The Ruined Cities of Asia Minor 



745 



shaping headstones for graves in Turk- 

 ish cemeteries. For many years past the 

 ruined site has been superficially dug and 

 culled for sculptures and other antiqui- 

 ties, and the fragments found show that 

 they belong to the best period of art. On 

 the roads approaching Aidin there are 

 many fountains, the troughs of which 

 have been hollowed out of the base of 

 columns from the temple of Aesculapius. 



At present there is a limekiln in opera- 

 tion among the ruins, and many men are 

 employed in digging up columns of por- 

 phyry and slabs of marble with Greek 

 inscriptions, which are all being ground 

 into lime for building purposes. The 

 Turkish governor of Aidin informed me 

 that he had made a futile attempt to stop 

 this work, but that it was being con- 

 ducted by the military authorities, over 

 which he had no jurisdiction. 



In plowing among the olive trees the 

 peasants still turn up innumerable coins, 

 which they- sell at trifling prices. Many 

 valuable pieces of statuary taken from 

 Tralles may also be seen in the houses 

 of the better class of people in Aidin, but 

 these are as nothing compared to the 

 number sent to various museums in Eu- 

 rope. And what Tralles has yet given 

 to the world in the way of art treasures 

 is as nothing compared with what still 

 remains entombed, for the city itself lies 

 beneath the earth. 



the; ruins of wealthy laodicea 



The now deserted city of Laodicea was 

 situated in ancient times upon the great 

 Grasco-Roman highway which led from 

 Sardis, in Lydia, through the heart of 

 Asia Minor to the confines of Syria. 

 This roadway, supposed to be of Persian 

 origin, was once the chief means of com- 

 munication for commercial and military 

 enterprises, being used in turn by the 

 armies of Xerxes, Alexander the Great, 

 Frederick Barbarossa, and many others. 

 The ruins of Laodicea lie upon a com- 

 manding elevation, which gives a fine 

 view of the surrounding country. About 

 8 miles distant stands Mount Cadmus, 

 white with snow, while all that is left of 

 Colossse rests at its base. 



On the other hand, beyond the fertile 

 valley of the Lycus may be seen, glim- 

 mering in the sunlight, the huge cascades 

 which plunge over the plateau where the 

 city of Hierapolis is situated. Nestling 

 at the foot of the hill, upon which the 

 acropolis once stood, is the little village 

 of Gonjeli, while away to the south, with 

 the mountain range of Baba Dagh in the 

 background, is the larger Turkish town 

 of Denizli. Both of these places have 

 been practically built from the ruins of 

 Laodicea. 



In the spring of the year the valleys 

 and slopes about Laodicea are green with 

 verdure, and the surrounding country, as 

 viewed from the ruins, presents a picture 

 not unfriendly to the eye. In fact, the 

 fields are cultivated up to the walls of the 

 city. But within the city limits, which 

 probably cover an area two miles square, 

 there is not enough vegetation to feed a 

 hungry goat. It is a scene of desola- 

 tion, where only snakes, lizards, turtles, 

 and prowling jackals now seek refuge in 

 subterranean caverns. The tombstone 

 cutter from Denizli is a regular visitor. 

 Occasionally a camel caravan may be 

 seen wending its way slowly through the 

 ruined streets. But otherwise it is a 

 place long since rejected and shorn of 

 every symbol of former greatness. 



Yet Laodicea was once the chief em- 

 porium of central Asia Minor. It was 

 the seat of one of the Seven Churches. 

 For something like 1,400 years this city 

 was deemed one of the most important 

 to possess, not only from a military point 

 of view, but also from the standpoint of 

 the sinews wherewith to conduct war. 

 The opulent citizens of Laodicea often 

 fell a prey to the greed of Roman, Tar- 

 tar, and Turkish conquerors. In times 

 of peace the hardships caused by earth- 

 quakes were felt as severely as was the 

 pestilence of war. Yet the people were 

 so attached to their city that they rebuilt 

 it repeatedly out of their own means, and 

 each time in greater splendor than be- 

 fore. It was only when Tamerlane 

 scarcely left one stone upon the other, 

 and when the Turks, about 1230 A. D., 

 slaughtered or sold the inhabitants into 



