 | LETTER XV. Letters of Lucius M. Piso, from Palmyra, to his friend Marcus Curtius at Rome |  |
15. LETTER XV.
It were a vain endeavor, my Curtius, to attempt to
describe the fever of indignation, and rage, and grief that
burned in the bosoms of this unhappy people, as soon as
it was known that their Queen was a captive in the hands
of the Romans. Those imprisoned upon suspicion of having
been concerned in her betrayal, would have been torn from
their confinement, and sacrificed to the wrath of the citizens,
in the first hours of their excitement, but for the formidable
guard by which the prisons were defended. The
whole population seemed in the streets and public places,
giving and receiving with eagerness such intelligenec as
could be obtained. Their affliction is such as it would be
had each one lost a parent or a friend. The men rave,
or sit, or wander about listless and sad; the women weep;
children catch the infection, and lament as for the greatest
misfortune that could have overtaken them. The soldiers,
at first dumb with amazement at so unlooked for and unaccountable
a catastrophe, afterward, upon learning that
it fell out through the treason of Antiochus, bound themselves
by oaths never to acknowledge or submit to his
authority, though Aurelian himself should impose him
upon them, nay, to sacrifice him to the violated honor of
the empire, if ever he should fall into their power.
Yet all are not such. The numbers are not contemptible
of those who, openly or secretly, favor the cause and
approve the act of Antiochus. He has not committed so
great a crime without some prospect of advantage from
it, nor without the assurance that a large party of the
citizens, though not the largest, is with him, and will
adhere to his fortunes. These are they, who think, and
her insane ambition and pride. They cleave to Antiochus
not from personal regard toward him, but because he
seems more available for their present purposes than any
other, principally through his fool-hardy ambition; and,
on the other hand, they abandon the Queen, not for
want of a personal affection, equal perhaps to what exists
in any others, but because they conceive that the power
of Rome is too mighty to contend with, and that their
best interests rather than any extravagant notions of national
honor, ought to prompt their measures.
The city will now give itself up, it is probable, upon the
first summons of Aurelian. The council and the senate
have determined that to hold out longer than a few days
more is impossible. The provisions of the public granaries
are exhausted, and the people are already beginning
to be pinched with hunger. The rich, and all who have
been enabled to subsist upon their own stores, are now
engaged in distributing what remains among the poorer
sort, and who are now thrown upon their compassions.
May it not be, that I am to be a witness of a people dying
of hunger. Gracchus and Fausta are busily employed in
relieving the wants of the suffering.
We have waited impatiently to hear the fate of the
Queen. Many reports have prevailed, founded upon
what has been observed from the walls. At one time, it
has been said that she had perished under the hands of
the executioner — at another, that the whole Roman camp
had been seen to be thrown into wild tumult, and that
she had doubtless fallen a sacrifice to the ungovernable
fury of the licentious soldiery. I cannot think either
report probable. Aurelian, if he revenged himself by her
death, would reserve her for execution on the day of his
triumph. But he would never tarnish his glory by
more than that they are under too rigid a discipline,
and hold Aurelian in too great terror, to dare to commit
a violence like that which has been imputed to them.
At length — for hours are months in such suspense —
we are relieved. Letters have come from Nichomachus to
both Longinus and Livia.
First, their sum is, the Queen lives!
I shall give you what I gather from them.
`When we had parted,' writes the secretary,' `from the
river's edge, we were led at a rapid pace over the same
path we had just come, to the neighborhood of the Roman
camp. I learned from what I overheard of the conversation
of the Centurion, with his companion at his side, that
the flight of the Queen had been betrayed. But beyond
that, nothing.
`We were taken not at once to the presence of Aurelian,
but lodged in one of the abandoned palaces in the
outskirts of the city — that of Seleucus, if I err not —
where, the Queen being assigned the apartments needful
for her and her effects, a guard was set around the
building.
`Here we had remained not long, yet long enough for
the Queen to exchange her disguise for her usual robes,
when it was announced by the Centurion that we must
proceed to the tent of the Emperor. The Queen and the
Princess were placed in a close litter, and conveyed
secretly there, out of fear of the soldiers, “who,” said the
Centurion, “if made aware of whom we carry, would in
their rage tear to fragments and scatter to the winds both
the litter and its burden.”
`We were in this manner borne through the camp to
the tent of Aurelian. As we entered, the Emperor stood
at its upper end, surrounded by the chief persons of his
changing countenance and disturbed manner might it be
plainly seen how even an Emperor, and he the Emperor
of the world, felt the presence of a majesty such as Zenobia's.
And never did our great mistress seem more a
Queen than now — not through that commanding pride,
which, when upon her throne, has impressed all who
have approached her with a feeling of inferiority, but
through a certain dark and solemn grandeur that struck
with awe, as if some superior being, those who looked
upon her. There was no sign of grief upon her countenance,
but many of a deep and rooted sadness, such as
might never pass away. No one could behold her and
not lament the fortune that had brought her to such a
pass. Whoever had thought to enjoy the triumph of
exulting over the royal captive, was rebuked by that air
of calm dignity and profound melancholy, which even
against the will, touched the hearts of all, and forced
their homage.
“`It is a happy day for Rome,” said Aurelian, approaching
and saluting her, “that sees you, lately Queen
of Palmyra and of the East, a captive in the tent of Aurelian.”
“`And a dark one for my afflicted country,” replied
the Queen.
“`It might have been darker,” rejoined the Emperor,
“had not the good providence of the Gods delivered you
into my hands.”
