University of Virginia Library

1. LETTER I.

It is with difficulty that I persuade myself, that it is I
who am sitting and writing to you from this great city of
the East. Whether I look upon the face of Nature, or
the works of man, I see every thing different from what
the West presents, so widely different, that it seems to
me, at times, as if I were subject to the power of a dream.
But I rouse myself, and find that I am awake, and that
it is really I, your old friend and neighbor, Piso, late a
dweller upon the Cœlian hill, who am now basking in
the warm skies of Palmyra, and notwithstanding all the
splendor and luxury by which I am surrounded, longing
to be once more in Rome, by the side of my Curtius,
and with him discoursing, as we have been wont to do,
of the acts and policy of the magnificent Aurelian.

But to the purpose of this letter, which is, in agreement
with my promise, to tell you of my fortunes since I
parted from you, and of my good or ill success, as it may
be, in the prosecution of that affair which has driven me

so far from my beloved Rome. O, Humanity! why art
thou so afflicted? Why have the immortal gods made
the cup of life so bitter? And why am I singled out to
partake of one that seems all bitter? My feelings sometimes
overmaster my philosophy. You can forgive this,
who know my sorrows. Still I am delaying to inform
you concerning my journey and my arrival. Now I will
begin.

As soon as I had lost sight of you weeping on the quay
holding in your hand the little Gallus, and the dear
Lucilia leaning on your arm, and could no longer, even
by mounting upon the highest part of the vessel, discern
the waving of your hands, nor cause you to see the fervor
with which I returned the sign of friendship, I at once
left off thinking of you, as far as I could, and, to divert
my thoughts, began to examine, as if I had never seen
them before, the banks of the yellow Tiber. At first the
crowds of shipping, of every form and from every part of
the world, distracted the sight, and compelled me to observe
what was immediately around me. The cries of
the sailors, as they were engaged in managing different
parts of their vessels, or as they called out in violent and
abusive terms to those who passed them, or as their
several gallies struck against each other in their attempts
to go up or down the river, together with the frequent
roarings and bellowings of whole cargoes of wild beasts
from the deserts of Asia and Africa, destined to the amphitheatre,
intermingled with the jargon of an hundred
different barbarian languages, from the thousands who
thronged the decks of this fleet of all nations, — these
sights and sounds at first wholly absorbed me, and for a
moment shut all the world beside — even you — out of
my mind. It was a strange yet inspiring scene, and
gave me greater thoughts than ever of the power and

majesty of Rome. Here were men and ships that had
traversed oceans and continents to bring the offerings of
their toil, and lay them at the feet of the mistress of the
world. And over all this bustle, created by the busy
spirit of commerce, a splendor and gayety were thrown
by numerous triremes and boats of pleasure, which,
glittering under the light of a summer's morning sun,
were just setting out upon some excursion of pleasure,
with streamers floating from the slender masts, music
swelling up from innumerable performers, and shouts of
merry laughter from crowds of the rich and noble youths
of the city, who reclined upon the decks, beneath canopies
of the richest dyes. As these Cleopatra barges
floated along with their soft burden, torrents of vituperative
epithet were poured upon them by the rough children
of Neptune, which was received with an easy indifference,
or returned with no lack of ability in that sort of
warfare, according to the temper or breeding of the
parties.

When the novelty of this scene was worn out, for
though often seen it is ever new, and we had fallen a few
miles below the city, to where the eye first meets the
smiling face of the country, I looked eagerly around, first
upon one, and then upon the other bank of the river, in
search of the villas of our fortunate citizens, waiting
impatiently till the well-known turn of the stream should
bring me before yours, where, with our mutual friends,
we have passed so many happy days. It was not long
before I was gratified. Our vessel gracefully doubled
the projecting point, blackened with that thick grove of
pine, and your hospitable dwelling greeted my eyes; now,
alas! again, by that loved and familiar object, made to
overflow with tears. I was obliged, by one manly effort,
to leap clear of the power of all-subduing love, for my

sensibilities were drawing upon me the observation of
my fellow passengers. I therefore withdrew from the
side of the vessel where I had been standing, and moving
to that part of it which would best protect me from what,
but now, I had so eagerly sought, sat down and occupied
myself in watching the movements and the figures of the
persons whom chance had thrown into my company, and
with whom I was now, for several weeks, to be shut up in
the narrow compass of our merchant-barque. I had sat
but a little while, when the master of the ship, passing
by me, stopped, and asked if it was I who was to land at
Utica — for that one, or more than one, he believed, had
spoken for a passage only to that port.

