choose, I gave to one of these ruins the name of Helen's Temple, and another I called the Tomb of Alcman. In two others I fancied I beheld the heroic monuments of Ageus and Cadmus; I thus determined in favour of fable, and assigned nothing to history but the temple of Lycurgus. I prefer, I must confess, to black broth and barley bread, the memory of the only poet that Lacedæmon has produced, and the garland of flowers gathered by the Spartan maidens for Helen in the isle of Platanistæ:

O ubi campi

by the bases of walls that have been razed to the ground. The stones of which they were compos. ed, must have been removed,` for they are not to be discovered any where round about. In this part stood the residence of Menelaus; and beyond it, on the road towards Amycle, rose the temple of the Dioscuri and the Graces. This description will be rendered more intelligible, if the reader will turn to Pausanias, or even to the Travels of Anacharsis.

The whole of the territory round Lacedæmon is uncultivated: the sun parches it in silence, and is

Taygeta!

cænis

Now looking towards the north, as you still stand on the site of the citadel, you see a hill of considerable height, commanding even that on which the citadel was erected, though this contradicts the text of Pausanias. The valley formed by these two hills must have been the site of the public place and the, structures that adorn it, as the buildings appropriated to the meetings of the Gerontes and Ephori, the portico of the Persice and other edifices. On this side there are no ruins. To the north-west extended the quarter of the Cynosuri, by which I had entered Sparta, and where I observed the long wall and some other remains.

Let us now turn to the west, and we shall perceive upon a level spot in the rear and at the foot of the theatre, three ruins, one of which is of considerable height, and circular, like a tower. In this direction must have lain the quarter of the Pitanates, the Theomelis, the tombs of Pausanias and Leonidas, the Lesche of the Crotanes, and the temple of Diana Isora.

Lastly, if you turn your eye to the south, you will see an uneven space, intersected here and there

of the tombs. When I beheld this desert, not a plant adorned the ruins, not a bird, not an insect, not a creature enlivened them, save millions of lizards, which crawled without noise up and down the sides of the scorching walls. A dozen half-wild horses were feeding here and there upon the withered grass; a shepherd was cultivating a few water-melons in a corner of the theatre; and at Magoula, which gives its dismal name to Lacedæmon, I observed a small grove of cypresses. But this Magoula, formerly a considerable Turkish village, has also perished in this scene of desolation: its buildings are overthrown, and the index of ruins is itself but a ruin.

I descended from the citadel, and, after walking about a quarter of an hour, I reached the Eurotas. Its appearance was nearly the same as two leagues higher, where I had passed it without knowing what stream it was. Its breadth before Sparta, is about the same as that of the Marne above Charenton. The bed of the river, nearly dry in summer, is a sand intermixed with small pebbles, overgrown with reeds and rose-laurels, among which run a few rills of a cool and limpid water. I drank of it abund

antly, for I was parched with thirst. From the beauty of its reeds, the Eurotas certainly deserves the epithet of xxxdova given it by Euripides; but I know not whether it ought to retain that of olorifer, for I perceived no swans upon its surface. I followed its current, hoping to meet with some of these birds, which, according to Plato, have, before they expire, a view of Olympus, on which account their dying notes are so melodious: but I was disappointed. Perhaps, like Horace, I am not in the good graces of the Tyndarides, and they would not permit me to discover the secrets of their cradle.

Famous rivers share the same fate as famous nations; at first unknown, then celebrated throughout the whole world, they afterwards sink into their original obscurity. The Eurotas, at first denominated Himera, now flows forgotten under the appellation of Iri; as the Tiber, more anciently Albula, now rolls to the sea the unknown waters of the Teverone. I examined the ruins of the bridge Babyx, which are insignificant. I sought the island of Platanistæ, and imagine that I discovered it below Magoula; it is a piece of ground of a triangular form, one side of which is washed by the Eurotas, while the other two are bounded by ditches full of rushes, where in winter flows this river Magoula, the ancient Cnacion. In the island are some mulberry-trees and sycamores, but no plantains. I perceived no indication of the Turks continuing to make this spot subservient to pleasure; I observed there a few flowers, among others blue lilies, some of which I plucked in memory of Helen: the perishable crown of the beauty yet exists on the banks of the Eurotas, but the beauty herself has disappeared.

