 | LETTER XI. Letters of Lucius M. Piso, from Palmyra, to his friend Marcus Curtius at Rome |  |
11. LETTER XI.
From my late letters to Portia, and which, without
doubt, you have before this read, you have learned with
certainty, what I am sure the eye of Lucilia must before
have clearly discerned, my love of the Princess Julia.
I have there related all that it can import my friends to
know. The greatest event of my life — the issues of
which, whether they are to crown me with a felicity the
could not assuage, I have there described with
that careful concern for your fullest information, touching
all that befalls me, by which you will bear me testimony,
I have been actuated during my residence in this Eastern
capital.
You will not be surprised to learn that my passion is
opposed by the Queen. It was in the same apartment
of the palace where I first saw this wonderful woman,
that at a late interview with her — at her command — I
was enjoined to think no more of an alliance with her
house.
I was, as you may easily imagine, not a little disturbed
in anticipation of an interview with such a person, on
such an occasion. Fausta assured me that I might rely
upon the Queen's generosity, and could look to receive
only the most courteous reception, whatever her decision
might be on my suit. `I fear greatly for your success,'
said she, `but pray the Gods both for your and the
Princess's sake my fears may not come true. Julia lives
in her affections — she cannot, like me, become part of
the world abroad, and doubly live in its various action.
She loves Zenobia indeed with the truest affection, but
she has given her heart to you Lucius, and disappointment
here would feed upon her very life. She ought not
to be denied. She cannot bear it. Yet Zenobia, devoured
by ambition, and holding so little sympathy with
human hearts in their mutual loves — all the world to
them — may deny her — nor ever half conceive the
misery she will inflict upon a being she loves and even
reveres. Press your cause, Lucius, with a manly boldness.
The Gods succeed you.'
The Queen received me graciously, but with a fixed
and almost severe countenance. She expressed herself
she had not so much as suspected. `Living myself,'
said she `far above any dependence upon love for my
happiness, I am not prone to see the affection in others.
The love which fastens upon objects because they are
worthy, I can understand and honor. But that mad and
blind passion, which loves only because it will love, which
can render no reason for its existence but a hot and capricious
fancy, I have had no experience of in my own
heart, and where I see it I have no feeling for it but one
of disapprobation or contempt. If it be but the beauty of
Julia which has bewitched thy fancy, Roman, amuse
thyself with a brief tour of pleasure, either to Antioch or
Alexandria, and other objects will greet thee, and soon
drive her from thy thoughts.'
I assured her that my regard was not only of this kind.
That indeed, her transcendant beauty had first won me,
but that other qualities retained me. That the bond
which held me was as much friendship as love, and I
might say as much reverence as friendship.
`The greater the pity, Roman,' rejoined the Queen in
a voice somewhat stern, but yet melancholy, `the greater
the pity. In truth, I had hoped yours was but the love
of the painted image, and might, without pain, be transferred
to another, painted but as well. Yet had I reflected
upon the sentiments I have heard from thee, I
might have judged thee nobler. But, Piso, this must not
be. Were I to look only to myself and Julia, I might
well be pleased with a tie that bound us to one whom I
have so weighty reasons to respect and honor. But to do
this I have no right. I am not my own, but the State's.
Julia is no daughter of mine, but the property of Palmyra.
Marriage is one of the chief bonds of nations, as
of families. Were it not a crime in me, with selfish regard
upon a private citizen, of whatever worth, when, espousing
her to some foreign prince, a province or a kingdom
may be won or saved?'
`But,' I ventured to remark, `are the hearts of princes
and princesses to be bartered away for power or territory?
are the affections to be bought and sold? Is the question
of happiness to be no question in their case?'
`By no means the principal one. It is not necessarily
a sacrifice, but if necessary the sacrifice must be made.
The world envies the lot of those who sit upon thrones.
But the seat is not without its thorns. It seems all summer
with them. But upon whom burst more storms, or
charged with redder fury? They seem to the unreflecting
mind to be the only independent — while they are
the slaves of all. The prosperous citizen may link himself
and his children when, and with whom he likes,
and none may gainsay him. He has but to look to himself
and his merest whim. The royal family must go
and ask his leave. My children are more his than mine.
And if it be his pleasure and preference that my daughters
ally themselves to an Indian or a Roman prince,
their will is done not mine — theirs is the gain, mine the
loss. Were it just that when joining hands though not
hearts, two nations could be knit together in amity, the
royal house should refuse the sacrifice? Roman, I live
for Palmyra. I have asked of the gods my children, not
for my own pleasure, but for Palmyra's sake. I should
give the lie to my whole life, to every sentiment I have
harbored since that day I gave myself to the royal
Odenatus, were I now to bestow upon a private citizen,
her, through whom we have so long looked to ally ourselves
by a new and stronger bond to some neighboring
kingdom. Julia, Roman — you have seen her, you
— Julia — is the destined bride of Hormisdas. By
her, on Sapor's death, do we hope to bind together by
chains never to be afterward sundered, Persia and Palmyra,
who, then leagued by interest and affection, may
as one kingdom stand up with the more hope against the
overwhelming force of Rome. Were I justified to forego
this advantage for any private reason? Can you doubt,
were I not constrained to act otherwise, whether I
should prefer some nobleman of Palmyra — or thee —
that so I might ever dwell within the charmed influence
of one, from whom to part will be like the pang of
death?'
`But the princess,' I again urged.
`That is scarcely a question,' she rejoined. `She may
be a sacrifice; but it will be upon her country's altar.