“`The Gods preside not over treachery. And it must
have been by treason among those in whom I have placed
my most familiar trust, that I am now where and what I
am. I can but darkly surmise by whose baseness the act
has been committed. It had been a nobler triumph to
you, Roman, and a lighter fall to me, had the field of
to your tent.”
“`Doubtless it had been so,” replied Aurelian; “yet
was it for me to cast away what chance threw into my
power? A war is now happily ended, which, had your
boat reached the further bank of the Euphrates, might
yet have raged — and but to the mutual harm of two great
nations. Yet it was both a bold and sagacious device, and
agrees well with what was done by you at Antioch, Emesa,
and now in the defence of your city. A more determined,
a better appointed, or more desperate foe, I never yet
have contended with.”
“`It were strange, indeed,” replied the Queen, “if
you met not with a determined foe, when life and liberty
were to be defended. Had not treason, base and accursed
treason, given me up like a chained slave to your
power, yonder walls must have first been beaten piecemeal
down by your engines, and buried me beneath their
ruins, and famine clutched all whom the sword had
spared, ere we had owned you master. What is life,
when liberty and independence are gone?”
“`But why, let me ask,” said Aurelian, “were you
moved to assert an independency of Rome? How many
peaceful and prosperous years have rolled on since Trajan
and the Antonines, while you and Rome were at harmony
— a part of us and yet independent — allies rather
than a subject province — using our power for your defence
— yet owning no allegiance. Why was this order
disturbed? What madness ruled to turn you against the
power of Rome?”
“`The same madness,' replied Zenobia, `that tells
Aurelian he may yet possess the whole world, and sends
him here into the far East to wage needless war with a
woman — Ambition! Yet had Aurelian always been
perhaps been different. There then could have been
nought but honor in any alliance that had bound together
Rome and Palmyra. But was I, was the late renowned
Odenatus to confess allegiance to base souls such as
Aureolus, Gallienus, Balista? While the thirty tyrants
were fighting for the Roman crown, was I to sit still,
waiting humbly to become the passive prey of whosoever
might please to call me his? By the immortal
Gods not so. I asserted my supremacy, and made it
felt; and in times of tumult and confusion to Rome,
while her Eastern provinces were one scene of discord
and civil broil, I came in, and reduced the jarring elements,
and out of parts broken and sundered, and hostile,
I constructed a fair and well proportioned whole.
And when once created, and I had tasted the sweets of
sovereign and despotic power — what they are thou
knowest — was I tamely to yield the whole at the word or
threat even of Aurelian? It could not be. So many
years as had passed and seen me Queen, not of Palmyra
only, but of the East — a sovereign honored and courted
at Rome, feared by Persia, my alliance sought by all the
neighboring dominions of Asia, had served but to foster
in me that love of rule which descended to me from a
long line of kings. Sprung from a royal line, and so long
upon a throne, it was superior force alone — divine or
human — that should drag me from my right. Thou
hast been but four years king, Aurelian, monarch of the
great Roman world, yet wouldst thou not, but with painful
unwillingness, descend and mix with the common
herd. For me, ceasing to reign, I would cease to live.”
“`Thy speech,' said Aurelian, “shows thee well worthy
to reign. It is no treason to Rome, Carus, to lament
that the fates have cast down from a throne, one who
of Petronius, thou mightest still, lady, have sat upon
thy native seat. The crown of Palmyra might still have
girt thy brow.”
“`But not of the East,” rejoined the Queen.
“`Fight against ambition, Carus, thou seest how, by
aiming at too much, it loses all. It is the bane of humanity.
When I am dead, may ambition then die, nor
rise again.”
“`May it be so,” replied his general, “it has greatly
cursed the world. It were better perhaps that it died
now.”
“`It cannot,” replied Aurelian, “its life is too strong. I
lament too, great Queen, for so I may well call thee, that
upon an ancient defender of our Roman honor, upon her
who revenged Rome upon the insolent Persian, this heavy
fate should fall. I would willingly have met for the first
time in a different way, the brave conqueror of Sapor, the
avenger of the wrongs and insults of the virtuous Valerian.
The debt of Rome to Zenobia is great, and shall
yet, in some sort at least, be paid. Curses upon those
who moved thee to this war. They have brought this calamity
upon thee, Queen, not I, nor thou. What ill designing
aspirants have urged thee on? This is not a
woman's war.”
“`Was not that a woman's war,” replied the Queen,
“that drove the Goths from upper Asia? Was not that a
woman's war that hemmed Sapor in his capital, and
seized his camp—and that which beat Heraclianus, and
gained thereby Syria and Mesopotamia, and that which
worsted Probus, and so won the crown of Egypt. Does
it ask for more, to be beaten by Romans, than to conquer
these? Rest assured, great prince, that the war
was mine. My people were indeed with me, but it was I
advisers. Their names are known throughout the world.
Why should I name the renowned Longinus, the princely
Gracchus, the invincible Zabdas, the honest Otho.
Their names are honored in Rome as well as here. They
have been with me; but without lying or vanity, I may
say I have been their head.”
“`Be it so; nevertheless, thy services shall be remembered.
But let us now to the affairs before us. The city
has not surrendered — though thy captivity is known, the
gates still are shut. A word from thee would open
them.”
“`It is a word I cannot speak,” replied the Queen,
her countenance expressing now, instead of sorrow, indignation,
“wouldst thou that I too should turn traitor?”
“`It surely would not be that,” replied the Emperor.
“It can avail naught to contend further — it can but end
in a wider destruction, both of your people and my soldiers.”
“`Longinus, I may suppose,” said Zenobia, “is now
supreme. Let the Emperor address him, and what is
right will be done.”
