University of Virginia Library

13. LETTER XIII.

These few days having passed in the manner I have
described, our impatience has been relieved by news from
the West. We learn that Aurelian, having appointed
Illyricum as the central point for assembling his forces,
has, marching thence through Thrace, and giving battle
on the way to the Goths, at length reached Byzantium,
whence crossing the Bosphorus, it is his purpose to
subdue the Asiatic provinces, and afterwards advance toward
Palmyra. The army of the Queen, judging by the
last accounts received by her messengers, must now have
reached the neighborhood of Antioch, and there already
perhaps have encountered the forces of the Emperor.

The citizens begin at length to put on the appearance
of those who feel that something of value is at stake.
The Portico is forsaken, or frequented only by such as
hope to hear news by going there. The streets are become
silent and solitary. I myself partake of the general
gloom. I am often at the palace and at the house of
Longinus. The dwelling, or rather should I not term it
the spacious palace of the minister, affords me delightful
hours of relaxation and instruction, as I sit and converse
with its accomplished lord, or wander among the compartments
of his vast library, or feast the senses and imagination
upon the choice specimens of sculpture and painting,
both ancient and modern, which adorn the walls, the ceilings,
the stair-ways, and, indeed, every part of the extensive
interior. Here I succeed in forgetting the world and
all its useless troubles, and am fairly transported into
those regions of the fancy, where the airs are always

soft and the skies serene, where want is unknown, and
solicitations to vice come not, where men are just, and true,
and kind, and women the goddesses we make them in our
dreams, and the whole of existence is a calm summer's
day, without storm of the inward or outward world. And
when upon these delicious moments the philosopher himself
breaks in, the dream is not dissolved, but stands rather
converted to an absolute reality, for it then shines with
the actual presence of a God. It is with unwillingness
that I acknowledge my real state, and consent to return
to this living world of anxieties and apprehensions in
which I now dwell.

I am just returned from the Palace and the Princess
Julia. While there seated in conversation with her,
Longinus and Livia, a courier was suddenly announced
from Zenobia. He entered, woe stamped upon his features,
and delivered letters into the hands of Longinus.
Alas! Alas! for Palmyra. The intelligence is of disaster
and defeat. The countenance of the Greek grew pale as
he read. He placed the despatches in silence in the hands
of Julia, having finished them, and hastily withdrew.

The sum of the news is this. A battle has been fought
before Antioch, and the forces of the Queen completely
routed. It appears that upon the approach of Aurelian,
the several provinces of Asia Minor, which by negotiation
and conquest had by Zenobia been connected with her
kingdom, immediately returned to their former allegiance.
The cities opened their gates and admitted the armies
of the conqueror. Tyana alone of all the Queen's
dominions in that quarter, opposed the progress of the
Emperor, and this strong-hold was soon by treachery delivered
into his power. Thence he pressed on without
pause to Antioch, where he found the Queen awaiting
him. A battle immediately ensued. At first, the Queen's

forces obtained decided advantages, and victory seemed
ready to declare for her as always before, when the Gods
decreed otherwise, and the day was lost — but lost in the
indignant language of the Queen, `not in fair and honorable
fight, but through the baseness of a stratagem rather
to have been expected from a Carthaginian than the great
Aurelian.' `Our troops,' she writes, `had driven the enemy
from his ground at every point. Notwithstanding the
presence of Aurelian, and the prodigies of valor by which
he distinguished himself anew, and animated his soldiers,
our cavalry, led by the incomparable Zabdas, bore him
and his legions backwards, till apparently discomfited by
the violence of the onset, the Roman horse gave way and
fled in all directions. The shout of victory arose from
our ranks, which now dissolved, and in the disorder of a
flushed and conquering army, scattered in hot pursuit of
the flying foe. Now, when too late, we saw the treachery
of the enemy. Our horse, heavy-armed, as you know
— were led on by the retreating Romans into a broken
and marshy ground, where their movements were in every
way impeded, and thousands were suddenly fixed immovable
in the deep morass. At this moment, the enemy, by
preconcerted signals, with inconceivable rapidity — being
light-armed — formed; and, returning upon our now
scattered and broken forces, made horrible slaughter of
all who had pushed farthest from the main body of the
army. Dismay seized our soldiers — the panic spread
— increased by the belief that a fresh army had come up
and was entering the field, and our whole duty centered
upon forming and covering our retreat. This, chiefly
through the conduct of Calpurnius Piso, was safely effected;
the Romans being kept at bay while we drew together,
and then under cover of the approaching night, fell back
to a new and strong position.

