University of Virginia Library

18. LETTER XVIII.
FROM PISO TO FAUSTA.

I trust that you have safely received the letter which,
as we entered the Tiber I was fortunate enough to place
on board a vessel bound directly to Berytus. In that I
have told you of my journey and voyage, and have said
many other things of more consequence still, both to you,
Gracchus, and myself.

I now write to you from my own dwelling upon the
Cœlian, where I have been these many days that have
intervened since the date of my former letter. If you
have waited impatiently to hear from me again, I hope
now I shall atone for what may seem a too long delay, by
telling you of those concerning whom you wish chiefly to
hear and know — Zenobia and Julia.

But first let me say that I have found Portia in health,
and as happy as she could be after her bitter disappointment
in Calpurnius. This has proved a misfortune, less
only than the loss of our father himself. That a Piso
should live, and be other than a Roman; that he should
live and bear arms against his country — this has been to
her one of those inexplicable mysteries in the providence
of the Gods that has tasked her piety to the utmost. In
vain has she scrutinized her life to discover what fault
has drawn down upon her and her house this heavy retribution.
Yet her grief is lightened by what I have
told her of the conduct of Calpurnius at Antioch and

Emesa. At such times when I have related the events
of those great days, and the part which my brother took,
the pride of the Roman has yielded to that of the mother,
and she has not been able to conceal her satisfaction.
`Ah,' she would say, `my brave boy!' `That was like
him!' `I warrant Zabdas himself was not greater!'
`What might he not be, were he but in Rome!'

Portia is never weary with inquiring into every thing
relating to yourself and Gracchus. My letters, many
and minute as they have been, so far from satisfying her,
serve only as themes for new and endless conversations,
in which as well as I am able, I set before her my whole
life while in Palmyra, and every event, from the conversation
at the table or in the porticos, to the fall of the
city and the death of Longinus. So great is her desire
to know all concerning the `hero Fausta,' and so unsatisfying
is the all that I can say, that I shall not wonder if,
after the ceremony of the triumph, she should herself
propose a journey to Palmyra, to see you once more with
her own eyes, and once more fold you in her arms. You
will rejoice to be told that she bewails, even with tears,
the ruin of the city, and the cruel massacre of its inhabitants.
She condemns the Emperor in language as strong
as you or I should use. The slaughter of Sandarion and
his troops she will by no means allow to be a sufficient
justification of the act. And of her opinion are all the
chief citizens of Rome.

I have found Curtius and Lucilia also in health. They
are at their villa upon the Tiber. The first to greet me
there were Laco and Cœlia. Their gratitude was affecting
and oppressive. Indeed there is no duty so hard
as to receive with grace the thanks of those whom you
have obliged. Curtius is for once satisfied that I have
performed with fidelity the part of a correspondent. He

even wonders at my diligence. The advantage is, I believe
for the first time, fairly on my side — though you
can yourself bear testimony, having heard all his epistles,
how many he wrote, and with what vividness and exactness
he made Rome to pass before us. I think he will
not be prevented from writing to you by anything I can
say. He drops in every day, Lucilia sometimes with him,
and never leaves us till he has exhausted his prepared
questions concerning you, and the great events which
have taken place — there remaining innumerable points
to a man of his exact turn of mind, about which he must
insist upon fuller and more careful information. I think
he will draw up a history of the war. I hope he will —
no one could do it better.

Aurelian, you will have heard, upon leaving Palmyra,
instead of continuing on the route upon which he set out
toward Emesa and Antioch, turned aside to Egypt, in
order to put down by one of his sudden movements, the
Egyptian merchant Firmus, who with a genius for war
greater than for traffic, had placed himself at the head of
the people, and proclaimed their independence of Rome.
As the friend and ally of Zenobia — although he could
render her during the siege no assistance — I must pity
his misfortunes and his end. News has just reached us
that his armies have been defeated, he himself taken and
put to death, and his new made kingdom reduced again
to the condition of a Roman province. We now every
hour look to hear of the arrival of the Emperor and his
armies.

Although there has been observed some secresy concerning
the progress and places of residence of Zenobia,
yet we learn with a good degree of certainty that she is
now at Brundusium, awaiting the further orders of Aurelian,
having gone over land from Byzantium to Apollonia,

and there crossing the Adriatic. I have not been
much disturbed by the reports which have prevailed, because
I thought I knew too much of the Queen to think
them well grounded. Yet I confess I have suffered
somewhat, when upon resorting to the capitol or the
baths, I have found the principal topic to be the death of
Zenobia — according to some, of grief, on her way from
Antioch to Byzantium — or, as others had it, of hunger,
she having resolutely refused all nourishment. I have
given no credit to the rumor, yet as all stories of this kind
are a mixture of truth and error, so in this case I can
conceive easily that it has some foundation in reality, and
I am led to believe from it that the sufferings of the
Queen have been great. How indeed could they be
otherwise! A feebler spirit than Zenobia's, and a feebler
frame would necessarily have been destroyed. With
what impatience do I wait the hour that shall see her in
Rome! I am happily already relieved of all anxiety as
to her treatment by Aurelian — no fear need be entertained
for her safety. Desirous as far as may be to atone
for the rash severity of his orders in Syria, he will distinguish
with every possible mark of honor, the Queen, her
family, and such other of the inhabitants of Palmyra as
have been reserved to grace his triumph.