How many of our brave soldiers — how many of our great
officers, with devoted patriotism throw away their lives
for their country. You will not say that this is done for
the paltry recompence, which at best scarce shields the
body from the icy winds of winter, or the scorching rays
of summer. And shall not a daughter of the royal house
stand ready to encounter the hardships of a throne — the
dangers of a Persian court, and the terrors of a royal
husband, especially when by doing so, fierce and bloody
wars may be staid, and nations brought into closer unity?
I know but little of Hormisdas; report speaks well of
him. But were it much less that I know, and were report
yet less favorable, it were not enough to turn me from my
purpose. Palmyra married to Persia, through Julia married
to Hormisdas, is that upon which I and my people
dwell.'
`Better a thousand times,' I then said, `to be born to
the lot of the humblest peasant — a slave's is no worse.'
`Upon love's calendar,' said the queen, `so it is. But
have I not freely admitted, Roman, the dependency, nay,
slavery of a royal house? It would grieve my mother's
heart, I need scarce assure thee, were Julia unhappy.
But grief to me might bring joy to two kingdoms.'
I then could not but urge the claims of my own family,
and that by a more powerful and honored one she could
not ally herself to Rome — and might not national interest
be as well promoted by such a bond, as one with
the remoter East — I was the friend too of Aurelian,
much in his confidence and regard.
Zenobia paused, and was for a few moments buried in
thought. A faint smile for the first time played over her
features as she said in reply, `I wish for your sake and
Julia's it could be so. But it is too late. Rome is resolved
upon the ruin of Palmyra — she cannot be turned
aside. Aurelian for worlds would not lose the glory of
subduing the East. The greater need of haste in seeking
a union with Persia. Were Sapor dead to-day, to-morrow
an embassy should start for Ecbatana. But think not,
Piso, I harbor ill will toward you, or hold your offer in
contempt. A Queen of the East might not disdain to join
herself to a family, whose ancestors were like yours.
That Piso who was once the rival, and in power — not indeed
in virtue — the equal of the great Germanicus, and
looked, not without show of reason, to the seat of Tiberius
— and he who so many years, and with such honor
reigned over the city its unequalled governor — and thou
the descendant and companion of princes — an alliance
with such might well be an object of ambition with even
crowned heads. And it may well be — seeing the steps
by which many an emperor of Rome has climbed upon
his precarious seat, that the coming years may behold
thee in the place which Aurelian fills, and were I to
The vision dazzles! But it cannot be. It would be sad
recreancy to my most sacred duty, were I, falling in love
with a dream, to forsake a great reality.'
`I may not then' — I began —
`No Piso, you may not even hope. I have reasoned
with you because I honor you. But think not that I hesitate
or waver. Julia can never be yours. She is the
daughter of the state, and to a state must be espoused.
Seek not therefore any more to deepen the place which
you hold in her affections. Canst thou not be a friend,
and leave the lover out? Friendship is a sentiment
worthy godlike natures—and is the true sweetener of the
cup of life. Love is at best but a bitter sweet; and when
sweetest, it is the friendship mingled with it that makes
it so — and it wastes away with years. Friendship is
eternal. It rests upon qualities that are a part of the
soul. The witchery of the outward image helps not to
make it, nor being lost as it is with age, can dissolve it.
Friendship agrees too with ambition, while love is its
most dreaded rival. Need I point to Antony? If Piso,
thou wouldst live the worthy heir of thy great name — if
thou wouldst build for thyself a throne in the esteem of
mankind — admit friendship, but bar out love. And I
trust to hear that thou art great in Rome — greater even
than thine ancestor Galba's adopted son. Aim at even
the highest, and the arrow, if it reach it not, will hit the
nearer. When thou art Cæsar send me an embassy.
Then perhaps —'
She closed with that radiant smile that subdues all to
her will, her manner at the same time giving me to understand
that the conversation was ended, her own sentence
being left playfully unfinished.
I urged not many things which you may well suppose it
feel as if I had a right, at an hour of so much public inquietude,
to say aught to add to the burden already
weighing upon her. Besides, it occurred to me, that
when within so short a time great public changes may
take place, and the relations of parties be so essentially
altered, it was not worth while to give utterance to sentiments,
which the lapse of a brief period might show to
have been unnecessary and unwise. I may also add that
the presence of this great woman is so imposing, she
seems in the very nature and form the gods have given
her, to move so far above the rest of her kind, that I
found it impossible both to say what I had intended
to say, and to express what I did say with the ease and
propriety which are common to me, on ordinary or other
extraordinary occasions. They are few, I believe, who
possess themselves fully in her presence. Even Longinus
confesses a constraint.
`It is even as I apprehended,' said Fausta, as I communicated
to her the result of my interview with the
Queen. `I know her heart to have been set upon a foreign
alliance by marriage with Julia, and that she has been
looking forward with impatience to the time when her
daughters should be of an age, to add in this way new
strength to the kingdom. I rather hoped than had faith,
that she would listen to your proposals. I thought that,
perhaps, the earnestness of the Princess with the Queen's
strong affection for her, together with the weight of your
family and name, might prevail. But, then, I have asked
myself, if it were reasonable to indulge such a hope.
The Queen is right, in stating as she did, her dependence
— in some sort — upon the people. It is they as well as
she, who are looking forward to this Persian marriage.