`Aurelian turned, and held a brief conversation with
some of his officers.
“`Within the walls,” said the Emperor, again addressing
the Queen, “thou hast sons. Is it not so?”
“`It is not they,” said the Queen quickly, her countenance
growing pale, “it is not they, or either of them,
who have conspired against me?”
“`No — not quite so. Yet he who betrayed thee calls
himself of thy family. Thy sons surely were not in
league with him. Soldiers,” cried the Emperor, “lead
forth the great Antiochus, and his slave.”
`At his name, the Queen started — the Princess uttered
fallen.”
`A fold of the tent was drawn aside, and the huge
form of Antiochus appeared, followed by the Queen's
slave, her head bent down and eyes cast upon the ground.
If a look could have killed, the first glance of Zenobia,
so full of a withering contempt, would have destroyed
her base kinsman. He heeded it but so much as to
blush, and turn away his face from her. Upon Sindarina
the Queen gazed with a look of deepest sorrow. The
beautiful slave stood there where she entered, not lifting
her head, but her bosom rising and falling with some
great emotion — conscious, as it seemed, that the Queen's
look was fastened upon her, and fearing to meet it. But
it was so only for a moment, when raising her head, and
revealing a countenance swollen with grief, she rushed
toward the Queen, and threw herself at her feet, embracing
them, and covering them with kisses. Her deep
sobs took away all power of speech. The Queen only
said, “My poor Sindarina.”
`The stern voice of Aurelian was first heard, “Bear
her away — bear her from the tent.”
`A guard seized her, and forcibly separating her from
Zenobia, bore her weeping away.
“`This,” said Aurelian, turning now to Zenobia, “this
is thy kinsman, as he tell me — the Prince Antiochus?”
`The Queen replied not.
“`He has done Rome a great service.” Antiochus
raised his head, and strained his stooping shoulders. “He
has the merit of ending a weary and disastrous war. It
is a rare fortune to fall to any one. 'T is a work to grow
great upon. Yet Prince,” turning to Antiochus, “the
work is not complete. The city yet holds out. If I am
thou must open the gates. Canst thou do it?
“`Great Prince,” replied the base spirit eagerly, “it is
provided for. Allow me but a few moments, and a place
proper for it, and the gates I warrant shall quickly swing
upon their hinges.”
“`Ah! do you say so? That is well. What, I pray,
is the process?”
“`At a signal, which I shall make, noble Prince, and
which has been agreed upon, every head of every one of
the Queen's party rolls in the dust—Longinus, Gracchus,
and his daughter, Seleucus, Gabrayas, and a host more—
their heads fall. The gates are then to be thrown open.”
“`Noble Palmyrene, you have the thanks of all. Of
the city then we are at length secure. For this, thou
wouldst have the rule of it under Rome, wielding a
sceptre in the name of the Roman Senate, and paying
tribute as a subject province. Is it not so?”
“`It is. That is what I would have, and would do,
most excellent Aurelian.”
“`Who are thy associates in this? Are the Queen's
sons, Herennianus, Timolaus, Vabalathus, of thy side,
and partners in this enterprise?”
“`They are not knowing to the design to deliver up to
thy great power, the Queen, their mother; but they are
my friends, and most surely do I count upon their support.
As I shall return king of Palmyra, they will gladly
share my power.”
“`But if friends of thine, they are enemies of mine,”
rejoined Aurelian, in terrific tones, “they are seeds of
future trouble; they may sprout up into kings also, to
Rome's annoyance. They must be crushed. Dost thou
understand me?”
“`I do great Prince. Leave them to me. I will do
any — friends or enemies.”
“`Escape not so. They must die,” roared Aurelian.
“`They shall — they shall.” ejaculated the alarmed
Antiochus, “soon as I am within the walls, their heads
shall be sent to thee.”
“`That now is as I would have it. One thing more
thou hast asked — that the fair slave who accompanies
thee, be spared to thee, to be thy Queen.”
“`It was her desire — hers — noble Aurelian, not
mine.”
“`But didst thou not engage to her as much.”
“`Truly I did. But among princes such words are
but politic ones. That is well understood. Kings marry
for the state. I would be higher matched,” and the sensual
demon cast his eyes significantly towards the Princess
Julia.
“`Am I understood,” continued Antiochus, Aurelian
making no response, “The princess Julia I would raise
to the throne.” The monster seemed to dilate to twice
his common size, as his mind fed upon the opening
glories.
`Aurelian had turned from him, looking first at his
Roman attendants, then at the Queen and Julia — his
countenance kindling with some swelling passion.
“`Do I understand thee?” he then said. “I understand
thee to say that for the bestowment of the favors
and honors thou hast named, thou wilt do the things thou
hast now specifically promised. Is it not so?”
“`It is gracious king.”
“`Dost thou swear it.”
“`I swear it by the great God of Light.”
`The countenance of the Emperor now grew black
with, as it seemed, mingled fury and contempt. Antiochus
his thick brain.
“`Romans,” cried Aurelian “pardon me for so abusing
your ears. And you, our royal captives. I knew not
that such baseness lived — still less that it was here.
Thou foul stigma upon humanity! Why opens not the
earth under thee, but that it loathes and rejects thee! Is
a Roman like thee, dost thou think, to reward thy unheard
of treacheries? Thou knowest no more what a
Roman is, than what truth and honor are. Soldiers!
seize yonder miscreant, write traitor on his back, and
spurn him forth the camp. His form and his soul both
offened alike. Hence monster!'
