Travels in Greece, Turkey and the Holy Land, in 1817-18 / by Count Forbin.

  • Forbin, comte de (Louis Nicolas Philippe Auguste), 1777-1841.
Date:
[1820]
Catalogue details

Licence: Public Domain Mark

Credit: Travels in Greece, Turkey and the Holy Land, in 1817-18 / by Count Forbin. Source: Wellcome Collection.

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    brunches of these trees, which, in remote times, had witnessed the most glorious triumphs. The cultivation of Attica brought to my remembrance that of the south of Italy. With hasty steps we proceeded towards a height from which we should be enabled to procure a sight of Athens: we were approach¬ ing that city; anti my heart palpitated violently. I was at length gratified with a view of this sacred spot, this temple of liberty, of glory, and of the arts. The Acropolis was detached, and around it hovered a dark cloud, the remains of the storm of the preceding evening. The sun’s rays struck powerfully on these masses of white marble, which have preserved so pure a colour amid the constructions of the barbarous ages. The old walls surrounding the Propyhcum seem huddled to¬ gether to augment the eclat of the little that is left of the chefs-d’oMivres of Ictinus and Phidias. The temples of Theseus next opened on our view: farther on, to the right, appeared the Puyx, the hill of the Museum, the Areopagus, the monu¬ ment of Philopapus, and on the left, Mount Anchesmus, to complete this picture, which seems, in a manner, to realize the bold composition of the beautiful landscapes due to the luxuriant fancy of Poussin. Not a tree is to be seen in this direction to enliven the prospect: an extent of half a league of rocky, broken, and parched soil, separates the city from the wood of olives, which is not altogether devoid of beau tv, more especially to one born in the south of France. We were rivetted to the spot, without either of the party being able to utter a coherent sentence, until modern Athens, the object of our inquiry, was disclosed to us by her lofty minarets. This city is surrounded by low walls, with gates which may be compared to those of the worst farms near Paris. It is modestly stationed at the foot of the Acropolis, and silent as the slave who feels ashamed of his misery and chains. I had to pass through narrow streets, and through the prin¬ cipal bazar, to reach the house of M. Fauvel, the French con¬ sul. His retreat is truly that of a philosopher, but embellished with taste. It is surrounded by the ruins of ancient Athens : within, trunksof columns and capitals afford seats; and shelter is procured from above by antique tiles. Tombs and inscrip¬ tions, distributed around, bring to the traveller’s remembrance the names, the enterprises, and the misfortunes of those who, in times long past and gone, had to struggle through this dreary life of sorrows. M. Fauvel was not at home, but returned soon after my arrival, and received me in the most obliging manner. His rich collection was laid open to me, and he insisted on my becoming his inmate. During my sta-v at Athens we were