In the direction of the mountains lie fragments of stone, here and there columns stand erect, and clumps of broken pillars are met with at intervals. All this space seems to have been covered with small temples and ornamental buildings, approached by colonnades.
Next to the temple, the most remarkable structure is the long portico, which commences about two thousand two hundred feet to the north-west of the temple, and extends for nearly four thousand feet further in the same direction. “It is a remark worthy the observation of historians,” says Volney, “that the front of the portico has twelve pillars like that at Balbec; but what artists will esteem still more curious is that these two fronts resemble the gallery of the house built by Perrault, long before the existence of the drawing which made us acquainted with them. The only difference is, that the columns of the Louvre are double, whereas those of Palmyra are detached.”
About one hundred paces from the middle obelisk, straight forward, is a magnificent entry to a piazza, which is forty feet broad and more than half a mile in length, inclosed with two rows of marble pillars, twenty-six feet high, and eight or nine feet in compass. Of these there still remain one hundred and twenty-nine; and, by a moderate computation, there could not, originally, have been less than five hundred and sixty. The upper end of the piazza was shut in by a row of pillars, standing somewhat closer than those on each side.
A little to the left are the ruins of a stately building, which appears to have been a banqueting-house. It is built of better marble, and is finished with greater elegance, than the piazza. The pillars which supported it were one entire stone, which is so strong that one of them, which has fallen down, has received no injury. It measures twenty-two feet in length, and in compass eight feet nine inches.
In the west side of the piazza are several apertures for gates, into the court of the palace. Each of these is adorned with four porphyry pillars; not standing in a line with those of the wall, but placed by couples in the front of the gate facing the palace, on each side. Two of these only remain, and but one standing in its place. These are thirty feet long, and nine in circumference.
“We sometimes find a palace,” says Volney, “of which nothing remains but the courts and walls; sometimes a temple, whose peristyle is half thrown down; and now a portico, a gallery, or a triumphant arch. Here stand groups of columns, whose symmetry is destroyed by the fall of many of them; these we see ranged in rows of such length, that, similar to rows of trees, they deceive the sight, and assume the appearance of continued walls. On which side soever we look, the earth is strewed with vast stones, half buried, with broken entablatures, damaged capitals, mutilated friezes, disfigured reliefs, effaced sculptures, violated tombs, and altars defiled with mud.”
“In their ruined courts,” says another traveller, “and amid the crumbling walls of their cottages, may be seen, here and there, portions of the ancient pavement of the area; while all around the inclosure extend groups of columns, with pedestals for statues, and walls ornamented with handsome architectural decorations, the ruins of the majestic portico and double colonnade, which once inclosed the whole of the vast area. Portions of a frieze, or the fragments of a cornice, upon whose decoration was expended the labour of years, are now used by the poor villagers to bake their bread upon, or are hollowed out as hand-mills, in which to grind their corn.”
Among the walls and rubbish are a vast number of lizards and serpents; and that circumstance led to the celebrated poetic picture painted by Darwin.
Lo! where Palmyra, ‘mid her wasted plains, Her shattered aqueducts, and prostrate fanes, As the bright orb of breezy midnight pours Long threads of silver through her gaping towers, O’er mouldering tombs, and tottering columns gleams, And frosts her deserts with diffusive beams, Sad o’er the mighty wreck in silence bends, Lifts her wet eyes, her tremulous hands extends. If from lone cliffs a bursting rill expands Its transient course, and sinks into the sands; O’er the moist rock the fell hyena prowls, The serpent hisses, and the panther growls; On quivering wings the famished vulture screams, Dips his dry beak, and sweeps the gushing streams. With foaming jaws beneath, and sanguine tongue, Laps the lean wolf, and pants, and runs along; [Pg 87] Stern stalks the lion, on the rustling brinks Hears the dread snake, and trembles as he drinks. Quick darts the scaly monster o’er the plain, Fold after fold his undulating train; And, bending o’er the lake his crested brow, Starts at the crocodile that gapes below.—Darwin.
On the eastern side of the area of the Temple of the Sun, there is a curious doorway of one solid block of stone, which commands a fine view of the desert. “As we looked out of this narrow gateway,” says Mr. Addison, “we fancied, that Zenobia herself might have often stood at the same spot, anxiously surveying the operations of Aurelian and his blockading army. From hence the eye wanders over the level waste, across which the unfortunate queen fled on her swift dromedary to the Euphrates; and here, the morning after her departure, doubtless congregated her anxious friends, to see if she was pursued in her flight; and from hence she was probably first descried, being brought back a captive and a prisoner in the hands of the Roman horsemen.”