`Antiochus was like one thunderstruck. Trembling
in every joint, he sought to appeal to the Emperor's mercy,
but the guard stopped his mouth, and dragged him from
the tent. His shrieks pierced the air as the soldiers
scourged him beyond the encampment.
“`It was not for me,” said Aurelian, as these ceased
to be heard, “to refuse what fate threw into my hands.
Though I despised the traitorous informer, I could not
shut my ear to the facts he revealed, without myself betraying
the interests of Rome. But believe me it was
information I would willingly have spared. My infamy
were as his to have rewarded the traitor. Fear not,
Queen, I pledge the word of a Roman and an Emperor
for thy safety. Thou art safe both from Roman and
Palmyrene.”
“`What I have but now been witness of,” replied the
Queen, “assures me that in the magnanimity of Aurelian
I may securely rest.”
`As the Queen uttered these words, a sound as of a
distant tumult, and the uproar of a multitude caught the
ears of all within the tent.
“`What mean these tumultuous cries,” inquired Aurelian
of his attending guard, “They increase and approach.”
“`It may be but the soldiers at their game with Antiochus,”
replied Probus.
`But it was not so. At the moment a Centurion,
breathless, and with his head bare, rushed madly into the
tent.
“`Speak,” said the Emperor, “what is it?”
“`The Legions,” said the Centurion, as soon as he
could command his words, “are advancing, crying out
for the Queen of Palmyra. They have broken from their
camp and their leaders, and in one mixed body come to
surround the Emperor's tent.”
`As he ended, the fierce cries of the enraged soldiery
were distinctly heard, like the roaring of a forest torn by
a tempest. Aurelian baring his sword, and calling upon
his friends to do the same, sprung toward the entrance
of the tent. They were met by the dense throng of the
soldiers, who now pressed against the tent, and whose
savage yells now could be heard,
“`The Head of Zenobia.” “Deliver the Queen to
our will.” “Throw out the head of Zenobia, and we will
return to our quarters.” “She belongs to us.”
`At the same moment the sides of the tent were thrown
up, showing the whole plain filled with the heaving multitude,
and being itself instantly crowded with the ringleaders
and their more desperate associates. Zenobia,
supporting the Princess, who clung to her, and pale
through a just apprehension of every horror, but otherwise
firm and undaunted, cried out to Aurelian, “Save
us, O Emperor, from this foul butchery.”
“`We will die else,” replied the Emperor, who with
the word, sprung upon a soldier making toward the
swinging around him that sword which had drunk the
blood of thousands, and followed by the gigantic Sandaron,
by Probus, and Carus, a space around the Queen
was soon cleared. “Back, ruffians,” cried Aurelian, in
a voice of thunder, “for you are no longer Romans,
back to the borders of the tent. There I will hear your
complaints.” The soldiers fell back, and their ferocious
cries ceased.
“`Now,” cried the Emperor, addressing them, “what
is your will, that thus in wild disorder you throng my
tent?”
`One from the crowd replied — “Our will is that the
Queen of Palmyra be delivered to us as our right instantly.
Thousands and thousands of our bold companions lie buried
upon these accursed plains, slain by her and her fiery
engines. We demand her life. It is but justice, and
faint justice too.”
“`Her life” — “Her life” — arose in one shout from
the innumerable throng.'
`The Emperor raised his hand, waving his sword dripping
with the blood of the slain soldier; the noise subsided;
— and his voice clear and loud, like the tone of a
trumpet, went to the farthest bounds of the multitude.
“`Soldiers,” he cried, “you ask for justice — and justice
you shall have.”—“Aurelian is ever just,” cried many
voices. “But you shall not have the life of the Queen of
Palmyra. — He paused — a low murmur went through
the crowd, — or you must first take the life of your Emperor,
and of these who stand with me.” The soldiers
were silent. “In asking the life of Zenobia,” he continued,
“you know not what you ask. Are any here who
went with Valerian to the Persian war?” A few voices
there any here whose parents, or brothers, or friends fell into
the tiger clutches of the barbarian Sapor, and died miserably
in hopeless captivity?” Many voices every where
throughout the crowd were heard in reply, “Yes, yes,”
“Mine were there, and mine.” “Did you ever hear it
said,” continued Aurelian, “that Rome lifted a finger for
their rescue, or for that of the good Valerian?” They
were silent, some crying, “No, no.” “Know then
that when Rome forgot her brave soldiers and her Emperor,
Zenobia remembered and avenged them, and
Rome, fallen into contempt with the Persian, was raised
to her ancient renown by the arms of her ally,
the brave Zenobia — and her dominions throughout the
East saved from the grasp of Sapor only by her valor.
While Gallienus wallowed in sensuality and forgot Rome,
and even his own great father, the Queen of Palmyra
stood forth, and with her royal husband, the noble Odenatus,
was in truth the saviour of the empire. And is it
her life you would have? Were that a just return? Were
that Roman magnanimity? — And grant that thousands
of your brave companions lie buried upon these plains.
It is but the fortune of war. Were they not slain in honorable
fight, in the siege of a city, for its defence unequalled
in all the annals of war? Cannot Romans honor courage
and military skill, though in an enemy? — But you
ask for justice. I have said you shall have justice. You
shall. It is right that the heads and advisers of this revolt,
for such the senate deems it, should be cut off. It
is the ministers of princes who are the true devisers of a
nation's acts. These, when in our power, shall be yours.
And now, who, soldiers! stirred up this mutiny? bringing
inexpiable shame upon our brave legions? Who are
the leaders of the tumult? Enough were found to name
Tatius, Burrhus, Valens, Crispinus.”