I know not what discontents would break out were Hormisdas
Lucius, I think a sadder one than Zenobia's. I
love Julia as dearly as Zenobia, and you a great deal
more than Zenobia does, and would fain see you happy,
and yet I love Palmyra I dare not say how much — nor
that — if by such an act good might come to my country,
I could almost wish that Julia should live in Persia.'
I have within me a better ground of hope, than is
guessed either by the Queen or Fausta, but yet can name
it not. I mention this to you, and pass to other things.
The city has to day been greatly moved, owing to the
expected audience of our ambassadors before the council,
and their final answer. The streets are thronged with
multitudes not engaged in the active affairs of traffic, but
standing in larger or smaller crowds talking, and hearing
or telling news, as it arrives from the palace, or from
abroad.
The die is cast. The ambassadors are dismissed. The
decision of the council has been confirmed by the senate,
and Varro and Petronius have, with their train, departed
from the city. War, therefore, is begun. For it was the
distinct language of the embassy, that no other terms need
be proposed, or would be accepted, beside those offered by
them. None others have been offered on the part of Palmyra.
And the ambassadors have been delayed rather
to avoid the charge of unreasonable precipitancy, than in
the belief that the public mind would incline to, or permit
any reply more moderate than that which they have
borne back to the emperor.
It is understood that Aurelian, with an army, perfectly
equipped, stands waiting, ready to start for Asia
on the arrival of the ambassadors, or their couriers. From
your last letters I gather as much. How, again I ask —
as I have often asked both myself and the principal persons
to this contest? Yet from language which I heard in
the senate, as well as in the private apartments of the
Queen, there is a mad confidence, that after a battle or
two on the outskirts of the kingdom, in which they shall
conquer as always heretofore, an advantageous peace will
end the contest. In the senate, scarce a voice was
raised for concession; its mere mention was enough to
bring down the most bitter charges of a want of patriotism
— a Roman bearing — a sordid regard to the interests
of commerce over those of honor — a poor and
low-minded spirit. Such as had courage to lift up a
warning voice, were soon silenced by the universal clamor
of the opposite party; and although the war was opposed
by some of the ablest men in the kingdom, men inferior
to none of those who have come more especially within
my notice, and whom I have named to you, yet it is termed
a unanimous decision, and so will be reported at
Rome.
The simple truth is, however, that with the exception
of these very few, there is no independent judgment in Palmyra
— on great national questions. The Queen is all
in all. She is Queen, council and senate. Here are the
forms of a republican deliberation with the reality of a
despotic will. Not that Zenobia is a despotic prince, in
any bad sense of the term, but being of so exalted a character,
ruling with such equity and wisdom, moreover,
having created the kingdom by her own unrivalledgies
and genius, it has become the habit of the people to
defer to her in all things — their confidence and love are
so deep and fervent, that they have no will nor power now,
I believe, to oppose her in any measure she might propose.
The city and country of Palmyra proper are her
property, in as real a sense, as my five hundred slaves, on
with many of the nearer allied provinces. The
same enthusiasm pervades them. Her watchfulness over
their interests — her impartiality — her personal oversight
of them, by means of the frequent passages she makes
among them — have all contributed to knit them to her
by the closest ties. With the more remote portions of
the empire it is very different, and it would require the
operation of but slight causes, to divide from their allegiance
Egypt, Armenia, and the provinces of Asia Minor.
How is not this rashness — this folly to be deplored!
Could the early councils of Longinus have been but heeded,
all had been well. But he is now as much devoted to
the will and interests of Zenobia as any in the kingdom,
and lends all the energies of his great mind to the
promotion of her cause. He said truly, that he, like
others, is but a slave yoked to her car. His opinion now
is, that no concessions would avail to preserve the independent
existence of Palmyra. The question lies between
war, and a voluntary descent to the condition of a Roman
province. Nothing less than that will satisfy the
ambition and the pride of Rome. The first step may be
such as that proposed by Varro — the lopping off of the
late conquered provinces, leaving Zenobia the city, circumjacent
territory, and Syria. But a second step would
soon follow the first, and the foot of Aurelian would plant
itself upon the neck of Zenobia herself. This he felt
assured of, both from observation upon the Roman character
and history — upon the personal character of Aurelian,
and from private advices from Rome. He is
now, accordingly, the moving spirit of the enterprise —
going with all his heart and mind into every measure of
the Queen.
I am just returned from a singular adventure. My
gone forth upon my Arab, accompanied by Milo, to refresh
and invigorate my frame after our late carousal
—shall I term it?—at the palace. I took my way,
as I often do, to the Long Portico, that I might again
look upon its faultless beauty and watch the changing
crowds. Turning from that, I then amused my vacant
mind by posting myself where I could overlook, as if
I were indeed the builder or superintendent, tire laborers
upon the column of Aurelian. I became at length particularly
interested in the efforts of a huge elephant, who
was employed in dragging up to the foundations of the
column, so that they might be fastened to machines
to be then hoisted to their place, enormous blocks of marble.
He was a noble animal, and, as it seemed to me, of
far more than common size and strength. Yet did not
his utmost endeavors appear to satisfy the demands of
those who drove him, and who plied without mercy the
barbed scourges which they bore. His temper at length
gave way. He was chained to a mass of rock, which it
was evidently beyond his power to move. It required
the united strength of two at least. But this was nothing
to his inhuman masters. They ceased not to urge him
with cries and blows. One of them, at length transported
by that insane fury which seizes the vulgar when
their will is not done by the brute creation, laid hold upon
a long lance, terminated with a sharp iron goad, long as
my sword, and rushing upon the beast, drove it into his
hinder part. At that very moment the chariot of the
Queen, containing Zenobia herself, Julia, and the other
princesses, came suddenly against the column, on its way
to the palace. I made every possible sign to the charioteer
to turn and fly. But it was too late. The infuriated
monster snapped the chains that held him to the stone at
to death one of his drivers, dashed forward to wreak his vengeance
upon the first object that should come in his way.
