if it were not impossible, would be wearisome. The wise man will visit
it when time and occasion serve, and will then, in some small measure,
understand what must have been the riotous, sumptuous, murderous life to
which our Governors and Lieutenant-Governors, Commissioners and Deputy
Commissioners, Colonels and Captains and the Subalterns after their
kind, have put an end.
From the top of the palace you may read if you please the Book of
Ezekiel written in stone upon the hillside. Coming up, the Englishman
had seen the city from below or on a level. He now looked into its very
heart--the heart that had ceased to beat. There was no sound of men or
cattle, or grind-stones in those pitiful streets--nothing but the cooing
of the pigeons. At first it seemed that the palace was not ruined at
all--that presently the women would come up on the house-tops and the
bells would ring in the temples. But as he attempted to follow with his
eye the turns of the streets, the Englishman saw that they died out in
wood tangle and blocks of fallen stone, and that some of the houses were
rent with great cracks, and pierced from roof to road with holes that
let in the morning sun. The drip-stones of the eaves were gap-toothed,
and the tracery of the screens had fallen out so that zenana-rooms lay
shamelessly open to the day. On the outskirts of the city, the strong
walled houses dwindled and sank down to mere stone-heaps and faint
indications of plinth and wall, hard to trace against the background of
stony soil. The shadow of the palace lay over two-thirds of the city and
the trees deepened the shadow. “He who has bent him o’er the dead”
_after_ the hour of which Byron sings, knows that the features of the
man become blunted as it were--the face begins to fade. The same hideous
look lies on the face of the Queen of the Pass, and when once this is
realised, the eye wonders that it could have ever believed in the life
of her. She is the city “whose graves are set in the side of the pit,
and her company is, round about here graves,” sister of Pathros, Zoan
and No.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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