“`Guards, seize them and hew them down. Soldiers!
to your tents.” The legions fell back as tumultuously
as they had come together, — the faster, as the dying
groans of the slaughtered ringleaders fell upon their
ears.
`The tent of the Emperor was once more restored to
order. After a brief conversation, in which Aurelian expressed
his shame for the occurrence of such disorders in
the presence of the Queen, the guard were commanded
to convey back to the palace of Seleucus, whence they
had been taken, Zenobia and the Princess.'
Such are the principal matters contained in the communications
of Nichomachus.
When the facts contained in them became known, the
senate, the council, the army, and the people agreed in
the belief, that the Queen's safety and their own would
now be best secured by an immediate capitulation. Accordingly,
heralds bearing letters from Longinus, in the
name of the council, proceeded to the Roman camp. No
other terms could be obtained than a verbal promise that
the city, the walls, and the common people should be
spared; — but the surrender, beyond that, must be unconditional.
Upon learning the terms prescribed by the conqueror,
many were for further resistance. `The language of
Aurelian,' they said, `is ambiguous. He will spare the
city, walls and common people. Are our senators and
councillors to be sacrificed? Are they, who have borne
the burden of the day, now to be selected as the only
ones who are to suffer? It shall not be so.'
Generous sentiments like these were heard on all sides.
But they were answered and overcome, by Gracchus especially,
punishment will be inflicted by Rome upon some.
Our resistance is termed by her rebellion — revolt —
conspiracy — the leaders will be sought and punished. It
is ever her course. But this is a light evil compared with
a wide-spread massacre of this whole population, the destruction
of these famous temples, the levelling of these
proud walls. Aurelian has said that these shall be spared.
His word, though an unwritten and informal one, may be
trusted. My counsel is, that it be at once accepted.
What if a few grey heads among us are taken off. That
will not touch the existence or prosperity of Palmyra.
You can spare them. Your children will soon grow up
to take our places, and fill them, as I hope, with more
wisdom.'
But such words only served at first the more to srengthen
the people in their resolution, that their rulers should
not be the only sacrifice. None were loved throughout
the city more than Gracchus and Otho — none revered
like Longinus. It was a long and painful struggle between
affection and the convictions of reason before it
ended, and the consent of the people was obtained to deliver
up the city to the mercy of Aurelian. But it was
obtained.
I was sitting with Fausta and Calpurnius, speaking of
the things that had happened, and of the conduct of the
Queen, when Gracchus entered and joined us, informing
us that `ambassadors were now gone to the camp of Aurelian,
clothed with authority to deliver up the city into
his hands. So that now the end has drawn on, and Palmyra
ceases to exist.'
Fausta, although knowing that this must happen, and
might at any moment, could not hear the fatal words, announcing
the death of her country, as she deemed it, and
which she had fed so long, without renewed grief. We
were a long time silent.
`Something yet remains,' at length Gracchus resumed,
`for us to resolve upon and do. Before many hours have
elapsed, a Roman army will fill the streets of the city —
perhaps our houses also — and a general plunder may be
commenced of all the valuables we possess. It will be
useless to conceal what it will be well enough known,
from the manner in which we live, must be beneath our
roof. It will but expose our lives. Yet, Fausta, your
jewels, valued by you as gifts, and other things precious
for the same or a like reason, may easily be secreted, nor
yet be missed by the licensed robbers. See to this, my
child — but except this, there is now nought to do concerning
such affairs, but to sit still and observe the general
wreck. But there are other and weightier matters
to be decided upon, and that at once.'
`Concerning the care of ourselves you mean,' said
Fausta.
`I do,' replied Gracchus.
`I,' said Fausta, `would remain here, where I am.'
`It is that which I wish,' replied her father, `I commit
you to the care of Lucius. For Calpurnius, he must
leave you, and as he would live, fly, if that yet be possible,
beyond the walls, or conceal himself within them.'
`Never,' said Calpurnius, `I can do neither. I have
never shunned a danger — and I cannot.'
`Let pride and passion, now,' said Gracchus, `go fast
asleep. We have no occasion for them — they are out of
place, dealing as we now do with stern necessities. Your
life will be especially sought by Aurelian — it is a life
that cannot be spared. Fausta needs you. In you she
must find, or no where — father — husband — friend.
— and I — shall be in the keeping of Aurelian. You
must live; — for her sake, if not for your own.'
`For mine too, surely, if for hers,' replied Calpurnius.
`Father,' said Fausta, throwing her arms around him,
`why, why must you fall into the hands of Aurelian.
Why not with Calpurnius, fly from these now hated
walls?'
`My daughter!' replied Gracchus, `let not your love
of me make you forgetful of what I owe my own name
and our country's. Am I not bound by the words of Aurelian?
“He will spare the city and the common people”
— reserving for himself their rulers and advisers. Were
they all to fly or shrink into concealment, can we doubt
that the fury of the fierce Roman would then discharge
itself upon the helpless people, and — men, women
and children suffer in our stead? And shall I fly while
the rest are true to their trust?'
`The Gods forbid,' sobbed Fausta.
`Now you are yourself again. Life is of little account
with me. For you I would willingly hold on upon it,
though in any event my grasp would be rapidly growing
weaker and weaker; age would come and weaken it.
But for myself, I can truly say, I survey the prospect of
death with indifference. Life is one step; death is
another. I have taken the first, I am as ready to take
the second. But to preserve life — agreeable as I have
found it — by any sacrifice' —
`O, that were dying twice,' said Fausta, `I know it.'