That, to the universal terror and distraction of the gathered,
but now scattered and flying crowds, was the chariot of
the Queen. Her mounted guards, at the first onset of the
maddened animal, put spurs to their horses, and by quick
leaps escaped. The horses attached to the chariot, springing
forward to do the same, urged by the lash of the charioteer,
were met by the elephant with straightened trunk
and tail, who, in the twinkling of an eye, wreathed his
proboscis around the neck of the first he encountered, and
wrenching him from his harness, whirled him aloft and
dashed him to the ground. This I saw was the moment
to save the life of the Queen, if it was indeed to be saved.
Snatching from a flying soldier his long spear, and knowing
well the temper of my horse, I put him to his speed,
and running upon the monster as he disengaged his trunk
from the crushed and dying Arabian for a new assault, I
drove it with unerring aim into his eye, and through that
opening on into the brain. He fell as if a bolt from heaven
had struck him. The terrified and struggling horses of
the chariot were secured by the now returning crowds,
and the Queen with the Princesses relieved from the
peril which was so imminent, and had blanched with
terror every cheek but Zenobia's. She had stood the
while — I was told — there being no exertion which she
could make — watching with eager and intense gaze my
movements, upon which she felt that their safety, perhaps
their lives, depended.
It all passed in a moment. Soon as I drew out my
spear from the dying animal, the air was rent with the
shouts of the surrounding populace. Surely, at that moment
I was the greatest — at least the most fortunate
the few words uttered by Zenobia and Julia, were more
than recompense enough for the small service I had performed;
especially, however, the invitation of the Queen:
`But come, noble Piso, leave not the work half done,
we need now a protector for the remainder of the way.
Ascend, if you will do us such pleasure, and join us to
the palace.'
I needed no repeated urging, but taking the offered
seat — whereupon new acclamations went up from the now
augmented throngs — I was driven, as I conceived, in a
sort of triumph to the palace, where passing an hour,
which, it seems to me, held more than all the rest of my
life, I have now returned to my apartment, and relate
what has happened for your entertainment. You will not
wonder that for many reasons my hand trembles, and my
letters are not formed with their accustomed exactness.
Again I am interrupted. What can be the meaning
of the noise and running to and fro which I hear. Some
one, with a quick, light foot approaches.
It is now night. The palace is asleep; but I take
again my pen to tell you of the accomplishment of the
dear object for which I have wandered to this distant spot.
Calpurnius is arrived.
The quick, light foot by which I was disturbed was
Fausta's. I knew it, and sprung to the door. She met
me with her bright and glowing countenance bursting
with expression, `Calpurnius!' said she, `your brother is
here' — and seizing my hand drew me to the apartment
where he sat by the side of Gracchus. Isaac, with his
inseparable pack, standing near.
I need not, as I cannot, describe our meeting. It was
the meeting of brothers — yet of strangers, and a confusion
of wonder — curiosity — vague expectation — and doubt
notwithstanding the different political bias which sways
each, the ancient ties which bound us together as brothers
will again unite us. The countenance of Calpurnius,
though dark and almost stern in its general expression,
yet unbends and relaxes frequently and suddenly, in a
manner that impresses you forcibly with an inward humanity
as the presiding though often concealed quality of
his nature. I can trace faintly the features which have
been stamped upon my memory — and the form too —
chiefly by the recollected scene of that bright morning,
when he, with our elder brother and venerable parent,
gave us each a last embrace, as they started for the tents
of Valerian. A warmer climate has deepened the olive
of his complexion, and at the same time added brilliancy
to an eye, by nature soft as a woman's. His Persian
dress increases greatly the effect of his rare beauty, yet I
heartily wish it off, as it contributes more, I believe, than
the lapse of so many years, to separate us. He will not
seem and feel as a brother, till he returns to the costume
of his native land. How great this power of mere dress
is upon our affections and our regard, you can yourself
bear witness, when those who parted from you to travel in
foreign countries, have returned metamorphosed into
Greeks, Egyptians, or Persians, according to the fashions
that have struck their foolish fancies. The assumed and
foreign air — chills the untravelled heart as it greets them.
They are no longer the same. However the reason
may strive to overcome what seems the mere prejudice of
a wayward nature, we strive in vain — nature will be uppermost
— and many, many times have I seen the former
friendships break away and perish.
I could not but be alive to the general justness of the
comparison instituted by Isaac, between Calpurnius and
very same likeness in kind that we so often observe between
a brother and sister — such as we have often
remarked in your nephew and niece, Drusus and Lavinia
— whose dress being changed, and they are changed.
No sooner had I greeted and welcomed my brother,
than I turned to Isaac and saluted him, I am persuaded
with scarcely less cordiality.
`I sincerely bless the Gods,' said I, `that you have
escaped the perils of two such passages through the desert,
and are safe in Palmyra. May every wish of your
heart, concerning your beloved Jerusalem, be accomplished.
In the keeping of Demetrius will you find not only the
single talent agreed upon in case you returned, but the
two which were to be paid had you perished. One such
tempest upon the desert, escaped, is more and worse than
death itself, met softly upon one's bed.'
