burial ground, and the tradition of the Arabs points
it out as the place where the last battle was fought between the
Christian inhabitants and the Moslem invaders.
On riding up the eastern hill from the fountain, one finds it formed
of a series of terraces, partly natural and partly artificial,
with a broad plateau overlooking the street of Battus on the
summit. On one of these terraces, the form of the ground and the
beautiful site induced me at first to suppose some ruins I found to
be those of a theatre; but the ground in these hills so often takes
a semicircular form, and the remains of masonry were so few, that,
on further examination of the spot, I was inclined to believe that
the appearance was accidental. A winding road led from the plateau
to the agora, and steps cut in the rock afforded a shorter cut for
pedestrians. In the sides of the terraces are many excavations,
which, judging from the disposition of the interiors, must have
formed parts of private houses, and some of them, if cleared out,
would form commodious enough adjuncts to an encampment. On the
summit are the remains of several buildings, one with five arches
still appearing above the ground, and there are others of not
inconsiderable size. Further to the east are several hillocks, two
of them covered with the ruins of temples; one of them, called by
the Arabs Kasr’ Sharkyeh, is supposed by Barthe to be the temple
of Æsculapius, the treasury of the state. It is evidently of early
date, and still shows traces of the colonnade which surrounded
it. On a terrace below, a little to the north-west, a small stream
issues from a cave, most picturesquely overgrown with maiden-hair
and mosses; into this cave the water filtrates from narrow rents in
the rock. Here, as in all similar cases, the industrious hand of man
is visible; a second passage is cut in the rock to increase the flow
of water, but this is now dry, and one narrow stream trickles only
from the natural passage. In front there are remains of a reservoir
built to collect the water. From this point, near which there are
remains of a tower, the city walls are distinctly traceable in a
large circuit to the deep ravine, which forms the boundary on the
west. A group of rocks rising from the soil near Kasr’ Sharkyeh
seems to have been in some way connected with the sanctuary, as
they are cut into niches, small chambers, and seats, and having
been thrown from their original position, probably by some natural
convulsion, they now present a most singular appearance of elfish
disorder. Proceeding southwards, and passing a small temple, whose
longer axis runs perpendicularly to that of Æsculapius, we see the
stadium a little to the right. Long parallel lines closed at one
end by a curve, mark its form most perfectly; in a few places the
seats may be traced, but in the long grass, which has overgrown its
area, I could find no traces of the spina or goals. The city wall
is, in its lower courses of masonry, well preserved from a point
immediately east of Kasr’ Sharkyeh, where it makes a right angle,
flanked with two square towers. Others succeed at short intervals
along the line which runs to the west, but they are not placed at
any regular distances; the rock in general forms the lower course in
the walls, and in one place it has been built into it to a height
of twelve feet, being cut away on both sides to the thickness
of the wall. This continues to run in a westerly direction till
it reaches a gigantic rectangular reservoir, of the most solid
construction, but apparently never finished. Three massive arched
conduits seem destined to distribute the water, and the vastness
of the design and solidity of the execution render it worthy to be
ranked with the greatest of the Roman aqueducts. In the arches,
where the cement has fallen away, are to be seen on the stones
letters deeply carved. They are the builders’ marks, and here are
all Greek characters, though the Φ lying on its side ([Theta-like
symbol]), and the Ψ ([Psi-like symbol]) look strange. Among the
most frequent are [Symbol sequence]. The stones were doubtless thus
marked in the quarry where they were cut in the curve of the arch,
and the characters appear in a certain symmetry.
The wall from this point continues to run westwards for some space,
then, turning towards the north, it follows the edge of the western
valley (Wady Bil Ghadir) up to a point where the perpendicular rocks
render no artificial defence necessary, and here it terminates
in a lofty tower. Beyond it I remarked two small reservoirs;
a building of a large size, of the Roman epoch, having a central
chamber terminated in an apsis; and near this another, evidently
a stronghold of Byzantine, if not Arab, times. Many other smaller
ruins lie beyond the walls on this side; among them a small temple,
with fallen Ionic columns.