`Be thankful, then, that I shall die but once, and so
dry your tears. Of nothing am I more clear, than that if
the loss of my head will bring security to the city and the
people, I can offer it to the executioner with scarce a
to do what is yet to be done.'
It was so indeed. Already the commotion in the streets
indicated that the entrance of the Roman army was each
moment expected.
It was determined that Calpurnius should avail himself
of the old conduit, and fly beyond the walls. To this he
consented, though with pain — and bidding us farewell,
departed. Fausta retired to fulfil the injunctions of her
father, while Gracchus employed himself in arranging a
few papers, to be entrusted to my keeping.
In the course of a few hours, the gates of the city were
thrown open, and the army of the conquerer made its unobstructed
entrance. Soon as the walls were secured, the
towers of the gates, and the arms of the Queen's remaining
forces, Aurelian himself approached, and by the Roman
gate passed into a city that had cost him so dear to
gain. He rode through its principal streets and squares,
gazing with admiration at the magnificence which every
where met his view. As he arrived at the far-famed
Temple of the Sun, and was told to what deity it was
dedicated, he bared his head, flung himself from his horse,
and on foot, followed by an innumerable company of
Romans, ascended its long flight of steps, and then within
its walls, returned solemn thanks to the great God of
Light, the protecting deity of his house, for the success
that had crowned his arms.
When this act of worship had been performed, and
votive offerings had been hung upon the columns of the
temple, the Emperor came forth, and after visiting and
inspecting all that was beautiful and rare, made proclamation
of his will concerning the city and its inhabitants.
This was, that all gold and silver, precious stones, all pictures,
statues, and other works of art, were to be placed in
queen's senate and council, with the nobility, were to be
delivered up as prisoners of war — together with certain
specified portions of the army. Beyond these requisitions,
the persons and property of the citizens were to be respected.
No violence of any kind on the part of the soldiers
would be allowed, or pardoned, if committed.
Immediately upon this, the Roman army was converted
into a body of laborers and artisans, employed in the construction
of wains of every form and size, for the transportation
across the desert to the sea-coast, of whatever would
adorn the triumph of Aurelian, or add to the riches of the
great capital of the world. Vast numbers of elephants and
camels were collected from the city, and from all the neighboring
territory, with which to drag the huge and heavy
loaded wagons through the deep sands and over the rough
and rocky plains of Syria. The palaces of the nobles and
the wealthy merchants have been stripped of every embellishment
of art and taste. The private and public gardens,
the fountains, the porticos, have each and all been robbed
of every work, in either marble or brass, which had the
misfortune or the merit to have been wrought by artists of
distinguished names. The palaces of the Queen and of
Longinus were objects of especial curiosity and desire,
and, as it were, their entire contents, after being secured
with utmost art from possibility of injury, have been piled
upon carriages prepared for them, ready for their journey
toward Rome. It was pitiful to look on and see this wide
desolation of scenes, that so little while ago had offered to
the eye all that the most cultivated taste could have required
for its gratification. The citizens stood around
in groups, silent witnesses of the departing glories of their
city and nation.
But the sight saddest of all to behold, was that of the
city to the camp of Aurelian. All along the streets
through which they passed, the people stood in dumb and
motionless array, to testify in that expressive manner their
affection and their grief. Voices were, indeed, occasionally
heard invoking the blessings of the Gods upon them,
or imprecating curses upon the head of the scourge Aurelian.
Whenever Longinus and Gracchus appeared, their
names were uttered in the tones with which children
would cry out to venerated parents, whom they beheld
for the last time — beheld borne away from them by a
pewer they could not resist to captivity or death. No fear
of the legion that surrounded them, availed to repress or
silence such testimonies of regard. And if confidence was
reposed in the Roman soldiery, that they would not, because
conquerors and the power was theirs, churlishly deny them
the freedom to relieve in that manner their overburdened
hearts, it was not — happy was I, as a Roman, to witness
it — misplaced. They resented it not either by word or
look or act, but moved on like so many statues in mail,
turning neither to the one hand nor the other, nor apparently
so much as hearing the reproaches which were by
some lavished upon them and their Emperor.
Livia, Faustula, and the other inmates of the palace
have joined Zenobia and Julia, by order of Aurelian, at
the house of Seleucus. The Cæsars, Herrenianus and
Timolaus, have fled or concealed themselves — Vabalathus
has surrendered himself, and has accompanied the princesses
to the Roman camp.
How desolate is the house of Gracchus, deprived of its
princely head! — especially as the mind cannot help running
forward and conjecturing the fate which awaits him.
Fausta surrenders herself to her grief — loss of country
and of parent, at one and the same moment, is loss
alive to affection and every generous sentiment, is almost
broken by these sorrows and disappointments. I did not
witness the parting between her and Gracchus, and happy
am I that I did not. Her agony was in proportion to
her love and her sensibility. I have not met her since.
She remains within her own apartments, seen only by her
favorite slaves. A double darkness spreads around while
Fausta too is withdrawn.
It appeared to me now, my Curtius, as if something
might be done on my part in behalf of Gracchus. According
to the usages of Rome, the chief persons among
the prisoners, and who might be considered as the leaders
of the rebellion, I knew would die either at once, or
at farthest, when Aurelian should re-enter Rome as the
conqueror of the East. I considered that by reason of
the growing severity of the Emperor toward all, friends as
well as foes — amounting, as many now deem, to cruelty
— the danger to Gracchus was extreme — beyond my
power perhaps to avert. Yet I remembered, at the same
time, the generous traits in Aurelian's character — his
attachment toward old friends — his gratitude for services
rendered him in the early part of his life, while making his
way up through the lower posts of the army. It seemed
to me that he was open to solicitation; that he would not
refuse to hear me — a friend, and son of Cneius Piso —
with what object soever I might present myself before
him: — and that, consequently, there was from this quarter
a ray of hope, however small, for the father of our
beloved Fausta.