`No, truly,' I replied; and added: `Do you, then,
cross over to Utica? — that seems to me far from a direct
course for those bound to Syria.'

`Better round-about,' rejoined he, in his rough way,
`than risk Scylla and Charybdis; and so would you
judge, were the bowels of my good ship stored with your
wealth, as they are, it may be, with that of some of
your friends. The Roman merchant likes not that narrow
strait, fatal to so many, but prefers the open sea,
though the voyage be longer. But with this wind —
once out of this foul Tiber — and we shall soon see the
white shores of Africa. Truly, what a medley we seem
to have on board! Jews, Romans, Syrians, Greeks,
soldiers, adventurers, merchants, pedlars, and, if I miss
not, Christians too; and you, if I miss not again, the
only patrician. I marvel at your taking ship with so
spotted a company, when there are these gay passenger-boats,
sacred to the trim persons of the capital, admitting
even not so much as a case of jewels beside.'

`Doubtless it would have been better on some accounts,'
I replied, `but my business was urgent, and I

could not wait for the sailing of the packet-boats; and
besides, I am not unwilling to adventure where I shall
mix with a greater variety of my own species, and gain
a better knowledge of myself by the study of others. In
this object I am not likely to be disappointed, for you
furnish me with diverse samples, which I can contemplate
at my leisure.'

`If one studied so as to know well the properties of
fishes or animals,' rejoined he, in a sneering tone, `it
would be profitable, for fishes can be eaten, and animals
can be used: but man! I know little that he is good for,
but to bury, and so fatten the soil. Emperors, as being
highest, should be best, and yet, what are they? Whether
they have been fools or madmen, the Tiber has still
run blood, and the air been poisoned by the rotting carcasses
of their victims. Claudius was a good man, I
grant; but the gods, I believe, envied us our felicity, and
so took him.'

`I trust,' said I, `that the present auspices will
not deceive us, and that the happiness begun under
that almost divine ruler, will be completed under him
whom he designated as most worthy of the sceptre
of the world, and whose reign — certainly we may say
it — has commenced so prosperously. I think better
of man than you do, and I cannot but believe that
there will yet rise up among us those who shall feel
what power, almost of a god, is lodged in the will of a
Roman emperor, and will use it like a god to bless, not
curse mankind. Why may not Nature repeat the virtuous
Antonines! Her power is not spent. For myself,
I have faith that Aurelian will restore not so much the
greatness, as the peace and happiness of the Empire.'

`So have not I,' cried the master of the ship: `is he
not sprung from the loins of a peasant? Has not the

camp been his home? Was not a shield his cradle?
Such power as his will craze him. Born to it, and the
chance were better. Mark a sailor's word: he will
sooner play the part of Maximin, than that of Antonine
or Severus, or of our late good Claudius. When he feels
easy in the saddle, we shall see what he will do. So far,
the blood of barbarians, slain in battle, has satisfied him:
when once in Rome, that of citizens will be sweeter.
But may the gods befriend us!'

At this point of our discourse, we were interrupted by
loud vociferations from the forward part of the vessel,
where I had long observed a crowd of the passengers,
who seemed engaged in some earnest conversation. The
tones now became sharp and angry, and the group suddenly
dispersed, separating this way and that, as the
hoarse and commanding voice of the master of the ship
reached them, calling upon them to observe the rules of
the vessel, which allowed of no riot or quarrelling.
Toward me there moved one whom I hardly know how
to describe, and yet feel that I must. You will here
doubtless exclaim, `Why obliged to describe? Why say
so much of accidental companions?' But you will
answer yourself, I feel persuaded, my Curtius, by supposing
that I should not particularly notice a mere companion
of the voyage, unless he had connected himself in
some manner with my fortunes. Such has been the case
with this person, and one other whom I will shortly introduce
to you. As I was saying, then, when that group
dispersed, one of its number moved toward me, and
seated himself near me. He was evidently a Roman
and a citizen. His features were of no other nation.
But with all the dignity that characterized him as a
Roman, there were mixed a sweetness and a mildness,
such as I never remembered to have seen in another.