The view enjoyed, as you walk

along the Eurotas, is very different from that commanded by the hill of the citadel. The river pursues a

winding course, concealing itself, as I have observed, among reeds and rose-laurels, as large as trees; on the left side, the hills of Mount Menelaion, of a bare and reddish appearance, form a contrast with the freshness and verdure of the channel of the Eurotas. On the right, the Taygetus spreads his magnificent curtain; the whole space comprehended between this curtain and the river, is occupied by small hills, and the ruins of Sparta. These hills and these ruins have not the same desolate aspect as when you are close to them; they seem, on the contrary, to be tinged with purple, violet, and a light gold colour. It is not verdant meads and foliage of a cold and uniform green, but the effects of light, that produce admirable landscapes. On this account the rocks and the heaths of the bay of Naples will ever be superior in beauty to the most fertile vales of France and England.

It

Thus, after ages of oblivion, this river, whose banks were trodden by the Lacedæmonians whom Plutarch has celebrated, this river, I say, perhaps rejoiced, amid this neglect, at the sound of the footsteps of an obscure stranger upon its shores. was on the 13th of August 1806, at nine in the morning, that I took this lonely walk along the Eurotas, which will never be erased from my memory. If I hate the manners of the Spartans, I am not blind to the greatness of a free people, neither was it without emotion that I trampled on their noble dust. One single fact is sufficient to proclaim the glory of this nation. When Nero visited Greece, he durst not enter Lacedæmon. What a magnificent panegyric on that city!

I began to write down my observations, and to take a view of the different

different places: this occupied me two full hours; after which I determined to examine the monuments to the west of the citadel. I knew that in this quarter the tomb of Leonidas must be situated. We wandered from ruin to ruin, the Janissary following me, and leading the

so that I had beheld him commence and finish his course on the ruins of Lacedæmon. It was three thousand five hundred and forty-three years, since he first rose and set over this infant city.

lestine.

(From the same.)

to Greece; sprung from the forests of Gaul, and the rocks of Caucasus; we had met at the extremity of the Peloponnese, the one to pass over, the other to live upon, tombs which were not those of our forefathers.

In vain I examined the smallest stones to discover the spot where the ashes of Leonidas were deposited. For a moment I had hopes of succeeding. Near the edifice, resembling a tower, which I have described as standing to the west of the citadel, I found fragments of sculpture, which I took to be those of a lion. We are informed by Herodotus, that there was a lion of stone on the tomb of Leonidas; a circumstance not recorded by Pausanias. I continued my researches with increased ardour, but all my efforts proved fruitless. I know not whether this was the spot where the Abbé Fourmont discovered three curious monuments. One of them was a cippus, on which was engraven the name of Jerusalem; perhaps a memorial of that alliance between the Jews and the Lacedæmonians, which is mentioned in the Maccabees. The two others were the sepulchral inscriptions of Lysander and Agesilaus.

Night drew on apace, when I reluctantly quitted these renowned ruins, the shade of Lycurgus, the recollection of Thermopyle, and all the fictions of fable and history, The sun sunk behind the Taygetus,

the mountains still continued the same, that is white, dusty, without shade, without tree, without herbage, without moss. At halfpast four we descended from the lofty chain of these mountains to another less elevated. We proceeded for fifty minutes over a level plain, and at length arrived at the last range of hills that form the western border of the valley of the Jordan and the Dead Sea. The sun was near setting, we alighted to give a little rest to our horses, and I contemplated at leisure the lake, the valley, and the river.

When we hear of a valley, we figure to ourselves a valley either cultivated or uncultivated; if the former, it is covered with crops of various kinds, vineyards, villages, and cattle; if the latter, it presents herbage and woods. It is watered by a river, this river has windings in its course; and the hills which bound this valley have themselves undulations which form a prospect agreeable to the eye. Here nothing of the kind is to be found. Conceive two long chains of mountains running in a parallel direction from north to south, without breaks and without undulations. The easteru chain, called the mountains of Arabia, is the highest; when seen at the distance of eight or ten leagues, you would suppose it a prodigious perpendicular wall, perfectly resembling Jura in its form and a

zure

zure colour. Not one summit, not the smallest peak can be distinguished; you merely perceive slight inflections here and there, as if the hand of the painter who drew this horizontal line along the sky, had sometimes trembled.