`Now, Jehovah be praised,' ejaculated Isaac, `who himself
has moved thy heart to this grace. Israel will feel
this bounty through every limb, it will be to her as the
oil of life.'
`And my debt,' said Calpurnius, `is greater yet, and
should in reason be more largely paid. Through the
hands of Demetrius I will discharge it.'
`We are all bound to you,' said Fausta, `more than
words can tell or money pay.'
`You owe more than you are perhaps aware of to the
rhetoric of Isaac,' added Calpurnius. `Had it not been
for the faithful zeal and cunning of your messenger, in
his arguments not less than his contrivances, I had hardly
now been sitting within the walls of Palmyra.'
`But then again, noble Roman,' said Isaac, `to be
honest I ought to say what I said not — for it had not
then occurred — in my letter to thy brother, how, by my
even unto death, of a foul Persian mob, and so sealed thy
fate, together with my own. Ye have heard, doubtless,
of Manes the Persian, who deems himself some great
one, and sent of God. It was noised abroad ere I left
Palmyra, that for failing in a much boasted attempt to
work a cure by miracle upon the Prince Hormisdas, he
had been strangled by order of Sapor. Had he done so
his love of death-doing had at length fallen upon a proper
object, a true child of Satan. But as I can testify, his
end was not such, and is not yet. He still walks the
earth, poisoning the air he breathes, and deluding the
souls of men. Him I encountered one day, the very day
I had despatched thy letter, in the streets of Ecbatana,
dogged at the heels by his twelve ragged apostles, dragging
along their thin and bloodless limbs, that seemed
each step ready to give way beneath the weight — little
as it was — they had to bear. Their master, puffed up
with the pride of a reformer — as forsooth he holds himself
— stalked by at their head, drawing the admiration
of the besotted people by his great show of sanctity, and
the wise saws which every now and then he let drop for
the edification of such as heard. Some of these sayings
fell upon my ear, and who was I to hear them and not
speak? Ye may know that this false prophet has made
it his aim to bring into one the Magian and Christian superstitions,
so that by such incongruous and deadly mixture,
he might feed the disciples of those two widely
sundered religions, retaining — as he foolishly hoped —
enough of the faith of each to satisfy all who should receive
the compound. In doing this he hath cast dirt
upon the religion of the Jew, blasphemously teaching
that our sacred books are the work of the author of evil,
while those of Christ are by the author of good. With
where I was, and why I was there, I resisted this father
of lies, and withstood him to his face. `Who art thou,
bold blasphemer,' I said, `that takest away the Godhead?
breaking into twain that which is infinite and indivisible?
Who art thou, to tread into the dust the faith
of Abraham, and Moses, and the prophets, imputing their
words, uttered by the spirit of Jehovah, to the great
enemy of mankind? I wonder, people of Ecbatana,
that the thunders of God sleep and strike him not to the
earth as a rebel — nay, that the earth cleaveth not beneath
him and swalloweth him not up, as once before the
rebels Korah, Dathan, and Abiram,' and much more in
the same mad way, till while I was yet speaking, those
lean and hungry followers of his set upon me with violence,
crying out against me as a Jew, and stirring up
the people, who were nothing unwilling, but fell upon me,
and throwing me down, dragged me to a gate of the city,
and casting me out as I had been a dead dog, returned
themselves, like dogs to their vomit — that accursed dish
of Manichean garbage. I believed myself for a long
while surely dead; and in my half conscious state, took
to myself, as I was bound to do, shame for meddling in
the affairs of Pagan misbelievers — putting thy safety at
risk. Through the compassion of an Arab woman,
dwelling without the walls, I was restored and healed —
for whose sake I shall ever bless the Ishmaelite. I doubt
not, Roman, while I lay at the hut of that good woman,
thou thoughtest me a false man?'
`I could not but think so,' said Calpurnius,' `and after
the strong desire of escape which you had at length kindled,
I assure you I heaped curses upon you in no stinted
measure.'
`But all has ended well and so all is well,' said Fausta,
you should stand quietly by and hear the religion of your
fathers traduced. You are well rewarded for what you
did and suffered, by the light in which your tribe will
now regard you — as an almost-martyr, and owing to no
want of will or endeavor on your part, that almost did
not end in quite. Hannibal, good Isaac, will now see to
your entertainment.'
`One word if it please you,' said Isaac, `before I
depart. The gentile despises the Jew. He charges
upon him usury and extortion. He accuses him of avarice.
He believes him to subsist upon the very life-blood
of whomsoever he can draw into his meshes. I
have known those who have firm faith that the Jew feeds
but upon the flesh and blood of Pagan and Christian
infants, whom, by necromantic power, he beguiles from
their homes. He is held as the common enemy of man —
a universal robber — whom all are bound to hate and oppress.
Reward me now with your belief, better than even
the two gold talents I have earned, that all are not such.
This is the charity, and all that I would beg; and I beg it
of you — for that I love you all and would have your esteem.
Believe that in the Jew there is a heart of flesh as
well as in a dog. Believe that some noble ambition visits
his mind as well as yours. Credit it not — it is against
nature — that any tribe of man is what you make the
Jew. Look upon me, and behold the emblem of my
tribe. What do you see? A man bent with years and
toil — this ragged tunic his richest garb — his face worn
with the storms of all climates — a wanderer over the
earth — my home — Piso, thou hast seen it — a single
room, with my good dromedary's furniture for my bed at
night, and my seat by day; this pack — my only apparent
wealth. Yet here have I now received two gold talents
enough, and this is not the tythe of that which I possess.