And in the eye there was a melancholy and a deepness,
if I may say so, more remarkable still. It was the eye
of one who was all sorrow, all love, and all purity; in
whom the soul had undisputed sway over the passions
and the senses. I have seen an expression which has
approached it, in some of our priests, but far below it in
power and beauty. My first impulse was to address him,
but his pallid and thoughtful countenance, together with
that eye, restrained me, and I know not how I should
have overcome this strange diffidence, had not the difficulty
been removed by the intervention of a third party.
This was no other than one of those travelling Jews, who
infest all cities, towns and regions, and dwell among all
people, yet mixing with none. He was bent almost double
by the weight of large packages of goods, of all descriptions,
which he carried, part before and part behind
him, and which he had not yet laid aside, in the hope
I suppose, of effecting some sales among the passengers.

`Here's old Isaac the Jew,' cried he, as he approached
toward where I sat, and then stood before me resting his
pannier of articles upon a pile of merchandise, which
lay there — `here 's old Isaac the Jew, last from Rome,
but a citizen of the world, now on his way to Carthage
and Syria, with all sorts of jewelry and ornaments:
nothing that a lady wants that 's not here — or gentleman
either. Most noble Sir, let me press upon you this steel
mirror, of the most perfect polish: see the setting, too;
could the fancy of it be better? No? You would
prefer a ring: look then at this assortment — iron and
gold rings — marriage, seal, and fancy rings — buckles,
too: have you seen finer? Here, too, are soaps, perfumes,
and salves for the toilet — hair-pins and essences.
Perhaps you would prefer somewhat a little more useful.
I shall show you, then, these sandals and slippers: see

what a charming variety — both in form and color:
pretty feet alone should press these — think you not so?
But, alas! I cannot tempt you.'

`How is it possible,' said I, `for another to speak when
thy tongue wags so fast? Those rings I would gladly
have examined, and now that thou hast discharged that
volley of hoarse sounds, I pray thee open again that case.
I thank thee for giving me an occupation.'

`Take care!' replied the voluble Jew, throwing a
quick and mischievous glance toward the Roman whom
I have already mentioned — `take care how my friend
here of the new faith hears thee or sees thee, an' thou
would'st escape a rebuke. He holds my beauties here
and my calling in high contempt, and as for occupation,
he thinks one never need be idle who has himself to
converse with.'

`What you have last uttered is true,' replied the person
whom he addressed: `he need never want for employment,
who possesses the power of thought But as
to thy trade, I object not to that, nor to what thou sellest:
only to being myself a buyer.'

`Ha! thou wilt not buy? Trust Isaac for that. I
keep that which shall suit all, and enslave all. I would
have made thee buy of me before, but for the uproar of
those soldiers.'

While uttering these words, he had placed the case of
rings in my hands to examine them, and was engaged
himself in exploring the depths of a large package, from
which he at length triumphantly drew forth a parchment
roll.

`Now open all thine eyes, Nazarene,' cried the Jew,
`and thou shalt see what thou shalt. Look!'

And so saying, he unfolded the first page of the book,
upon which the eye of the Roman had no sooner fallen,

than his face suddenly glowed as if a god shone through
him, and reverently seizing the book, he exclaimed:

`I thank thee, Jew; thou hast conquered: I am a
customer too. Here is my purse — take what thou wilt.'

`Hold, hold!' interrupted the Jew, laughing, `I have
not done with thee yet; what thou hast bought in Greek,
I would now sell thee again in Latin. Thy half convert,
the soldier Macer, would greet this as a cordial
to his famishing soul. Take both, and thou hast them
cheaper.'

`Your cunning hardly deserves such a reward,' said
the Christian, as I now perceived him to be, `but you
have said well, and I not unwillingly obey your suggestions.
Pay yourself now for both, and give them to me,
carefully rolled up.'

`No better sale than this shall I make to-day, and that
too to a Jew-hating Nazarene. But what matters it whom
I tax for the upholding of Jerusalem? Surely it is
sweeter, when the cruel Roman or the heretic Christian
is made unconsciously to build at her walls.'

Thus muttered the Jew to himself, as he skilfully
bound into a parcel the Christian's books.

`And now, most excellent Sir,' said he, turning toward
me, `what do you find worthy your own or your lady's
finger? Here is another case — perhaps these may
strike you as rarer for their devices, or their workmanship.
But they are rather better suited to the tastes of
the rich Palmyrenes, to whom I am bearing them.'