`I attempt not, Longinus, to make that better which is
bad. I reveal the whole truth, not softening or withholding
a single feature of it, that your mind may be possessed
of the exact state of our affairs, and know how to form its
judgments. Make that which I write public, to the extent
and in the manner that shall seem best to you.

`After mature deliberation, we have determined to retreat
further yet, and take up our position under the walls
of Emesa. Here, I trust in the Gods we shall redeem
that which we have lost.'

In a letter to Julia, the Queen says, `Fausta has escaped
the dangers of the battle; selfishly, perhaps, dividing
her from Piso, she has shared my tent and my fortunes,
and has proved herself worthy of every confidence that
has been reposed in her. She is my inseparable companion
in the tent, in the field, and on the road, by night and
by day. Give not way to despondency, dear Julia. Fortune,
which has so long smiled upon me, is not now about
to forsake me. There is no day so long and bright, that
clouds do not sail by and cast their little shadows. But
the sun is behind them. Our army is still great and in
good heart. The soldiers receive me, whenever I appear,
with their customary acclamations. Fausta shares this
enthusiasm. Wait without anxiety or fear for news from
Emesa.'

When we had perused and re-perused the despatches
of the Queen, and were brooding in no little despondency
over their contents, Longinus, re-entering, said to me,

`And what, Piso, may I ask, is your judgment of the
course which Aurelian will now pursue? I see not that I
can offend in asking, or you in answering. I have heretofore
inclined to the belief that Rome, having atoned her
injured honor by a battle, would then prefer to convert
Palmyra into a useful ally, by the proposal of terms which

she could accept — terms which would leave her an independent
existence as formerly — in friendly alliance with,
though in no sense subject to Rome. But neither preceding
the battle at Antioch, nor since, does it appear
that terms have been so much as proposed or discussed.
I can hardly believe that Aurelian, even if victory should
continue to sit upon his eagles, would desire to drive the
Queen to extremities, and convert this whole people into
a united and infuriated enemy. If he be willing to do
this, he little understands the best interests of Rome, and
proves only this, that though he may be a good soldier,
he is a bad sovereign, and really betrays his country while
achieving the most brilliant victories.'

`I am obliged to say,' I replied, `that I have wavered
in my judgment. Sometimes, when I have thought of
policy, of the past services of Palmyra, and of Persia, I
have deemed it hardly possible that Aurelian should have
had any other purpose in this expedition than to negotiate
with Zenobia, under the advantages of an army at his
back — that at the most and worst, a single battle would
suffice, and the differences which exist be then easily adjusted.
But, then, when again I have thought of the
character of Aurelian, I have doubted these conclusions,
and believed that conquest alone will satisfy him — and
that he will never turn back till he can call Palmyra a
Roman province. From what has now transpired at Antioch,
and especially from what has not transpired, I am
strengthened in this last opinion. One or the other must
fall. I believe it has come to this.'

`One or the other may fall at Emesa,' said Livia, `but
no power can ever force the walls of Palmyra.'

`I am ready to believe with you, Princess,' said Longinus,
`but I trust never to see a Roman army before them.
Yet if your last judgment of Aurelian be the true one,

Piso, it may happen. We are not a power to pour forth
the hordes of Rome or Germany. We have valor, but
not numbers.'

`Ought not,' said Julia, `every provision to be made,
even though there be but the remotest possibility of the
city sustaining a siege.'

`The most fruitful imagination,' replied Longinus,
`could hardly suggest a single addition to what is already
done, to render Palmyra impregnable. And long before
the food now within the walls could be exhausted, any
army — save one of Arabs of the desert — lying before
them, must itself perish. But these things the council
and senate will maturely weigh.'

Longinus departed.

At the same moment that he left the apartment, that
Indian slave whom I have often seen sitting at the feet of
the Queen, entered where we were, and addressing a few
words to the Princess Julia again retreated. I could not
but remark again what I had remarked before, her graceful
beauty, and especially the symmetry of her form and
elasticity of her step. There was now also an expression
in the countenance which, notwithstanding its dark
beauty, I liked not, as I had often before liked it not,
when I had seen her in the presence of Zenobia.

