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The National Geographic Magazine 



THE SPLENDID CITIES OF THE EAST 



"The provinces of the East present the 

 contrast of Roman magnificence with 

 Turkish barbarism. The ruins of an- 

 tiquity scattered over uncultivated fields, 

 and ascribed by ignorance to the power 

 of magic, scarcely afford a shelter to the 

 oppressed peasant or wandering Arab. 

 Under the reign of the Csesars, the 

 proper Asia alone contained five hundred 

 populous cities, enriched with all the 

 gifts of nature and adorned with all the 

 refinements of art. Eleven cities of Asia 

 had once disputed the honor of dedi- 

 cating a temple to Tiberius, and their re- 

 spective merits were examined by the 

 senate. Four of them were immediately 

 rejected as unequal to the burden ; and 

 among these was Laodicea, whose splen- 

 dor is still displayed in its ruins. Lao- 

 dicea collected a very considerable rev- 

 enue from its flocks of sheep, celebrated 

 for the fineness of their wool, and had 

 received, a little before the contest, a 

 legacy of above £400,000 ($2,000,000) 

 by the testament of a generous citizen. 

 If such was the proverty of Laodicea, 

 what must have been the wealth of those 

 cities whose claim appeared preferable, 

 and particularly of Pergamus, of 

 Smyrna, and of Ephesus, who so long 

 disputed with each other the titular 

 primacy of Asia?"* 



The situation of Hierapolis is unique, 

 and the view from the terrace is one not 

 easily forgotten. The Coliseum at Rome 

 looks beautiful in the moonlight ; who- 

 ever stands upon Vesuvius and beholds 

 Pompeii and Herculaneum as they lie in 

 one vast cemetery far below, with the 

 Bay of Naples and Capri in the distance, 

 thinks the scene one of surpassing 

 beauty ; the castle of Edinburgh over- 

 looks an historical city environed within 

 an amphitheater of hills ; the Kcenigs- 

 stuhl at Heidelberg looks down upon the 

 distant Rhine and all its associations. 

 All these I have seen, and more, but 

 Hierapolis may lay claim to be in a class 

 to itself. I have seen this sepulchred 



* The Decline and Fall of the Roman 

 Empire. 



city in the moonlight, too, when the orb 

 of night rose beyond Mount Cadmus 

 and stood above Laodicea, casting its 

 full light across the valley upon a plung- 

 ing cataract, only there was no sound, no 

 roar. This cataract, like the city above, 

 was silent, frozen, turned to stone. The 

 stillness of the night was only broken 

 occasionally by the howl of some savage 

 dog which had taken refuge in an an- 

 cient tomb. The glimmering Lycus and 

 the snow upon the distant peaks of the 

 Salbacus range but tempered the scene 

 with their reflecting rays. It is a place 

 for retrospection, and the mind lightly 

 conjures up images of the martial hosts 

 of Cyrus the Younger or the more peace- 

 able missions of Herodotus and Strabo. 

 The fact that one is away off in the heart 

 of southern Asia Minor, far removed 

 from modern civilization, yet amidst the 

 chief legacies of an ancient one, lends a 

 charm to a journey thitherward which is 

 not always an asset in the ordinary routes 

 of travel. 



An excursion to Hierapolis is not an 

 easy matter. To begin with, the consent 

 of the authorities is necessary, for the 

 trip can only be made under the protec- 

 tion of a strong escort. This escort is 

 indispensable, because of brigands and 

 savage dogs. While there is less brigand- 

 age in the interior of Asia Minor than 

 there is in the districts immediately sur- 

 rounding Smyrna, yet the country is 

 very unsafe on that account, and if the 

 traveler ventures out alone he does so 

 at his own risk. I have never seen such 

 ferocious curs in all my life as I saw 

 among the necropolises of Hierapolis. 

 There were dozens of these savage dogs, 

 and they belong to the Yuruks, or no- 

 mads who dwell in tents among the ruins. 

 The beasts are only partially quiet when 

 the Yuruks accompany the visiting party, 

 but one must always have a revolver 

 ready to shoot at a moment's notice, for 

 they hang about and watch every move- 

 ment, and their growls and actions are 

 such as to make the stay at the west 

 necropolis extremely unpleasant. One's 

 chief desire under these circumstances is 

 to shoot every cur in sight, but such a 