For this august ceremony the preparations are already
making. It is the sole topic of conversation, and the
single object toward which seem to be bent the whole
genius and industry of the capital. It is intended to
surpass in magnificence all that has been done by former
Emperors or Generals. The materials for it are collecting
from every part of the empire, and the remotest
regions of Asia and Africa. Every day there arrive
cargoes either of wild beasts or of prisoners, destined to
the amphitheatre. Illustrious captives also from Asia,

Germany and Gaul, among whom are Tetricus and his
son. The Tiber is crowded with vessels bringing in the
treasures drawn from Palmyra — her silver and gold —
her statuary and works of art, and every object of curiosity
and taste that was susceptible of transportation
across the desert and the ocean.

It is now certain that the Queen has advanced as far
as Tusculum, where with Julia, Livia, Faustula and Vabalathus,
they will remain — at a villa of Aurelian's it
is said — till the day of the triumph. Separation seems
the more painful as they approach nearer. Although
knowing that they would be scrupulously prohibited from
all intercourse with any beyond the precincts of the villa
itself, I have not been restrained from going again and
again to Tusculum, and passing through it and around
it in the hope to obtain, were it but a distant glimpse, of
persons to whom I am bound more closely than to any
others on earth. But it has been all in vain. I shall
not see them, till I behold them a part of the triumphal
procession of their conqueror.

Aurelian has arrived — the long expected day has
come — and is gone. His triumph has been celebrated,
and with a magnificence and a pomp greater than the
traditionary glories of those of Pompey, Trajan, Titus, or
even the secular games of Philip.

I have seen Zenobia!

The sun of Italy never poured a flood of more golden
light upon the great capital and its surrounding plains than
on the day of Aurelian's triumph. The airs of Palmyra
were never more soft. The whole city was early abroad,
and added to our own overgrown population, there were
the inhabitants of all the neighboring towns and cities, and
strangers from all parts of the empire, so that it was with
difficulty and labor only, and no little danger too, that

the spectacle could be seen. I obtained a position opposite
the capitol, from which I could observe the whole of
this proud display of the power and greatness of Rome.

A long train of elephants opened the show, their huge
sides and limbs hung with cloth of gold and scarlet, some
having upon their backs military towers or other fanciful
structures, which were filled with the natives of Asia or
Africa, all arrayed in the richest costumes of their countries.
These were followed by wild animals, and those
remarkable for their beauty, from every part of the
world, either led, as in the case of lions, tigers, leopards,
by those who from long management of them,
possessed the same power over them as the groom over
his horse, or else drawn along upon low platforms, upon
which they were made to perform a thousand antic tricks
for the amusement of the gaping and wondering crowds.
Then came not many fewer than two thousand gladiators
in pairs, all arranged in such a manner as to display to
the greatest advantage their well knit joints, and projecting
and swollen muscles. Of these a great number have
already perished on the arena of the Flavian, and in the
sea fights in Domitian's theatre. Next upon gilded
wagons, and arrayed so as to produce the most dazzling
effect, came the spoils of the wars of Aurelian — treasures
of art, rich cloths and embroideries, utensils of gold
and silver, pictures, statues, and works in brass, from
the cities of Gaul, from Asia and from Egypt. Conspicuous
here over all were the rich and gorgeous contents
of the palace of Zenobia. The huge wains groaned
under the weight of vessels of gold and silver, of ivory,
and the most precious woods of India. The jewelled
wine cups, vases, and golden statuary of Demetrius attracted
the gaze and excited the admiration of every
beholder. Immediately after these came a crowd of

youths richly habited in the costumes of a thousand different
tribes, bearing in their hands upon cushions of
silk, crowns of gold and precious stones, the offerings of
the cities and kingdoms of all the world, as it were, to
the power and fame of Aurelian. Following these, came
the ambassadors of all nations, sumptuously arrayed in
the habits of their respective countries. Then an innumerable
train of captives, showing plainly in their downcast
eyes, in their fixed and melancholy gaze, that hope
had taken its departure from their breasts. Among these
were many women from the shores of the Danube, taken
in arms fighting for their country, of enormous stature,
and clothed in the warlike costume of their tribes.