What then? Is it for that I love obscurity, slavery, and
a beggar's raiment, that I live and labor thus, when my
wealth would raise me to a prince's state? Or is it
that I love to sit and count my hoarded gains? Good
friends, for such you are — believe it not. You have
found me faithful and true to my engagements? believe
my word also. You have heard of Jerusalem, once the
chief city of the East, where stood the great temple of
our faith, and which was the very heart of our nation,
and you know how it was beleaguered by the Romans,
and its very foundations rooted up, and her inhabitants
driven abroad as outcasts, to wander over the face of the
earth, with every where a country, but no where a home.
And does the Jew, think you, sit down quietly under
these wrongs? Trajan's reign may answer that. Is
there no patriotism yet alive in the bosom of a Jew?
Will every other toil and die for his country, and not the
Jew? Believe me again, the prayers which go up morning,
noon and night, for the restoration of Jerusalem, are
not fewer than those which go up for Rome or Palmyra.
And their deeds are not less — for every prayer there are
two acts. It is for Jerusalem! that you behold me thus
in rags, and yet rich. It is for her glory that I am the
servant of all and the scorn of all, that I am now pinched
by the winters of Byzantium, now scorched by the heats
of Asia, and buried beneath the sands of the desert. All
that I have and am is for Jerusalem. And in telling you
of myself, I have told you of my tribe. What we do and
are is not for ourselves, but for our country. Friends,
the hour of our redemption draweth nigh. The Messiah
treads in the steps of Zenobia! And when the East
shall behold the disasters of Aurelian — as it will — it
in the lapse of ages to gather to itself the glory and
dominion of the whole earth.'
Saying these words, during which he seemed no longer
Isaac the Jew, but the very Prince of the Captivity himself,
he turned and took his departure.
Long and earnest conversation now ensued, in which we
received from Calpurnius the most exact accounts of his
whole manner of life, during his captivity — of his early
sufferings and disgraces, and his late honors and elevation,
and gave, in return, similar details concerning the history
of our family and of Rome, during the same period of
time. I will not pretend to set down the narrative of
Calpurnius. It was delivered with a grace which I can
by no means transfer to these pages. I trust you may
one day hear it from his own lips. Neither can I tell
you how beautiful it was to see Fausta hanging upon his
words, with an attention that made her insensible to all
else — her varying color and changing expression, showing
how deeply she sympathised with the narrator. When
he had ended, and we had become weary of the excitement
of this first interview, Fausta proposed that we should
separate to meet again at supper. To this we agreed.
According to the proposal of Fausta, we were again,
soon as evening had come, assembled around the table of
the princely Gracchus.
When we had partaken of the luxuries of the feast, and
various lighter discourse had caused the time to pass by
in an agreeable manner, I said thus, turning to my
brother:
`I would, Calpurnius, that the temper of one's mind
could as easily be changed as one's garments. You now
seem to me, having put off your Persian robes, far more
like Piso than before. Your dress, though but in part
Roman and part Palmyrene, still brings you nearer.
Persian really put off, and nothing of the Roman put on,
by this change?'
`Whatever of the Persian there was about me,' replied
Calpurnius, `I am free to say I have laid aside with my
Persian attire. I was a Persian not by choice and preference,
I need scarcely assure you, but by a sort of necessity
— just as it was with my costume. I could not procure
Roman clothes if I would. I could not help, too,
putting off the Roman — seeing how I was dealt by —
and putting on the Persian. Yet I part with whatever of
the Persian has cleaved to me without reluctance — would
it were so that I could again assume the Roman — but
that can never be. But Isaac has already told you all.'
`Isaac has indeed informed me, in his letter from Ecbatana,
that you had renounced your country, and that it
was the expectation of war with Rome that alone had
power to draw you from your captivity. But I have not
believed that you would stand by that determination.
The days of republican patriotism, I know, are passed,
but even now, under the empire, our country has claims,
and her children owe her duties.'
`The figure is a common one,' Calpurnius answered,
`by which our country is termed a parent, and we her
children. Allow it just. Do I owe obedience to an unjust
or tyrannical parent? to one who has abandoned
me in helplessness — or exposed me in infancy? Are not
the natural ties then sundered?'
`I think not,' I replied; `no provocation or injury can
justify a parricidal blow. Our parent is our creator — in
some sense a God to us. The tie that binds us to him is
like no other tie; to do it violence, is not only a wrong,
but an impiety.'
`I cannot think so,' he rejoined. `A parent is our
In the case of the Gods, this is reversed. They have
given us being for our advantage, not theirs. We lie under
obligation to a parent, then, only as he fulfils the
proper duties of one. When he ceases to be virtuous, the
child must cease to respect. When he ceases to be just,
or careful, or kind, the child must cease to love. And
from whomsoever else, then, the child receives the treatment
becoming a parent, that person is to him the true
parent. It is idle to be governed by names rather than
things. It is more, it is mischievous and injurious.'
`I still am of opinion,' I replied, `that nature has ordained,
what I have asserted to be an everlasting and
universal truth, by the instincts which she has implanted.
All men, of all tribes, have united in expressions of horror
against him who does violence to his parents. And have
not the poets truly painted, when they have set before us
the parricide, forever after the guilty act, pursued by the
Furies, and delivered over to their judicial torments.'
`All instincts,' he replied, `are not to be defended.
Some animals devour their own young as soon as born.