`Ah!' I exclaimed, `these are what I want. This seal
ring, with the head of Zenobia, for which I sought in vain
in Rome, I will buy, nor care for its cost, if thou canst assure
me of its resemblance to the great queen. Who was
the artist?'

`As I stand here, a true son of Abraham,' he replied,

`it was worked by a Greek jeweller, who lives hard by the
Temple of Fortune, and who has engraved it after a drawing
made by a brother, an inhabitant of Palmyra. Two
such artists in their way are not to be found. I myself,
moreover, bore the original drawing from Demetrius to
his brother in Rome, and that it is like the great queen, I
can well testify, for I have often seen her. Her marvellous
beauty is here well expressed, or as well as that which
partakes so much more of heaven than of earth can be.
But look at these, too! Here I have what I look to do
well with. See! Heads of Odenatus! Think you not
they will take well? These also are done with the same
care as the others, and by the same workmen. Nothing
of the kind has as yet been seen in Palmyra, nor indeed
in Rome. Happy Isaac! — thy fortune is made! Come,
put them on thy finger, and observe their beauty. King
and queen—how lovingly they sit there together! 'T was
just so when Odenatus was alive. They were a noble
and a loving pair. The queen yet weeps for him.'

`Jew,' said I, `on thy word I purchase these. Although
thy name is in no good repute, yet thy face is honest,
and I will trust thee so far.'

`The name of the unfortunate and the weak is never in
repute,' said Isaac, as he took my money and folded up
the rings, his whole manner suddenly changing. `The
Jew is now but a worm, writhing under the heel of the
proud Roman. Many a time has he, however, as thou
well knowest, turned upon his destroyer, and tasted the
sweetness of a brief revenge. Why should I speak of the
massacres of Egypt, Cyrene, and Syria in the days of Trajan?
Let Rome beware! Small though we seem, the
day will yet arrive when the glory of Zion shall fill the
whole earth—and He shall yet arise, before whom the
mighty Emperor of Rome shall tremble in his palaces.—

This is what I say. Thanks to the great Aurelian, that
even a poor son of Abraham may speak his mind and not
lose his head. Here 's old Isaac: who 'll buy of old Isaac
— rings — pins — and razors, — who 'll buy?'

And so singing, he turned away, and mixed with the
passengers in the other parts of the vessel. The wild
glare of his eye, and deep, suppressed tone of his voice, as
he spoke of the condition and hopes of his tribe, startled
and moved me, and I would willingly have prolonged a
conversation with one of that singular people, about whom
I really know nothing, and with none of whom had I ever
before come in contact. When I see you again, I shall
have much to tell you of him; for during the rest of the
voyage we were often thrown together, and, as you will
learn, he has become of essential service to me in the
prosecution of my objects.

No sooner had Isaac withdrawn from our company,
than I embraced the opportunity to address myself to the
remarkable-looking person whom I have already in part
described.

`It is a great testimony,' I said, turning toward him,
`which these Jews bear to their national religion. I much
doubt if Romans, under similar circumstances of oppression,
would exhibit a constancy like theirs. Their attachment,
too, is to an invisible religion, as one may say, which
makes it the more remarkable. They have neither temples,
altars, victims, nor statues, nor any form of god or
goddess, to which they pay real or feigned adoration. Toward
us they bear deep and inextinguishable hate, for our
religion not less than for our oppressions. I never see a
Jew threading our streets with busy steps, and his dark,
piercing eye, but I seem to see an assassin, who, with Nero,
wishes the Roman people had but one neck, that he might
exterminate the whole race with a single blow. Toward

you, however, who are so nearly of his own faith, I suppose
his sentiments are more kindly. The Christian
Roman, perhaps, he would spare.'

`Not so, I greatly fear,' replied the Christian. `Nay,
the Jew bears a deeper hatred toward us than toward you,
and would sooner sacrifice us; for the reason, doubtless,
that we are nearer him in faith than you; just as our successful
emperors have no sooner found themselves securely
seated, than they have first turned upon the members of
their own family, that from this, the most dangerous
quarter, there should be no fear of rival or usurper. The
Jew holds the Christian — though in some sort believing
with him — as a rival — a usurper — a rebel; as one who
would substitute a novelty for the ancient creed of his
people, and, in a word, bring ruin upon the very existence
of his tribe. His suspicions, truly, are not without
foundation; but they do not excuse the temper with
which he regards us. I cast no imputation upon the
virtues of friend Isaac, in what I say. The very spirit of
universal love, I believe, reigns in his soul. Would that
all of his race were like him.'