Without riding on to the tall tower which overhangs the steep rock
of the Wady, we turn to the right, entering the strongly-fortified
gate on the old Barca road. After passing the indications of many
small buildings, fragments of marble and substructions, the most
extensive ruin remaining in Cyrene presents itself. This is an
immense quadrangle, whose north-west side is broken to inclose a
small and very perfect theatre, which still shows three of the five
vaulted entrances which gave admittance to its interior. The larger
area, whose entrance gate is still entire, is supposed to have been
a forum of the Ptolemaic or Roman time. Excavations have laid bare
a number of small chambers and a reservoir, along the eastern side,
besides a large building in the centre. No inscription is at present
visible; but there remains enough of the old decorations to show
that the interior and the exterior, at least on the south-east,
were decorated with colonnades. Continuing down-hill, to re-enter
the street of Battus, we find, near the temple of Juno, another
large monument, having many columns, with marble capitals; this was
probably a palace. On the exterior of the north-east side are the
remains of a series of vaulted chambers, ingeniously conjectured
to have been coach-houses—a necessary convenience in the land
of chariots.
There are very many small buildings to be traced on the sites I have
endeavoured to describe, but they are in general only quadrangular
foundations, in great part overgrown with grass; and in our ignorance
of those details of Cyrenean life or history, which lend an interest
to every spot in Athens and Rome, it would be tedious and, in truth,
impossible to particularise them. The muse of history has not deigned
to notice the vicissitudes of her prosperous commerce, and scarcely
mentions the bloody factions of her pampered citizens. None of the
great scenes which influence the world’s destiny were acted within
her walls. Her sons were nurtured in wealth and luxury, and though
among them were numbered physicians, philosophers, grammarians, and
arithmeticians, history records not that other arts than those of the
fancy—the charioteers, and the pugilists—were cultivated with
eminent success. The medals often found in its soil are both rare
and beautiful; but the marbles are not of first-rate merit. Many
valuable inscriptions are probably buried beneath its surface;
but it would require both large funds and much time to attempt,
with fair prospect of success, an investigation of its ruins.
I believe that this account of the present condition of Cyrene,
though vague, conveys a not unfaithful idea of its state. The
destruction is, in fact, so complete, and the masses overthrown
so gigantic, that one can hardly ascribe the present havoc to the
hand of man, or the wasting decay of ages. Though there are now no
appearances of volcanic action, we find mention of earthquakes in
Synesius; and the whole of the sea-coast, as seen at Benghazi and
Apollonia, has subsided—an evidence, at least, of the presence of
volcanic forces; and by this agency alone does it seem possible that
such utter destruction could have been caused. The greater devourer
of the cities of antiquity, a modern town rising in the vicinity,
has not here aided the destroyer; for the seventh century is the
very latest date that can be ascribed to any single building in a
very wide circuit; and the nature of the country, cut up by ravines,
and for ages destitute of roads, renders the transport of heavy
blocks of stone impossible. If its present destruction be due to the
nomad tribes (of whose attacks Synesius speaks), who feared that
Cyrene might again become a flourishing city, and their mistress,
we cannot, after admiring the laborious energy of her builders,
but wonder at the persevering fury of her destroyers.
The remains of sculpture, as I have indicated, though not few, are
all of a late age, and none in the best style of art; I except the
three dancing figures, a bas-relief on limestone, near the fountain,
now, alas! sadly mutilated. They are even now worthy a place in a
museum, as they are of great artistic interest, showing the passage
from the archaic style of the Egina marbles to the more graceful
execution of the classic school. I think I recognised, near the
theatre in the street of Battus, the torso of a statue designed in
Pacho’s work, and by him called a Cæsar, but it has suffered much
from mutilation, and can never have possessed the merit he ascribes
to it. Very many headless statues are scattered about, which would be
beautiful decorations for a garden, but are all unworthy of a museum.
The rock which forms the hills, and of which the town is built, is
a yellowish limestone, filled with fossil shells, for the most part
bivalves, and of very unequal compactness. By exposure to the weather
it acquires a gray tone, and frequently becomes honey-combed. In
some places the marks of the chisel in the stones are as sharp as
the day they were cut—in others, the air and rain have rounded
off their edges; and one sees walls still standing which look as
if built of flattened eggs, showing large interstices between the
now rounded stones.
To sum up in a few words, the traveller finds enough to convey
the general impression of the past splendour of a luxurious city,
but little to satisfy a refined taste, and nothing of which it
can be said, if we except the great reservoir, “This is indeed
magnificent!” In a commercial community, containing philosophers
and physicians, the theatre and the turf may be cultivated as
relaxations from the money-getting toils of the desk, but, as far
as I remember, excepting aristocratic Venice, history furnishes no
example of such a people having attained more than an initiative
excellence in the fine arts.