But why do I detain you with these things, when it is
of one only that you wish to hear. I cannot tell you with
what impatience I waited for that part of the procession
to approach where were Zenobia and Julia. I thought
its line would stretch on forever. And it was the ninth
hour before the alternate shouts and deep silence of the
multitudes announced that the conqueror was drawing
near the capitol. As the first shout arose, I turned toward
the quarter whence it came, and beheld, not Aurelian
as I expected, but the Gallic Emperor Tetricus—yet
slave of his army and of Victoria — accompanied by the
prince his son, and followed by other illustrious captives
from Gaul. All eyes were turned with pity upon him,
and with indignation too that Aurelian should thus treat
a Roman and once — a Senator. But sympathy for him
was instantly lost in a stronger feeling of the same kind
for Zenobia, who came immediately after. You can
imagine, Fausta, better than I can describe them,
my sensations, when I saw our beloved friend — her
whom I had seen treated never otherwise than as
a sovereign Queen, and with all the imposing pomp of

the Persian ceremonial — now on foot, and exposed to
the rude gaze of the Roman populace — toiling beneath
the rays of a hot sun, and the weight of jewels, such as
both for richness and beauty, were never before seen in
Rome — and of chains of gold, which first passing around
her neck and arms, were then borne up by attendant
slaves. I could have wept to see her so — yes and did.
My impulse was to break through the crowd and support
her almost fainting form — but I well knew that my life
would answer for the rashness on the spot. I could only,
therefore, like the rest, wonder and gaze. And never
did she seem to me, not even in the midst of her own
court, to blaze forth with such transcendant beauty — yet
touched with grief. Her look was not that of dejection,
— of one who was broken and crushed by misfortune —
there was no blush of shame. It was rather one of profound
heartbreaking melancholy. Her full eyes looked
as if privacy only was wanted for them to overflow with
floods of tears. But they fell not. Her gaze was fixed
on vacancy, or else cast toward the ground. She seemed
like one unobservant of all around her, and buried in
thoughts to which all else were strangers, and had nothing
in common with. They were in Palmyra, and with
her slaughtered multitudes. Yet though she wept not,
others did; and one could see all along, wherever she
moved, the Roman hardness yielding to pity, and melting
down before the all-subduing presence of this wonderful
woman. The most touching phrases of compassion fell
constantly upon my ear. And ever and anon as in the
road there would happen some rough or damp place, the
kind souls would throw down upon it whatever of their
garments they could quickest divest themselves of that
those feet little used to such encounters, might receive no
harm. And as when other parts of the procession were
passing by, shouts of triumph and vulgar joy frequently
arose from the motley crowds, yet when Zenobia appeared
a death-like silence prevailed, or it was interrupted only
by exclamations of admiration or pity, or of indignation
at Aurelian for so using her. But this happened not
long. For when the Emperor's pride had been sufficiently
gratified, and just there where he came over against
the steps of the capitol, he himself, crowned as he was
with the diadem of universal empire, descended from his
chariot, and unlocking the chains of gold that bound the
limbs of the Queen, led and placed her in her own
chariot — that chariot in which she had hoped herself to
enter Rome in triumph — between Julia and Livia.
Upon this the air was rent with the grateful acclamations
of the countless multitudes. The Queen's countenance
brightened for a moment as if with the expressive sentiment,
`The Gods bless you,' and was then buried in the
folds of her robe. And when after the lapse of many
minutes it was again raised and turned toward the people
every one might see that tears burning hot had coursed
her cheeks, and relieved a heart which else might well
have burst with its restrained emotion. Soon as the
chariot which held her had disappeared upon the other
side of the capitol, I extricated myself from the crowd,
and returned home. It was not till the shades of evening
had fallen that the last of the procession had passed the
front of the capitol, and the Emperor reposed within the
walls of his palace. The evening was devoted to the
shows of the theatres.

Seven days succeeding this first day of the triumph
have been devoted to games and shows. I attended them
not, but escaping from the tumult and confusion of the
city, passed them in a very different manner — you will

at once conjecture, where and with whom. It was, indeed,
as you suppose in the society of Zenobia, Julia
and Livia.

What the immediate destination of the Queen was to
be I knew not, nor did any seem to know even so late as
the day of the triumph. It was only known that her treatment
was to be lenient. But on the day after, it became
public in the city, that the Emperor had bestowed upon
her his magnificent villa, not far from Hadrian's at Tibur,
and at the close of the first day of the triumph, a chariot
of Aurelian's in waiting had conveyed her there. This
was to me transporting news, as it will be to you.