`What you say is new and strange,' I replied. `I
may possibly bring shame upon myself, by saying so,
but it is true. I have been accustomed to regard Christians
and Jews as in effect one people; one, I mean, in
opinion and feeling. But in truth I know nothing. You
are not ignorant of the prejudice which exists toward
both these races, on the part of the Romans. I have
yielded, with multitudes around me, to prevailing ideas,
taking no steps to learn their truth or error. Our writers,
from Tacitus to the base tools — for such they must have
been — who lent themselves to the purposes of the bigot
Macrianus, and who filled the city with their accounts of
the Christians, have all agreed in representing your faith

as a dark and mischievous superstition. I have, indeed,
been struck with the circumstance, that while the Jews
make no converts from among us, great numbers are reported
to have joined the Christians; and of those, not
a few of the higher orders. The late Emperor Philip, I
think it clear, was a Christian. This might have taught
me that there is a wide difference between the Christian
and the Jew. But the general hatred toward both the
one and the other, together with the persecutions to
which they have been exposed, have made me more than
indifferent to their merits.'

`I trust the time will come,' replied the Christian,
`when our cause will be examined on the ground of its
merits. Why may we not believe that it has now come?
The Roman world is at peace. A strong and generous
prince is upon the throne. Mild and just laws restrain
the furious bigotry of an ignorant and sanguinary priesthood.
Men of intelligence and virtue adorn our profession,
from whom those who are anxious to know the truth
can hear it; and copies of our sacred books, both in
Greek and Latin, abound, whence may easily be learned
the true principles of our faith, and the light of whose
holy pages would instantly dispel the darkness by which
the minds of many, even of the virtuous and well-disposed,
are oppressed. It is hardly likely that a fitter
opportunity will soon offer for an examination of the
claims of Christianity. We have nothing to dread but
the deadness and indifference of the public mind. It is
not credible that polytheism should stand a day upon any
fair comparison of it with the religion of Christ. You
yourself are not a believer, (pardon my boldness) in the
ineffable stupidities of the common religion. To suppose
you were — I see by the expression of your countenance
— would be the unpardonable offence. I sincerely believe,

that nothing more is wanting to change you, and
every intelligent Roman, from professed supporters of the
common religion, (but real infidels), into warm believers
and advocates of the doctrine of Christ — but simply
this — to read his sayings, and the delineation of his
character, as they have been written down by some of
his followers. You are, I see, incredulous, but not more
so than I was myself only a year ago; yet you behold me
a Christian. I had to contend against, perhaps, far more
adverse influences than would oppose you. You start
with surprise that I should give evidence that I know
you; but I have many a time seen you at the shop of
Publius, and have heard you in your addresses to the
people. I am the son of a priest of the Temple of
Jupiter — son of a man, who, to a mildness and gentleness
of soul that would do honor to the Christian, added
a faith in the religion of his fathers, deep-struck and firm-rooted
as the rocks of ocean. I was his assistant in
the duties of his office. My childish faith was all he
could wish it; I reverenced a religion which had nurtured
virtues like his. In process of time, I became
myself a father. Four children, more beautiful than
ever visited the dreams of Phidias, made my dwelling a
portion of Elysium, as I then thought. Their mother —
but why should I speak of her? It is enough to say,
she was a Roman mother. At home, it was my supreme
happiness to sport with my little ones, or initiate them
into the elements of useful knowledge. And often, when
at the temple preparing for the days of ceremony, my
children were with me; and my labors were nothing,
cheered by the music of their feet running upon the
marble pavements, and of their merry voices echoing
among the columns and arches of the vast interior. O
days thrice happy! They were too happy to last. Within
the space of one year — one cruel year — these four
living idols were ravished from my arms by a prevailing
disease. My wife, broken-hearted, soon followed them,
and I was left alone. I need not describe my grief: I
will only say, that with bitter imprecations I cursed the
gods. `Who are ye,' I cried, `who sit above in your
secure seats, and make your sport of human wo? Ye
are less than men. Man though I am, I would not inflict
upon the meanest slave the misery ye have poured upon
my defenceless head. Where are your mercies?' I
was frantic. How long this lasted I cannot tell, for I
took no note of time. I was awakened, may I not say
saved, by a kind neighbor whom I had long known to
be a Christian. He was a witness of my sufferings,
and with deep compassion ministered to my necessities.
`Probus,' said he, `I know your sorrows, and I know
your wants. I have perceived that neither your own
thoughts, nor all the philosophy of your venerable father,
have brought you peace. It is not surprising: ye are but
men, and ye have but the power and the wisdom of men.
It is aid from the Divinity that you want. I will not
discourse with you; but I leave with you this book, which
I simply ask you to read.' I read it — and read it —
again and again; and I am a Christian. As the Christian
grew up within me, my pains were soothed, and
days, once days of tears and unavailing complaints, are
now days of calm and cheerful duty: I am a new man.'

