The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 1Poe, Edgar Allan
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The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 1
Poe, Edgar Allan
American fiction -- 19th century; Fantasy fiction; Horror tales, American; Poe, Edgar Allan, 1809-1849
That is the Orontes, and it is the only water in sight, with the
exception of the Mediterranean, which stretches, like a broad
mirror, about twelve miles off to the southward. Every one has
seen the Mediterranean; but let me tell you, there are few who
have had a peep at Antioch. By few, I mean, few who, like you and
me, have had, at the same time, the advantages of a modern
education. Therefore cease to regard that sea, and give your
whole attention to the mass of houses that lie beneath us. You
will remember that it is now the year of the world three thousand
eight hundred and thirty. Were it later—for example, were it the
year of our Lord eighteen hundred and forty-five, we should be
deprived of this extraordinary spectacle. In the nineteenth
century Antioch is—that is to say, Antioch will be—in a
lamentable state of decay. It will have been, by that time,
totally destroyed, at three different periods, by three
successive earthquakes. Indeed, to say the truth, what little of
its former self may then remain, will be found in so desolate and
ruinous a state that the patriarch shall have removed his
residence to Damascus. This is well. I see you profit by my
advice, and are making the most of your time in inspecting the
premises—in
—satisfying your eyes
With the memorials and the things of fame
That most renown this city.—
I beg pardon; I had forgotten that Shakespeare will not flourish
for seventeen hundred and fifty years to come. But does not the
appearance of Epidaphne justify me in calling it grotesque?
“It is well fortified; and in this respect is as much indebted to
nature as to art.”
Very true.
“There are a prodigious number of stately palaces.”
There are.
“And the numerous temples, sumptuous and magnificent, may bear
comparison with the most lauded of antiquity.”
All this I must acknowledge. Still there is an infinity of mud
huts, and abominable hovels. We cannot help perceiving abundance
of filth in every kennel, and, were it not for the over-powering
fumes of idolatrous incense, I have no doubt we should find a
most intolerable stench. Did you ever behold streets so
insufferably narrow, or houses so miraculously tall? What gloom
their shadows cast upon the ground! It is well the swinging lamps
in those endless colonnades are kept burning throughout the day;
we should otherwise have the darkness of Egypt in the time of her
desolation.
“It is certainly a strange place! What is the meaning of yonder
singular building? See! it towers above all others, and lies to
the eastward of what I take to be the royal palace!”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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