The western range belongs to the mountains of Judea. Less lofty and more unequal than the eastern chain, it differs from the other in its nature also: it exhibits heaps of chalk and sand, whose form bears some resemblance to piles of arms, wav ing standards, or the tents of a camp seated on the border of a plain. On the Arabian side, on the contrary, nothing is to be seen but black perpendicular rocks, which throw their lengthened shadows over the waters of the Dead Sea. The smallest bird of heaven would not find among these rocks a blade of grass for its sustenance; every thing announces the country of a reprobate people, and seems to breathe the horror and incest whence sprung Ammon and Moab. The valley, bounded by these two chains of mountains, displays a soil resembling the bottom of a sea that has long retired from its bed, a beach covered with salt, dry mud, and moving sands, furrowed, as it were, by the waves. Here and there stunted shrubs with difficulty vegetate upon this inanimate tract; their leaves are covered with salt, which has nourished them, and their bark has a smoky smell and taste. In stead of villages you perceive the ruins of a few towers. Through the middle of this valley fows a

Such is the scene famous for the benedictions and the curses of heaven. This river is the Jordan; this lake is the Dead Sea; it appears brilliant, but the guilty cities entombed in its bosom seem to have poisoned its waters. Its solitary abysses cannot afford nourishment to any living creature: never did vessel cut its waves; its shores are without birds, trees, or verdure; its waters are excessively bitter, and so heavy, that the most impetuous winds can scarcely ruffle their surface.

When you travel in Judea, the heart is at first filled with profound disgust; but, when passing from solitude to solitude, boundless space opens before you, this disgust wears off by degrees, and you feel a secret awe, which, so far from depressing the soul, imparts life, and elevates the genius. Extraordinary appearances every-where proclaim a land teeming with miracles: the burning sun, the towering eagle, the barren fig-tree, all the poetry, all the pictures of Scripture, are here. Every name commemorates a mystery; every grot proclaims the future; every hill re-echoes the accents of a prophet. God himself has spoken in these regions: dried up rivers, riven rocks, half-open sepulchres, attest the prodigy: the desert still appears mute with ferror, and you would imagine that it had never presumed to interrupt the silence since it heard the awful voice of the Eternal.

salem.

(From the same.)

THE

HE street of the Bazar is the principal street, and the best quarter of Jerusalem. But what wretchedness, what desolation! We did not meet with a creature, for

most of the inhabitants had fled to the mountains on the Pacha's arrival. The doors of some forsaken shops stood open; through these we perceived small rooms, seven or eight feet square, where the master, then a fugitive, eats, lies, and sleeps, on the single mat that composes his whole stock of furniture.

On the right of the Bazar, between the Temple and the foot of Mount Sion, we entered the Jews' quarter. Fortified by their indigence, these had withstood the attack of the Pacha. Here they appeared covered with rags, seated in the dust of Sion, seeking the vermin which devoured them, and keeping their eyes fixed on the Temple. The Drogman took me into a kind of school: I would have purchased the Hebrew Pentateuch, in which a rabbi was teaching a child to read; but he refused to dispose of the book. It has been observed that the foreign Jews, who fix their residence at Jerusalem, live but a short time. As to those of Palestine, they are so poor as to be obliged to send every year to raise contributions among their brethren in Egypt and Barbary.

From the Jews' quarter we repaired to Pilate's house, to view the mosque of the Temple through one of the windows; all Christians being prohibited, on pain of death, from entering the court that surrounds this mosque. The description of it I shall reserve till I come to treat of the buildings of Jerusalem. At some distance from the prætorium of Pilate, we found the pool of Bethesda, and Herod's palace. This last is a ruin, the foundations of which belong to antiqui

ty-four pounders fixed upon carriages without wheels, and placed at the embrasures of a Gothic bastion.

In this heap of rubbish, denominated a city, the people of the country have thought fit to give the appellation of streets to certain desert

passages.

Jerusalem is comprehended in the pachalik of Damascus, for what reason I know not, unless it be a result of that destructive systemn which is naturally, and, as it were, instinctively, pursued by the Turks. Cut off from Damascus by mountains, and still more by the Arabs, who infest the deserts, Jerusalem cannot always prefer its complaints to the Pacha, when oppressed by its governors. It would be much more natural to make it dependent on the pachalik of Acre, which lies near it; the Franks and the Latin fathers might then place themselves under the protection of the consuls residing in the ports of Syria; and the Greeks and Turks would be able to make known their grievances. But this is the very thing that their governors are desirous of preventing; they would have a mute slavery, and not insor lent wretches who dare complain of the hand that oppresses them.

Jerusalem is therefore at the mercy of an almost independent governor; he may do with impunity all the mischief he pleases, if he be not afterwards called to account for it by the Pacha. It is well known that, in Turkey, every supe rior has a right to delegate his authority to an inferior; and this authority extends both to property and life. For a few purses a Janissary may become a petty Aga, and this Aga may, at his good pleasure, either take away your life or per mit you to redeem it. Thus executioners are multiplied in every town of Judea. The only thing