On the evening of that day I was at Tibur. Had I
been a son or a brother, the Queen could not have received
me with more emotion. But I leave it to you, to
imagine the first moments of our interview. When our
greetings were over, the first thought, at least the first
question of Zenobia was concerning you and Gracchus.
All her inquiries, as well as those of Julia, I was happily
able to answer in the most exact manner, out of the fulness
of your letter. When I had finished this agreeable
duty, the Queen said,

`Our happiness were complete, as now it can be, could
Fausta and Gracchus be but added to our numbers. I
shall hope, in the lapse of days or months, to entice them
away for a season from their melancholy home. And yet
what better can I offer them here! There they behold
their city in ruins, here their Queen. There they already
detect some tokens of reviving life; here they would
have before them but the picture of decay and approaching
death. But these things I ought not to say — Piso,
you will be glad to learn the purposes of Aurelian concerning
Palmyra. He has already set apart large sums
for the restoration of its walls and temples — and what is

more and better, he has made Gracchus governor of the
city and province, with liberal promises of treasure to
carry into effect whatever designs he may conceive as
most likely to people again the silent streets, and fill them
again with the merchants of the East and West.'

`Aurelian, I am persuaded,' I replied, `will feel upon
him the weight of the strongest motives to do all that he
can to repair the injuries he has inflicted. Then, too, in
addition to this, his nature is generous.'

`It is so,' said Julia. `How happy if he had been less
subject to his passions! The proofs of a generous nature
you see here, Piso, every where around us. This vast
and magnificent palace, with its extensive grounds, has
he freely bestowed upon us; and here, as your eye has already
informed you — has he caused to be brought and
arranged every article of use or luxury found in the palace
at Palmyra, and capable of transportation.'

`I could hardly believe,' I said, `as I approached the
great entrance, and beheld objects so familiar — still
more, when I came within the walls and saw around me
all that I had seen in Palmyra, that I was indeed in the
vicinity of Rome, and had not been by some strange
power transported suddenly to Asia. In the rash violence
of Aurelian in Syria, and in this reparation, both here and
there, of the evil he has committed to the farthest extent
possible, you witness a genuine revelation of his character.
Would that principle rather than passion were
the governing power of his life.'

Although I have passed many days at Tibur, yet have
I seen but little of Zenobia. She is silent and solitary.
Her thoughts are evidently never with the present, but
far back among the scenes of her former life. To converse
is an effort. The lines of grief have fixed themselves
upon her countenance; her very form and manner

are expressive of a soul bowed and subdued by misfortune.
Her pride seems no longer, as on the day of the triumph,
to bear her up. It is Zenobia before me, but — like her
own beautiful capital — it is Zenobia in ruins. That she
suffers, too, from the reproaches of a mind now conscious
of its errors, I cannot doubt. She blames Aurelian, but
I am persuaded, she blames with no less severity herself.
It is, I doubt not, the image of her desolated country
rising before her, that causes her so often in the midst of
discourse with us, or when she has been sitting long
silent, suddenly to start and clasp her hands, and withdraw
weeping to her apartments, or the seclusion of the
garden.

`It will be long, very long,' Julia has said to me, `before
Zenobia will recover from this grief — if indeed she ever
do. Would that the principles of that faith which we
have learned to believe and prize, were also hers. Life
would then still place before her a great object, which
now she wants. The past absorbs her wholly — the
future is nothing. She dwells upon glories that are departed
forever, and is able to anticipate no other, or greater,
in this world — nor with certainty in any beyond it.'

I said, `But doubtless she throws herself at this season
upon her Jewish faith and philosophy. She has ever
spoken of it with respect at least, if not with affection.'

`I do not,' Julia replied, `think that her faith in Judaism
is of much avail to her. She has found pleasure in
reading the sacred books of the Jews, and has often expressed
warmly her admiration of the great principles of
moral living and of religious belief found in them, but I
do not think that she has derived from them that which
she conceives to be the sum of all religion and philosophy,
a firm belief and hope of immortality. I am sure she has
not. She has sometimes spoken as if such a belief possessed

likelihood, but never as if she entertained it in the
way the Christian does.'

You will rejoice, dear Fausta, to learn that Zenobia
no longer opposes me; but waits with impatience for the
day when I shall be an inmate of her palace.

What think you is the news to-day in Rome? No other
and no less than this — which you may well suppose has
for some time been no news to me — that Livia is to be
Empress! — It has just been made public with authority;
and I despatch my letter that you may be immediately informed
of it. It has brought another expression upon the
countenance of Zenobia.

Curtius and Lucilia have this moment come in full of
these tidings, and interrupt me — they with Portia wish
to be remembered to you with affection. I shall soon
write again — telling you then especially of my interviews
with Aurelian. Farewell.