`Princess,' said I, `is the slave who has just departed
sincere in her attachment to Zenobia?'

`I cannot doubt it,' she replied; `at least I have observed
nothing to cause me to doubt it. Thinking herself
injured and degraded by Zenobia, she may perhaps
feel toward her as the captive feels toward the conqueror.
But if this be so, the lip breathes it not. To the Queen
she is, as far as the eye may judge, fondly attached, and
faithful to the trusts reposed in her.'

`But why,' I asked, `thinks she herself injured and degraded?
is she not what she seems to be, a slave?'

`She is a slave by the chances of fortune and war, not
by descent or purchase. She was of the household of
Sapor, when his tents, wives, and slaves fell into the hands
of Odenatus, and by him, as we learned, had been taken
in his wars with an Indian nation. In her own country
she was a princess, and were she now there, were queen.
Zenobia's pride is gratified by using her for the purposes
she does, nor has it availed to intercede in her behalf.
Yet has it always seemed, as if a strong attachment drew
the fair slave to our mother, and sure I am that Zenobia
greatly esteems her, and, save in one respect, maintains
and holds her rather as an equal than inferior. We all
love her. Others beside yourself have questioned her
truth, but we have heeded them not. Upon what, may I
ask, have you founded a doubt of her sincerity?'

`I can scarcely say,' I rejoined, `that I have ground to
doubt her sincerity. Indeed, I know nothing of her but
what you have now rehearsed, except, that a few days
since, as I retired from the palace, I observed her near
the eastern gate, in earnest conversation with Antiochus.
Soon as her eye caught me, although at a great distance,
she hastily withdrew into the palace, while Antiochus
turned toward the neighboring street.'

Julia smiled. `Ah,' said she, `our cousin, Antiochus,
were he to lose all hope of me, would hasten to throw
himself at the feet of the beautiful Sindarina. When at
the palace, his eyes can hardly be drawn from her
face. I have been told he exalts her above her great
mistress. Were Antiochus king, I can hardly doubt
that Sindarina were queen. His visit to the palace must
have been to her alone. Livia, have you received him
since the departure of Zenobia?'

Her sister had not seen him. I said no more. But
never have I read aright the human countenance, if in
her there be not hidden design of evil. I knew not before
this interview her history. This supplies a motive
for a treacherous turn, if by it her freedom or her fortune
might be achieved. I have mentioned my suspicions to
Longinus, but he sees nothing in them.

The intelligence thus received has effectually sobered
the giddy citizens of Palmyra. They are now of opinion
that war really exists, and that they are a party concerned.
The merchants, who are the princes of the place, perceiving
their traffic to decline or cease, begin to interest
themselves in the affairs of the state. So long as wealth
flowed in as ever, and the traders from India and Persia
saw no obstruction in the state of things to a safe transaction
of their various businesses and transportation of their
valuable commodities, the merchants left the state to take
care of itself, and whatever opinions they held, expressed
them only in their own circles, thinking but of accumulation
by day, and of ostentatious expenditure by night. I
have often heard, that their general voice, had it been
raised, would have been hostile to the policy that has prevailed.
But it was not raised; and now, when too late,
and these mercenary and selfish beings are driven to some
action by the loss of their accustomed gains, a large and
violent party is forming among them, who loudly condemn
the conduct of the Queen and her ministers, and advocate
immediate submission to whatever terms Aurelian may
impose. This party, however, powerful though it may be
through wealth, is weak in numbers. The people are
opposed to them, and go enthusiastically with the Queen,
and do not scruple to exult in the distresses of the merchants.
Their present impotence is but a just retribution
upon them for their criminal apathy during the early

stages of the difficulty. Then had they taken a part, as
they ought to have done, in the public deliberations, the
rupture which has ensued might, it is quite likely, have
been prevented. Their voice would have been a loud and
strong one, and would have been heard. They deserve
to lose their liberties, who will not spare time from selfish
pursuits to guard them. Where a government is popular,
even to no greater extent than this, it behooves every individual,
if he values the power delegated to him and
would retain it, to use it — otherwise it is by degrees and
insensibly lost; and once absorbed into the hands of the
few, it is not easily, if at all, to be recovered.