I cannot describe to you, my Curtius, the effect of
this little narrative upon myself, or upon those who, as he
spoke, had gathered round, especially those hard-featured
soldiers. Tears flowed down their weather-beaten faces,
and one of them — Macer, as I afterward learned — cried
out: `Where now are the gods of Rome?' Probus
started from his seat, apparently for the first time conscious

of any other listener beside myself, and joined the
master of the vessel at the helm. I resigned myself to
meditation; and that night fell asleep, thinking of the
Christian and his book.

Five days brought us in sight of the African coast, but
quite to the west of Utica. So, coasting along, we presently
came off against Hippo, and then doubling a promontory,
both Utica and Carthage were at once visible
— Utica nearer, Carthage just discernible in the distance.
All was now noise and bustle, as we rapidly drew
near the port. Many of our passengers were to land
here, and they were busily employed, with the aid of the
sailors, in collecting their merchandise or their baggage.
The soldiers destined to the African service, here left us,
together with the Jew Isaac, and the Christian Probus.
I was sorry, indeed, to lose them, as beside them, there
was not one on board, except the governor of the ship,
from whose company or conversation I could derive
either pleasure or knowledge. They are both of them,
however, destined to Palmyra, as well as myself, and I
shall soon expect them to join me here. You smile at
my speaking thus of a travelling Jew, and a despised
Christian, but in the issue you will acknowledge your as
well as my obligations to them both. I confess myself
attached to them. As the Jew turned to bid me farewell,
before he sprung on shore, he said:

`Most noble Piso, if thou forsakest the gods of Rome,
let it be for the synagogue of the children of Abraham,
whose faith is not of yesterday. Be not beguiled by
the specious tongue of that heretic Probus. I can tell
thee a better story than his.'

`Fear not, honest Isaac,' I cried, `I am not yet so weary
of the faith of my ancestors. That cannot be altogether
despicable, which has had power to bind in one mass the

whole Roman people for so many ages. I shall be no easy
convert to either you or Probus. Farewell, to meet in
Tadmor. Probus now passed me, and said: `If I should
not see you in the Eastern capital, according to my purpose,
I trust I shall in Rome. My dwelling is in the Livian
way not far from the Pantheon, opposite the well known
house of Vitruvius, still so called; or at the shop of
the learned Publius, I may be seen every morning, and
may there be always heard of.' I assured him that
no affairs could be so pressing, after I should return to
Rome, as not to allow me to seek him, but that I hoped
the fates would not interpose to deprive me of the pleasure
of first seeing him in Palmyra. So we parted. And very
soon after, the merchandise and passengers being all landed,
we set sail again, and stood out to sea. I regretted
that we were not to touch at Carthage, as my desire had
always been strong to see that famous place. An adverse
wind, however, setting in from the North, drove us farther
toward the city than the pilot intended to have gone, and
I thus obtained quite a satisfactory glimpse of the African
capital. I was surprised at the indications of its vastness
and grandeur. Since its attempted restoration by Augustus,
it has advanced steadily to almost its former populousness
and magnificence. Nothing could be more imposing
and beautiful, than its long lines of buildings, its
towers, walls, palaces, and columns, seen through the
warm and rosy mist of an African sky. I could hardly
believe that I was looking but upon a provincial city, a
dependant upon almighty Rome. It soon sunk below the
horizon, as its glory had sunk once before.

