At eleven o’clock, our eyes fell upon the walls and columns of Baalbec, a noble ruin whose history is a sealed book.  It has stood there for thousands of years, the wonder and admiration of travelers; but who built it, or when it was built, are questions that may never be answered.  One thing is very sure, though.  Such grandeur of design, and such grace of execution, as one sees in the temples of Baalbec, have not been equaled or even approached in any work of men’s hands that has been built within twenty centuries past.

The great Temple of the Sun, the Temple of Jupiter, and several smaller temples, are clustered together in the midst of one of these miserable Syrian villages, and look strangely enough in such plebeian company.  These temples are built upon massive substructions that might support a world, almost; the materials used are blocks of stone as large as an omnibus—­very few, if any of them, are smaller than a carpenter’s tool chest—­and these substructions are traversed by tunnels of masonry through which a train of cars might pass.  With such foundations as these, it is little wonder that Baalbec has lasted so long.  The Temple of the Sun is nearly three hundred feet long and one hundred and sixty feet wide.  It had fifty-four columns around it, but only six are standing now—­the others lie broken at its base, a confused and picturesque heap.  The six columns are their bases, Corinthian capitals and entablature—­and six more shapely columns do not exist.  The columns and the entablature together are ninety feet high—­a prodigious altitude for shafts of stone to reach, truly—­and yet one only thinks of their beauty and symmetry when looking at them; the pillars look slender and delicate, the entablature, with its elaborate sculpture, looks like rich stucco-work.  But when you have gazed aloft till your eyes are weary, you glance at the great fragments of pillars among which you are standing, and find that they are eight feet through; and with them lie beautiful capitals apparently as large as a small cottage; and also single slabs of stone, superbly sculptured, that are four or five feet thick, and would completely cover the floor of any ordinary parlor.  You wonder where these monstrous things came from, and it takes some little time to satisfy yourself that the airy and graceful fabric that towers above your head is made up of their mates.  It seems too preposterous.

The Temple of Jupiter is a smaller ruin than the one I have been speaking of, and yet is immense.  It is in a tolerable state of preservation.  One row of nine columns stands almost uninjured.  They are sixty-five feet high and support a sort of porch or roof, which connects them with the roof of the building.  This porch-roof is composed of tremendous slabs of stone, which are so finely sculptured on the under side that the work looks like a fresco from below.  One or two of these slabs had fallen, and again I wondered if the gigantic masses of carved stone that lay about me were no larger than those above my head.  Within the temple, the ornamentation was elaborate and colossal.  What a wonder of architectural beauty and grandeur this edifice must have been when it was new!  And what a noble picture it and its statelier companion, with the chaos of mighty fragments scattered about them, yet makes in the moonlight!