Nothing can exceed the activity displayed on all hands
in every preparation which the emergency demands.
New levies of men are making, and a camp again forming
to reinforce the Queen, at Emesa, or in its neighborhood,
if she should not be compelled to retire upon Palmyra.
In the mean time, we wait with beating hearts
for the next arrival of couriers.

After an anxious suspense of several days all my worst
apprehensions are realised. Messengers have arrived,
announcing the defeat of Zenobia before the walls of Emesa,
and with them fugitives from the conquered army are
pouring in. Every hour now do we expect the approach
of the Queen, with the remnant of her forces. Our intelligence
is in the hand of Zenobia herself. She has
written thus to her minister.

`Septimia Zenobia to Dyonysius Longinus. I am
again defeated. Our cavalry were at first victorious, as
before at Antioch. The Roman horse were routed. But
the infantry of Aurelian, in number greatly superior to
ours, falling upon our ranks when deprived of the support
of the cavalry, obtained an easy victory; while their
horse, rallying and increased by reinforcements from Antioch,

drove us in turn at all points, penetrating even to
our camp, and completed the disaster of the day. I have
now no power with which to cope with Aurelian. It remains
but to retreat upon Palmyra, there placing our reliance
upon the strength of our walls, and upon our Armenian,
Saracen, and Persian allies. I do not despair,
although the favor of the Gods seems withdrawn. Farewell.'

The city is in the utmost consternation. All power
seems paralysed. The citizens stand together in knots
at the corners of the streets, like persons struck dumb,
and without command of either their bodies or their
minds. The first feeling was, and it was freely expressed,
`to contend further is hopeless. The army is destroyed;
another cannot now be recruited; and if it
could, before it were effected, Aurelian would be at the
gates with his countless legions, and the city necessarily
surrender. We must now make the best terms we can,
and receive passively conditions which we can no longer
oppose.'

But soon other sentiments took the place of these, and
being urged by those who entertained them with zeal,
they have prevailed.

`Why,' they have urged, `should we yield before that
becomes the only alternative? At present we are secure
within the walls of our city, which may well defy all the
power of a besieging army. Those most skilled in such
matters, and who have visited the places in the world
deemed most impregnable, assert that the defences of
Palmyra are perfect, and surpassed by none; and that
any army, whether a Roman or any other, must perish
before it would be possible either to force our gates or
reduce us by hunger. Besides, what could we expect by
submitting to the conqueror, but national extinction? Our

city would be pillaged: our principal citizens murdered;
perhaps a general slaughter made of the inhabitants,
without regard to age or sex. The mercies of Rome
have ever been cruel; and Aurelian we know to be
famed for the severity of his temper. No commander of
modern times has instituted so terrible a discipline in his
army, and Rome itself has felt the might of his iron
hand; it is always on his sword. What can strangers,
foreigners, enemies, and rebels, as he regards us, expect?
And are the people of Palmyra ready to abandon their
Queen? to whom we owe all this great prosperity — this
wide renown — this extended empire? But for Zenobia
we were now what we so many ages were, a petty trading
village — a community of money makers — hucksters and
barterers — without arts, without science, without fame,
destitute of all that adorns and elevates a people. Zenobia
has raised us to empire; it is Zenobia who has made
us the conquerers of Persia, and the rival of Rome.
Shame to those who will desert her! Shame to those
who will distrust a genius that has hitherto shone with
greater lustre in proportion to the difficulties that have
opposed it. Who can doubt that by lending her all our
energies and means, she will yet triumph. Shame and
death to the enemies of the Queen and the State!'

Sentiments like these are now every where heard, and
the courage and enthusiasm of the people are rising again.
Those who are for war and resistance are always the
popular party. There is an instinctive love of liberty and
power, and a horror at the thought of losing them, that
come to the aid of the weak, and often cause them to
resist, under circumstances absolutely desperate. Palmyra
is not weak, but to one who contemplates both
parties, and compares their relative strength, it is little
short of madness to hope to hold out with ultimate success

against the power of Rome. But such is the determination
of the great body of the people. And the
Queen, when she shall approach with her broken and diminished,
and defeated army, will meet the welcome of a
conqueror. Never before in the history of the world,
was there so true hearted a devotion of a whole people to
the glory, interests, and happiness of One — and never
was such devotion so deserved.

