There are three parallel walls remaining of the ancient church of Sardis. They stand on a gentle slope, just above the edge of the Pactolus, and might easily be rebuilt into a small chapel, with only the materials within them. There are many other ruins on the site of the city, but none designated by a name. We loitered about, collecting relics, and indulging our fancies, till the suridjee reminded us of the day’s journey before us, and with a drink from the Pactolus, and a farewell look at the beautiful Ionic columns standing on its lonely bank, we put spurs to our horses and galloped once more down into the valley.
Our Turkish saddles grew softer on the third day’s journey, and we travelled more at ease. I found the freedom and solitude of the wide and unfenced country growing at every mile more upon my liking. The heart expands as one gives his horse the rein and gallops over these wild paths without toll-gate or obstacle. I can easily understand the feeling of Ali Bey on his return to Europe from the East.
Our fourth day’s journey lay through the valley between Tmolus and Semering—the fairest portion of the dominion of Timour the Tartar. How gracefully shaped were those slopes to the mountains! How bright the rivers! How green the banks! How like a new-created and still unpeopled world it seemed, with every tree and flower and fruit the perfect model of its kind!
Leaving the secluded village of Nymphi nested in the mountains on our left, as we approached the end of our circuitous journey, we entered early in the afternoon the long plains of Hadjilar, and with tired horses and (malgré romance) an agreeable anticipation of Christian beds and supper, we dismounted in Smyrna at sunset.
LETTER XLVII.
Smyrna—Charms of its Society—Hospitality of Foreign Residents—The Marina—The Casino—A narrow Escape from the Plague—Departure of the Frigate—High Character of the American Navy—A Tribute of Respect and Gratitude—The Farewell.
What can I say of Smyrna? Its mosques and bazaars scarce deserve description after those of Constantinople. It has neither pictures, scenery, nor any peculiarities of costume or manners. There are no “lions” here. It is only one of the most agreeable places in the world, exactly the sort of thing, that (without compelling private individuals to sit for their portraits),[[19]] is the least describable. Of the fortnight of constant pleasure that I have passed here, I do not well know how I can eke out half a page that would amuse you.
The society of Smyrna has some advantages over that of any other city I have seen. It is composed entirely of the families of merchants, who, separated from the Turkish inhabitants, occupy a distinct quarter of the town, are responsible only to their consuls, and having no nobility above, and none but dependants below them, live in a state of cordial republican equality that is not found even in America. They are of all nations, and the principal languages of Europe are spoken by everybody. Hospitality is carried to an extent more like the golden age than these “days of iron;” and, as a necessary result of the free mixture of languages and feelings, there is a degree of information and liberality of sentiment among them, united to a free and joyous tone of manners and habits of living, that is quite extraordinary in men of their care-fraught profession. Our own country, I am proud to say, is most honourably represented. There is no traveller to the East, of any nation, who does not carry away with him from Smyrna, grateful recollections of one at least whose hospitality is as open as his gate. This living over warehouses of opium, I am inclined to think, is healthy for the heart.