I will not detain you long with our voyage, but will only
mark out its course. Leaving the African shore, we
struck across to Sicily, and coasting along its eastern border,
beheld with pleasure the towering form of ætna,

sending up into the heavens a dull and sluggish cloud of
vapors. We then ran between the Peloponnesus and
Crete, and so held our course till the Island of Cyprus
rose like her own fair goddess from the ocean, and filled
our eyes with a beautiful vision of hill and valley, wooded
promontory, and glittering towns and villas. A fair wind
soon withdrew us from these charming prospects, and
after driving us swiftly and roughly over the remainder of
our way, rewarded us with a brighter and more welcome
vision still — the coast of Syria and our destined port,
Berytus.

As far as the eye could reach, both toward the North
and the South, we beheld a luxuriant region, crowded
with villages, and giving every indication of comfort and
wealth. The city itself, which we rapidly approached,
was of inferior size, but presented an agreeable prospect
of warehouses, public and private edifices, overtopped
here and there by the lofty palm, and other trees of a new
and peculiar foliage. Four days were consumed here in
the purchase of slaves, camels, and horses, and in other
preparations for the journey across the Desert. Two
routes presented themselves, one more, the other less
direct; the last, though more circuitous, appeared to
me the more desirable, as it would take me within
sight of the modern glories and ancient remains of Heliopolis.
This, therefore, was determined upon; and on the
morning of the fifth day we set forward upon our long
march. Four slaves, two camels, and three horses, with
an Arab conductor, constituted our little caravan; but
for greater safety we attached ourselves to a much larger
one than our own, in which we were swallowed up and
lost, consisting of travellers and traders, from all parts of
the world, and who were also on their way to Palmyra, as
a point whence to separate to various parts of the vast

East. It would delight me to lay before you with the
distinctness and minuteness of a picture, the whole of this
novel, and to me most interesting, route; but I must
content myself with a slight sketch, and reserve fuller
communications to the time when once more seated with
you upon the Cœlian, we enjoy the freedom of social
converse.

Our way through the valleys of Libanus, was like one
long wandering among the pleasure grounds of opulent
citizens. The land was every where richly cultivated,
and a happier peasantry, as far as the eye of the traveller
could judge, nowhere exists. The most luxuriant valleys
of our own Italy, are not more crowded with the evidences
of plenty and contentment. Upon drawing near to
the ancient Baalbec, I found, on inquiry of our guide,
that we were not to pass through it, as I had hoped, nor
even very near it, not nearer than between two and three
miles. So that in this I had been clearly deceived by
those of whom I had made the most exact inquiries at
Berytus. I thought I discovered great command of mysef,
in that I did not break the head of my Arab, who
doubtless, to answer purposes of his own, had brought me
thus out of my way for nothing. The event proved, however,
that it was not for nothing; for soon after we had
started on our journey, on the morning of the second day,
turning suddenly around the projecting rock of a mountain
ridge, we all at once beheld, as if a veil had been
lifted up, Heliopolis and its suburbs, spread out before us
in all their various beauty. The city lay about three
miles distant. I could only, therefore, identify its principal
structure, the Temple of the Sun, as built by the first
Antonine. This towered above the walls, and over all
the other buildings, and gave vast ideas of the greatness
of the place, leading the mind to crowd it with other

edifices that should bear some proportion to this noble
monument of imperial magnificence. As suddenly as
the view of this imposing scene had been revealed, so
suddenly was it again eclipsed, by another short turn in
the road, which took us once more into the mountain valleys.
But the overhanging and impenetrable foliage of a
Syrian forest shielding me from the fierce rays of a burning
sun, soon reconciled me to my loss — more especially
as I knew that in a short time we were to enter upon the
sandy desert, which stretches from the Anti-Libanus almost
to the very walls of Palmyra.

Upon this boundless desert we now soon entered. The
scene which it presented, was more dismal than I can
describe. A red, moving sand — or hard and baked by
the heat of a sun, such as Rome never knows — low,
gray rocks just rising here and there above the level of
the plain, with now and then the dead and glittering
trunk of a vast cedar, whose roots seemed as if they
had outlasted centuries — the bones of camels and elephants,
scattered on either hand, dazzling the sight by
reason of their excessive whiteness — at a distance occasionally
an Arab of the desert, for a moment surveying
our long line, and then darting off to his fastnesses — these
were the objects which, with scarce any variation, met our
eyes during the four wearisome days that we dragged ourselves
over this wild and inhospitable region. A little after
noon of the fourth day, as we started on our way, having
refreshed ourselves and our exhausted animals, at a spring
which here poured out its warm but still grateful waters
to the traveller, my ears received the agreeable news, that
toward the east there could now be discerned the dark
line, which indicated our approach to the verdant tract
that encompasses the great city. Our own excited spirits
were quickly imparted to our beasts, and a more rapid

movement soon revealed into distinctness the high land
and waving groves of palm trees which mark the site of
Palmyra.

