THE WONDERS OF SYMRNA.

Dunstan Times, Issue 3144, 20 November 1922, Page 7

THE WONDERS OF SYMRNA.

(By Evelyn Ross). When the name of Asia Minor comes before the mind’s eye one may he pardoned. perchance, for imagining that it conjures up memories of an everglorious past. There is surely no spot or region of the whole universe into which so much history and magnificence has been crammed: the countryside simply teems with objects of interest, monuments of vast antiquity, most splendid ruins of an ancient civilisation, and still evident traces of a vanished splendour. On the western shores rise in unparalleled and unequalled grandeur the ancient cities of Troy, Ephesus, Miletus. and Priene. It is a land of mythology and historical things. An ' Italian proverb says, “See Naples and die, for there you will have seen the loveliest sight this fair world has to show." It is a lovely town; but had the author of the proverb seen the panorama of the Bay of Smyrna and its attendant surroundings on a spring morning, one might be pardoned for venturing to think that he would have hesitated before making use of the superlative he has employed. A hazy, slanting golden light is striking Smyrna with its rays, dispelling moment by moment the bluish vapor that hovers over the town itself and thesea beyond. Seen from a distance —a bill about five miles away—the view spread out before one’s eyes ie superb. In the foreground! nestles a little village. studded 1 here- and there with white stucco houses whose red-tiled roofs give a welcome touch of color to the scene. Ta'l cypress trees stand motionless pointing their tips to the sky. Beyond lies the plain, a mass of olive trees, interspersed with patches of vivid emerald green, the young corn just shooting after the heavy rains, aided by the hot Eastern sun. Still further away lies first the town of Smyrna, then the sea, and finally the mountains, the latter forming a. silent and magnificent background to- the picture. At the back of the town rise two peaks, sloping up from the seashore, the light playing upon the peach and cherry orchards on their sides. And all the time up above there is the intense blue of the sky. On the undulating slopes of ibe hills are stretches of blue-black janes, quiet hamlets, sparkling rivulets, clumps of trees of various kin ds. The air is soft and warm, blowing on the check with an embracing and caressing touch, the freshness of the morning air adding a zest to the gently moving wind. Gently 7, softly, and murmuringly the land breeze bends the olive trees, changing their tender tints very smoothly to a different color every moment. It makes the multi-colored jiojipics wave their tiny heads and bend them ever and anon till they almost kiss the earth.

Tt seems incredible, almost, that the ex-Empress Charlotte of Mexico should be living to-day and reassuming her native Belgian nationality. Hers hasheen a tragic fate. Called to the imperial throne of Mexico, with her husband, Juno ]2. 1864, she and Maximillian met with trouble almost from the day of their landing. Within three years and five days the Emperor was stood up against la. wall and shot, lnsti-nctively fearing the worst; Charlotte had escaped to Europe, and from Court to Court she pursued her way, begging oh bended knee* literally and in deepest anguish for intervention to save her husband's life. The tragedy drove her mad, and for over 50 years this once beautiful woman has been a hopeless lunatic daily preparing for and hourly expecting the husband who she is' certain will arrive at any moment. He was a Hapsburg, and she the sister of Leopold 11. of Belgium, cousin of Queen Victoria.