The Princess Julia possesses herself like one armed
for such adversities, not by nature, but by reflection and
philosophy. She was designed for scenes of calmness
and peace. But she has made herself equal to times of
difficulty, tumult and danger. She shrinks not from the
duties which her station now imposes upon her, but seems
like one who possesses resolution enough to reign with
the vigor and power of Zenobia. Her two brothers, who
have remained in the city, Herennianus and Timolaus,
leave all affairs of state to her and the council; they preferring
the base pleasures of sensuality in which they
wallow day and night, in company with Antiochus and
his crew. If a deep depression is sometimes seen to
rest upon her spirit, it comes rather when she thinks of
her mother, than of herself. She experiences already,
through her lively sympathies, the grief that will rage in
the soul of Zenobia, should fortune deprive her of her
crown.

`Zenobia,' she has said to me, `Zenobia cannot descend
from a throne, without suffering such as common
souls cannot conceive. A goddess driven from heaven
and the company of the gods, could not endure more.
To possess and to exercise power is to her heaven; to be
despoiled of it, Tartarus and death. She was born for
a throne, though not on one; and how she graces it, you
and the world have seen. She will display fortitude under

adversity and defeat, I am sure, and to the common
eye, the same soul and vigorous with all its energies,
will appear to preside over her. But the prospect or expectation
of a fall from her high place will rack with
torments such as no mortal can hope to assuage. To
witness her grief, without the power to relieve— I cannot
bear to think of it.'

In Livia there is more of the mother. She is proud,
imperious, and ambitious, in a greater measure even than
Zenobia. Young as she is, she believes herself of a different
nature from others; she born to rule, others to
serve. It is not the idea of her country and its renown
that fills and sways her, but of a throne and its attendant
glories. So she could reign a Queen, with a Queen's
state and homage, it would matter little to her whether it
were in Persia or Palmyra. Yet with those who are her
equals is she free, and even sportive, light of heart, and
overflowing with excess of life. Her eye burns with the
bright lustre of a star, and her step is that of the mistress
of a world. She is not terrified at the prospect before
her, for her confident and buoyant spirit looks down all
opposition, and predicts a safe egress from the surrounding
peril, and an ascent, through this very calamity itself,
to a position more illustrious still.

`Julia,' said she, on one occasion of late, while I sat a
listener, `supposing that the people of Palmyra should
set aside our renowned brothers, and again prefer a woman's
sway, would not you renounce your elder right in
favour of me? I do not think you would care to be a
Queen?'

`That is true,' replied Julia, `I should not care to be a
Queen; and yet, I believe I should reign that you might
not. Though I covet not the exercise of power, I believe
I should use it more wisely than you would, who do.'

`I am sure,' said Livia, `I feel within me that very
superiority to others, which constitutes the royal character,
and would fit me eminently to reign. He cannot be
a proper slave who has not the soul of a slave. Neither
can he reign well who has not the soul of a monarch.
I am suited to a throne, just as others are by the providence
of the gods suited to uphold the throne, and be the
slaves of it.'

`Were you Queen, Livia, it would be for your own
sake; to enjoy the pleasures which as you imagine, accompany
that state, and exercise over others the powers
with which you were clothed, and receive the homage of
dependent subjects. Your own magnificence and luxurious
state would be your principal thought. Is that being
suited to a throne?'

`But,' said Livia, `I should not be guilty of intentional
wrong toward any. So long as my people obeyed my
laws and supported my government, there would be no
causes of difficulty. But surely, if there were resistance,
and any either insulted or opposed my authority, it would
be a proper occasion for violent measures. For there
must be some to govern as well as others to obey. All
cannot rule. Government is founded in necessity. Kings
and queens are of nature's making. It would be right,
then, to use utmost severity toward such as ceased to
obey, as the slave his master. How could the master obtain
the service of the slave, if there were not reposed in
him power to punish? Shall the master of millions have
less?'

`Dear Livia, your principles are suited only to some
Persian despotism. You very soberly imagine, unless
you jest, that governments exist for the sake of those who
govern — that kings and queens are the objects for which
governments are instituted.'

`Truly, it is very much so. Otherwise what would the
king or queen of an empire be but a poor official, maintained
in a sort of state by the people, and paid by them
for the discharge of a certain set of duties which must be
performed by some one — but who possesses, in fact, no
will or power of his own — rather the servant of the people
than their master.'

