Wanderings in North Africa

by traveler James Hamilton

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.

ENTRANCE TO FOUNTAIN OF APOLLO.

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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.