Accordingly, so soon as the affairs at first calling for
the entire devotion of Aurelian were through, and I knew
that his leisure would allow of an interruption, I sought
It was immediately granted.
As I entered his tent, Aurelian was seated at a table
holding in his hand a parchment scroll, which he seemed
intently considering. His stern countenance lowered over
it like a thunder-cloud. I stood there where I had entered
a few moments before he seemed aware of the presence of
any one. His eye then falling almost accidentally upon
me, he suddenly rose, and with the manner of his ancient
friendship, warmly greeted me.
`I am glad,' said he, `to meet so true a Roman in
these distant parts.'
`I am still a true Roman,' I replied, `notwithstanding
I have been, during this siege, upon the side of the
enemy.'
`I doubt it not. I am not ignorant of the causes
that led you to Palmyra, and have detained you there.
Henceforward your Roman blood must be held of the
purest, for as I learn, and since I have seen can believe,
they are few who have come within the magic
circle of the late Queen, who have not lost their name
and freedom — themselves fastening on the chains of her
service.'
`You have heard truly. Her court and camp are
filled with those who at first perhaps sought her capital,
as visiters of curiosity or traffic, but being once within
the marvellous influence of her presence, have remained
there her friends or servants. She is irresistible.'
`And well nigh so in war too. In Rome they make
themselves merry at my expense, inasmuch as I have
been warring thus with a woman — not a poet in the
garrets of the Via Cœli, but has entertained the city with
his couplets upon the invincible Aurelian, beset here in
the East by an army of women, who seem likely to subdue
Senate looks on and laughs. By the Immortal Gods!
They know not of what they speak. Julius Cæsar himself,
Piso, never displayed a better genius than this
woman. Twice have I saved my army but by stratagem.
I give the honor of those days to Zenobia. It belongs to
her rather than to me. Palmyra may well boast of Antioch
and Emesa. Your brother did her good service
there. I trust for your sake and for mine, he will not fall
into my hands.'
That dark and cruel frown which marks Aurelian, grew
above and around his eyes.
`I never,' he continued, `forgive a traitor to his
country.'
`Yet,' I ventured to say, `surely the circumstances of
his captivity, and long abandonment, may plead somewhat
in extenuation of his fault.'
`Never. His crime is beyond the reach of pardon.'
Aurelian had evidently supposed that I came to seek
favor for Calpurnius. But this I had not intended to do,
as Calpurnius had long ago resolved never again to dwell
within the walls of Rome. I then opened the subject of
my visit.
`I have come,' I said, `not to seek the pardon of Calpurnius
Piso. Such, to my grief, is his hostility toward
Rome, that he would neither seek nor accept mercy at
her hands. He has forsworn his country, and never
willingly will set foot within her borders. He dwells
henceforward in Asia. But there is another —'
`You would speak of Gracchus. It cannot be, Longinus
excepted, he is the first citizen of Palmyra. If the
Queen be spared, these must suffer. It is due to the
army, and to justice, and to vengeance. The soldiers
have clamored for the blood of Zenobia, and it has been
been redeemed. But I have sworn it, they shall live;
my blood shall flow before theirs. Zenobia has done
more for Rome than many an Emperor. Besides, I would
that Rome should see with her own eyes who it is has held
even battle with Roman legions so long, that they may
judge me to have had a worthy antagonist. She must
grace my triumph.'
`I truly thank the Gods,' I said, `that it is so resolved.
Fortune has placed me, while in her dominions, near the
Queen, and though a Roman, I have come to love and
revere her even like a Palmyrene. Would that the like
clemency might be shown toward Gracchus. There is no
greatness like mercy.'
`I may not, noble Piso, win glory to myself at the cost
of Rome. On the field of battle I and Rome win togegether.
In pardoning her enemies fallen into my power,
I may indeed crown myself with the praise of magnanimity
in the eye of the world, while by the same act I
wound my country. No rebellion is quelled, till the
heads that moved and guided it are off — off. Who is
ignorant that Longinus, that subtle Greek, has been the
master-spring in this great revolt? and hand in hand
with him, Gracchus? Well should I deserve the gibes
and sneers of the Roman mob if I turned my back upon
the great work I have achieved, leaving behind me spirits
like these to brew fresh trouble. Nor, holding to this as
it may seem to you harsh decision, am I forgetful, Piso,
of our former friendship — nor of the helping hand often
stretched out to do me service, of Cneius Piso, your great
parent. I must trust in this to your generosity or justice,
to construe me aright. Fidelity to Rome must come before
private friendship, or even gratitude. Am I understood?'
`I think so.'
`Neither must you speak to me of Longinus, the
learned Greek — the accomplished scholar — the great
philosopher. He has thrown aside the scholar and the
philosopher in putting on the minister. He is to me
known only as the Queen's chief adviser — Palmyra's
strength — the enemy of Rome. As such he has been
arrayed against me — as such he has fallen a prisoner
into my hands — as such he must feel the sword of the
Roman executioner. Gracchus—I would willingly for thy
sake, Piso, spare him — the more, as I hear thou art
betrothed to his far-famed daughter, she who upon the
fields of Antioch and Emesa, filled with amazement even
Roman soldiers.'