Vice is instinctive. If it be instinctive to honor and love,
and obey a vicious parent, to be unresisting under the
most galling oppression, then, I say, the sooner reason
usurps the place of instinct, the safer for mankind. No
error can be more gross or hurtful, than to respect vice
because of the person in whom it is embodied, even though
that person be a parent. Vice is vice — injustice is injustice
— wrong is wrong — wheresoever they are found
— and are to be detested and withstood. But I might
admit that I am in an error here — and still maintain my
cause, by denying the justice of the figure by which our
country is made our parent, and our obligations to her
made to rest on the same ground. It is mere fancy — it
been the source of great mischiefs to the world, in which
case it cannot be termed a nullity, but something positively
pernicious. What age of the world can be named,
when an insane devotion to one's country has not been
the mother of war upon war, evil upon evil, beyond the
power of memory to recount. Patriotism, — standing for
this instinctive slavery of the will — has cursed as much
as it has blessed mankind. Men have not reasoned, they
have only felt. They have not inquired, is the cause of
my country just — but is it her cause? That has ever
been the cry in Rome. “Our country! our country!
right or wrong — our country!” It is a maxim good for
conquest and despotism — bad, for peace and justice. It
has made Rome mistress of the world, and at the same
time the scourge of the world, and trodden down into
their own blood-stained soil the people of many a clime,
who had else dwelt in freedom. I am no Roman in this
sense — and ought never to have been. Admit that I am
not justified in raising my hand against the life of a parent
— though if I could defend myself against violence no
otherwise, I should raise that hand — I will never allow
that I am to approve and second with my best blood, all
the acts of my country, but when she errs am bound —
on the other hand — to blame, and, if need be, oppose?
Why not? What is this country? Men like myself.
Who enact the decrees by which I am to be thus bound?
Senators, no more profoundly wise, perhaps, and no
more irreproachably virtuous than myself. And do I owe
their judgments a dearer allegiance — and which I esteem
false — than I do to my own, which I esteem right and
true. Never. Such patriotism is a degradation and a
vice. Rome, Lucius, I think to have dealt by me and
the miserable men who, with me, fell into the hands of
parent, and I renounce her, and allegiance to her.
I am from this hour a Palmyrene — Zenobia is my mother,
Palmyra my country.'
`But,' I could not but still urge, `should no distinction
be made between your country and her emperor? Is the
country to rest under the imputation which is justly, perhaps,
cast upon its men? That were hardly right. To
renounce Gallienus, were he now emperor, were a defensible
act. But why Rome or Aurelian?'
`I freely grant, that had a just emperor been upon the
throne — a man with human feelings — the people, had
he projected our rescue or revenge, would have gone
with him. But how is their conduct to be defended during
the long reign of the son of Valerian? Was such a
people as the people of Rome to conform their minds and
acts to a monster like him? Was that the part of a great
nation? Is it credible, that the senate and the people together,
had no power to compel Gallienus to the performance
of his duties to his own father, and the brave legions
who fell with him? Alas! they, too, wanted the will.'
`Oh not so, Calpurnius,' I rejoined; `Gallienus wished
the death or the captivity of his father, that he might
reign. To release him, was the last act that wretch
could have been urged to do. And could he, then, have
been made to interpose for the others? He might have
been assassinated — but all the power of Rome could not
have compelled him to a war, the issue of which might
have been, by the rescue of Valerian, to lose him his
throne.'
`Then he should have been assassinated. Rome owed
herself a greater duty than allegiance to a beast in human
form.'
`But, Calpurnius, you are now at liberty. Why consider
while in Persia, dwelt in comfort, and at last even in
magnificence. The Prince himself has been your companion
and friend.'
`What was it,' he replied, `what was it, when I reflected
upon myself, but so much deeper degradation, to
find that in spite of myself, I was every day sinking deeper
and deeper in Persian effeminacy. What was it but the
worst wretchedness of all to feel as I did, that I, a Roman
and a Piso, was losing my nature as I had lost my country.
If any thing seemed to turn my blood into one hot
current of bitterness and revenge, it was this. It will
never cool till I find myself, sword in hand, under the
banners of Zenobia. Urge me no more. It were as hopeful
an endeavor to stem the current of the Euphrates,
as to turn me from my purpose. I have reasoned with
you because you are a brother — not because you are a
Roman.'
`And I,' I replied, `can still love you — because you
are a brother, nor less because you are also a Palmyrene.
I greet you as the head of our house, the elder heir of an
illustrious name. I still will hope, that when these troubles
cease, Rome may claim you as her own.'
`No emperor,' he answered, `unless he were a Piso,
I fear, would permit a renegade of such rank ever to
dwell within the walls of Rome. Let me rather hope,
that when this war is ended, Portia may exchange Rome
for Palmyra, and that here, upon this fair and neutral
ground, the Pisos may once more dwell beneath the same
roof.'
`May it be so,' said Gracchus; and let not the heats of
political opposition change the kindly current of your
blood, or inflame it. You, Lucius Piso, are to remember
the provocations of Calpurnius, and are to feel that there
Persian effeminacy that, to say the least, reflects quite as
much honor upon the name of Piso, and even Roman, as
any loyalty to an emperor like Gallienus, or that senate,
filled with his creatures. And you, Calpurnius Piso,
are to allow for that instinctive veneration for every thing
Roman which grows up with the Roman, and even in
spite of his better reason, ripens into a bigotry that deserves
the name of a crime rather than a virtue — and
are to consider, that while in you the growth of this false
sentiment has been checked by causes, in respect to
which you were the sport of fortune, so in Lucius it has
been quickened by other causes over which he also was
powerless. But to utter my belief, Lucius I think, is
now more than half Palmyrene, and I trust yet, if committed,
as he has been, to the further tuition of our patriot
Fausta, will be not only in part, but altogether of our
side.'