It was several miles before we reached the city, that
we suddenly found ourselves — landing as it were, from a
sea upon an island or continent — in a rich and thickly
peopled country. The roads indicated an approach to a
great capital, in the increasing numbers of those who
thronged them, meeting and passing us, overtaking us, or
crossing our path. Elephants, camels, and the dromedary,
which I had before seen only in the amphitheatres,
I here beheld as the native inhabitants of the soil. Frequent
villas of the rich and luxurious Palmyrenes, to
which they retreat from the greater heats of the city now
threw a lovely charm over the scene. Nothing can exceed
the splendor of these sumptuous palaces. Italy
itself has nothing which surpasses them. The new and
brilliant costumes of the persons whom we met, together
with the rich housings of the animals which they rode,
served greatly to add to all this beauty. I was still entranced,
as it were, by the objects around me, and buried
in reflection, when I was aroused by the shout of those
who led the caravan, and who had attained the summit
of a little rising ground, saying, `Palmyra! Palmyra!'
I urged forward my steed, and in a moment the
most wonderful prospect I ever beheld — no, I cannot
except even Rome — burst upon my sight. Flanked by
hills of considerable elevation on the East, the city filled
the whole plain below as far as the eye could reach,
both toward the North and toward the South. This immense
plain was all one vast and boundless city. It
seemed to me to be larger than Rome. Yet I knew
very well that it could not be — that it was not. And it
was some time before I understood the true character of

the scene before me, so as to separate the city from the
country, and the country from the city, which here wonderfully
interpenetrate each other, and so confound and
deceive the observer. For the city proper is so studded
with groups of lofty palm trees, shooting up among its
temples and palaces, and on the other hand, the plain in
its immediate vicinity is so thickly adorned with magnificent
structures of the purest marble, that it is not
easy, nay it is impossible at the distance at which I contemplated
the whole, to distinguish the line which divided
the one from the other. It was all city and all country,
all country and all city. Those which lay before me
I was ready to believe were the Elysian Fields. I imagined
that I saw under my feet the dwellings of purified
men and of gods. Certainly they were too glorious for the
mere earth-born. There was a central point, however,
which chiefly fixed my attention, where the vast Temple
of the Sun, stretched upward its thousand columns of polished
marble to the heavens, in its matchless beauty
casting into the shade every other work of art of which
the world can boast. I have stood before the Parthenon,
and have almost worshipped that divine achievement of
the immortal Phidias. But it is a toy by the side of this
bright crown of the Eastern capital. I have been at
Milan, at Ephesus, at Alexandria, at Antioch; but in
neither of those renowned cities have I beheld any thing
that I can allow to approach in united extent, grandeur,
and most consummate beauty, this almost more than work
of man. On each side of this, the central point, there
rose upward slender pyramids — pointed obelisks — domes
of the most graceful proportions, columns, arches, and
lofty towers, for number and for form, beyond my power
to describe. These buildings, as well as the walls of the
city, being all either of white marble, or of some stone
as white, and being every where in their whole extent
interspersed, as I have already said, with multitudes of
overshadowing palm trees, perfectly filled and satisfied
my sense of beauty, and made me feel for the moment,
as if in such a scene I should love to dwell, and there end
my days. Nor was I alone in these transports of delight.
All my fellow travellers seemed equally affected:
and from the native Palmyrenes, of whom there were
many among us, the most impassioned and boastful
exclamations broke forth. `What is Rome to this?' they
cried: `Fortune is not constant. Why may not Palmyra
be what Rome has been — mistress of the world? Who
more fit to rule than the great Zenobia? A few years
may see great changes. Who can tell what shall come
to pass?' These, and many such sayings, were uttered
by those around me, accompanied by many significant
gestures, and glances of the eye. I thought of them afterward.
We now descended the hill, and the long line
of our caravan moved on toward the city.