To say that instead of me it was Calpurnius to whom
she was betrothed, would seem to have sealed the fate of
Gracchus at the moment there was a gleam of hope. I
only said,
`She was the life of the Queen's army. She falls but
little below her great mistress.'
`I believe it. These women of Palmyra are the true
wonder of the age. When for the first time I found myself
before Zenobia and her daughter, it is no shame for me
to confess that it was hard for the moment to believe myself
Aurelian and conqueror. I was ready to play the
subject — I scarce kept myself from an oriental prostration.
Never, Piso, was such beauty seen in Rome. Rome
now has an Empress worthy of her — unless a Roman
Emperor may sue in vain. Think you not with me?
You have seen the Princess Julia?'
You can pity me Curtius and Lucilia. I said only,
`I have. Her beauty is rare indeed, but by many, nay
by most, her sister, the princess Livia, is esteemed before
her.'
`Hah! Nay, but that cannot be. The world itself
same household.' He seemed as if he would have added
more, but his eye fell upon the scroll before him, and it
changed the current of his thoughts and the expression
of his countenance, which again grew dark as when I
first entered the tent. He muttered over as to himself,
the names of `Gracchus,' `Fausta,' `the very life of their
cause,' `the people's chief trust,' and other broken sentences
of the same kind. He then suddenly recommenced.
`Piso, I know not that even I have power to grant thy
suit. I have saved, with some hazard, the life of the
Queen and her daughter — in doing it I promised to the
soldiers, in their place, the best blood of Palmyra, and
theirs it is by right. It will not be easy to wrest Gracchus
from their hands. It will bring danger to myself, to the
Queen, and to the empire. It may breed a fatal revolt.
But Piso, for the noble Portia's sake, the living representative
of Cneius Piso my early friend, for thine, and
chiefly for the reason that thou art affianced to the warlike
daughter of the princely Palmyrene —'
`Great Prince,' said I, for it was now my turn to speak,
`pardon me that I break in upon your speech, but I cannot
by a deception, however slight and unintentional,
purchase the life even of a friend.'
`To what does this tend?'
`It is not I who am affianced to the daughter of Gracchus,
but Calpurnius Piso, my brother, and the enemy of
Rome. If my hope for Gracchus rests but where you
have placed it, it must be renounced. Rumor has dealt
falsely with you.'
`I am sorry for it. You know me Piso well enough
to believe me — I am sorry for it. That plea would have
availed me more than any. Yet it is right that he should
his death — it has been promised — it is due to justice
and revenge. Piso he must die.'
I however did not cease to importune. As Aurelian
had spoken of Portia, I too spoke of her, and refrained
not from bringing freshly before his memory the characters
of both my parents, and especially the services of my
father. The Emperor was noways displeased, but on
the contrary, as I recurred to the early periods of his
career, when he was a Centurion in Germany, under
tutelage to the experienced Cneius Piso, he himself took
up the story, and detained me long with the history of
his life and actions, while serving with and under my
father — and then afterward when in Gaul, in Africa, and
in the East. Much curious narrative, the proper source
of history, I heard from the great actor himself, during
this long interview. It was terminated by the entrance
of Sandarion, upon pressing business with the Emperor,
whereupon I withdrew, Gracchus not being again named,
but leaving his fate in the hands of the master of the
world, and yet — how often has it been so with our Emperors
— the slave of his own soldiers. I returned to the
city.
The following day I again saw Fausta — now pale,
melancholy and silent. I told her of my interview with
Aurelian, and of its doubtful issue. She listened to me
with a painful interest, as if wishing a favorable result,
yet not daring to hope. When I had ended she said,
`You have done all, Lucius, that can be done, yet it
avails little or nothing. Would that Aurelian had thought
women worthy his regard so much as to have made me a
prisoner too. I can now feel how little one may fear
death dying in a certain cause. Palmyra is now dead,
and I care no more for life. And if Gracchus is to die
without him. And this is not as it may seem, infidelity
to Calpurnius. I love him better than I ever thought to
have loved anything beside Palmyra and Gracchus. But
my love for these is from my infancy, and is in reason
stronger than the other. The Gods make it so, not I. I
love Calpurnius with all that is left. When does the
army depart?'
`To-morrow, as I learn. I shall follow it to Emesa,
for it is there, so it is reported, that the fate of the prisoners
will be decided.'
`Do so, Lucius, and by bribery, cunning, or force, find
your way to the presence of Gracchus. Be not denied.
Tell him — but no, you know what I would say, I cannot
—' and a passionate flood of tears came to her relief.
The preparations of the army are now completed. The
city has been drained of its wealth and its embellishments.
Scarce anything is left but the walls and buildings,
which are uninjured, the lives and the industry of
the inhabitants. Sandarion is made Governor of the city
and province, with, as it seems to me, a very incompetent
force to support his authority. Yet the citizens are, as
they have been since the day the contest was decided,
perfectly peaceable — nay, I rather should say stupid and
lethargic. There appears to be on the part of Aurelian,
no apprehensions of future disturbance.
I have stood upon the walls and watched till the last of
the Romans has disappeared beyond the horizon. Two
days have been spent in getting into motion and beyond
the precincts of the city and suburbs, the army with its
innumerable wagons — its long trains of elephants, and
camels, and horses. Not only Palmyra, but the whole
East seems to have taken its departure for the Mediterranean.
For the carriages were hardly to be numbered
wild animals of every kind, collected from every part of
Asia, together with innumerable objects of curiosity and
works of art.
| LETTER XV. Letters of Lucius M. Piso, from Palmyra, to his friend Marcus Curtius at Rome | |