`In the mean time, let us rejoice,' said Fausta, `that
the noble Calpurnius joins our cause. If we may judge
by the eye, the soft life of a Persian Satrap has not quite
exhausted the native Roman vigor.'
`I have never intermitted,' replied Calpurnius, `martial
exercises. Especially have I studied the whole art of
horsemanship, so far as the chase and military discipline
can teach it. It is in her cavalry, as I learn, that Zenobia
places her strength. I shall there, I trust, do her good
service.'
`In the morning,' said Fausta, `it shall be my office to
bring you before our Queen.'
`And now, Fausta,' said Gracchus, `bring your harp,
and let music perfect the harmony which reason and philosophy
have already so well begun — music, which for
its power over our souls, may rather be held an influence
of mortal birth.'
`I fear,' said Fausta, `as she touched the instrument
— the Greek, and not the Jewish harp — `I shall still
further task your philosophy — for I can sing nothing else
than the war-song, which is already heard all through the
streets of Palmyra, and whose author, it is said — is no
less than our chief spirit, Longinus. Lucius, you must
close your ears.'
`Never while your voice sounds, though bloody treason
were the only burden.'
`You are a gentle Roman.'
Then, after a brief but fiery prelude, which of itself,
struck by her fingers, was enough to send life into stones,
she broke forth into a strain, abrupt and impassioned, of
wild Pindaric energy, that seemed the very war-cry of a
people striking and dying for liberty. Her voice, inspired
by soul too large for mortal form, rang like a trumpet
through the apartment, and seemed to startle the Gods
themselves at their feast. As the hymn moved on to its
perfect close, and the voice of Fausta swelled with the
waxing theme, Calpurnius seemed like one entranced —
unconsciously he had left his seat, and there, in the midst
of the room, stood before the divine girl, converted to
a statue. As she ceased, the eyes of Calpurnius fell
quickly upon me, with an expression which I instantly interpreted,
and should have instantly returned, but that we
were all alike roused out of ourselves by the loud shouts
of a multitude without the palace, who apparently had
been drawn together by the far-reaching tones of Fausta's
voice, and who, as soon as the last strings of the harp
were touched, testified their delight by reiterated and enthusiastic
cries.'
`When Zabdas and Zenobia fail,' said Calpurnius,
`you, daughter of Gracchus, may lead the armies of your
country by your harp and voice — they would inspire not
less than the fame of Cæsar or Aurelian.'
`But be it known to you, Piso,' said Gracchus, `that
this slight girl can wield a lance or a sword, while centaur-like,
she grows to the animal she rides, as well as
sweep these idle strings.'
`I will learn of her in either art,' replied my brother.
`As I acknowledge no instinct which is to bind me to an
unjust parent, but will give honor only where there is
virtue, so on the field of war I will enlist under any leader
in whom I behold the genius of a warrior, be that leader
man or woman, boy or girl.'
`I shall be satisfied,' said Fausta, `to become your
teacher in music, that is, if you can learn through the
force of example alone. Take now another lesson.
Zenobia shall teach you the art of war.'
With these words she again passed her fingers over her
harp, and after strains of melting sweetness, prolonged
till our souls were wholly subdued to the sway of the
gentler emotions, she sang in words of Sappho the praise
of love and peace, twin-sisters. And then as we urged,
or named to her Greek or Roman airs which we wished
to hear, did she sing and play till every sense was satisfied
and filled.
It needs not so much sagacity as I possess to perceive
the effect upon my brother of the beauty and powers of
Fausta. He speaks with difficulty when he addresses
her, and while arguing or conversing with me or Gracchus,
his eye seeks her countenance, and then falls as it
encounters hers, as if he had committed some crime.
Fausta, I am sure, is not insensible to the many rare and
striking qualities of Calpurnius. But her affections can
elevation. Whether Calpurnius is throughout that which
he seems to be, and whether he is worthy the love of
a being like Fausta I know not yet, though I am
strong in faith that it is so. In the mean time, a mutual
affection is springing up and growing upon the thin soil
of the fancy, and may reach a quick and rank luxuriance
before it shall be discovered that there is nothing more
substantial beneath. But why indulge a single doubt?
only, I suppose, because I would rather Rome should fall
than that any harm come to the heart of Fausta.
It was a little after the noon of this day that the ambassadors,
Petronius and Varro, passed from out the gates
of Palmyra, bearing with them a virtual declaration of
war.
The greatest excitement prevails. The streets are already
filled with sights and sounds admonitory of the
scenes which are soon to be disclosed. There is the
utmost enthusiasm in every quarter, and upon every face
you behold the confidence and pride of those, who, accustomed
to conquest, are about to extend their dominion
over new territories, and to whom war is a game of pleasure
rather than a dark hazard, that may end in utter
desolation and ruin. Intrenched within these massy
walls, the people of this gay capital cannot realize war.
Its sounds are afar off — it has ever been so — beyond
the wide sweep of the deserts — and will be so — so they
judge now, and they are scarcely turned for a moment, or
by the least remove, from their accustomed cares or
pleasures.
| LETTER XI. Letters of Lucius M. Piso, from Palmyra, to his friend Marcus Curtius at Rome | |