`I think,' replied Julia, `you have given a very just
definition of the imperial office. A king, queen, or emperor
is indeed the servant of the people. He exists not
for his own pleasure or glory, but for their good. Else
he is a tyrant, a despot — not a sovereign.'

`It is, then,' said Livia, `only a tyrant or a despot that
I would consent to be. Not in any bad meaning of the
terms, for you know, Julia, that I could not be cruel or
unjust. But unless I could reign, as one independent of
my people, and irresponsible to them; not in name only,
but in reality above them; receiving the homage due to
the queenly character and office — I would not reign at
all. To sit upon a throne, a mere painted puppet, shaken
by the breath of every conceited or discontented citizen,
a butt for every shaft to fly at, a mere hireling, a slave in
a queen's robe, the mouthpiece for others to speak by,
and proclaim their laws, with no will or power of my own
— no, no. It is not such that Zenobia is?'

`She is more than that, indeed,' replied Julia; `she is
in some sense a despot; her will is sovereign in the
state; she is an absolute prince in fact; but it is through
the force of her own character and virtues, not by the
consent and expressed allowance of her subjects. Her
genius, her goodness, her justice, and her services, have
united to confer upon her this dangerous preeminence.
But who else, with power such as her's, would reign as
as she has reigned? An absolute will, guided by perfect

wisdom and goodness, constitutes, I indeed believe, the
simplest and best form of human government. It is a
copy of that of the universe, under the providence of the
Gods. But an absolute will, moved only or chiefly by the
selfish love of regal state and homage; — or by a very defective
wisdom and goodness, is, on the other hand, the
very worst form of human government. You would make
an unequalled queen, Livia, if to act the queen were all
— if you were but to sit and receive the worship of the
slaves, your subjects. As you sit now, I can almost believe
you Queen of the East! Juno's air was not more
imperial, nor the beauty of Venus more enslaving. Piso
will not dissent from what I began with, or now end
with.'

`I think you have delivered a true doctrine,' I replied,
`but which few who have once tasted of power will admit.
Liberty would be in great danger were Livia queen. Her
subjects would be too willing to forget their rights, through
a voluntary homage to her queenly character and state.
Their chains would, however, be none the less chains,
that they were voluntarily assumed. That, indeed, is the
most dangerous slavery which men impose upon themselves,
for it does not bear the name of slavery, but some
other; yet as it is real, the character of the slave is silently
and unconsciously formed, and then unconsciously transmitted.'

`I perceive,' said Livia, `if what you philosophers urge
be true, that I am rather meant by nature for a Persian
or a Roman throne than any other. I would be absolute,
though it were over but a village. A divided and imperfect
power I would not accept, though it were over the
world. But the Gods grant it long ere any one be called
in Palmyra to fill the place of Zenobia.'

`Happy were it for mankind,' said Julia, `could she
live and reign forever.'

Thus do all differences cease and run into harmony at
the name of Zenobia.

Every hour do we look for the arrival of the army.

As I sit writing at my open window, overlooking the
street and spacious courts of the Temple of Justice, I am
conscious of an unusual disturbance — the people at a
distance are running in one direction — the clamor approaches
— and now I hear the cries of the multitude,
`The Queen, the Queen.'

I fly to the walls.

I resume my pen. The alarm was a true one. Upon
gaining the streets, I found the populace all pouring toward
the gate of the desert, in which direction, it was affirmed,
the Queen was making her approach. Upon reaching it,
and ascending one of its lofty towers, I beheld from the
verge of the horizon to within a mile of the walls, the
whole plain filled with the scattered forces of Zenobia, a
cloud of dust resting over the whole, and marking out
the extent of ground they covered. As the advanced detachments
drew near, how different a spectacle did they
present from that bright morning, when, glittering in steel,
and full of the fire of expected victory, they proudly took
their way toward the places from which they now were
returning, a conquered, spoiled, and dispirited remnant,
covered with the dust of a long march, and wearily dragging
their limbs beneath the rays of a burning sun. Yet
was there order and military discipline preserved, even
under circumstances so depressing, and which usually are
an excuse for their total relaxation. It was the silent,
dismal march of a funeral train, rather than the hurried
flight of a routed and discomfited army. There was the
stiff and formal military array, but the life and spirit of an

elevated and proud soldiery were gone. They moved with
method to the sound of clanging instruments, and the
long, shrill blast of the trumpet, but they moved as mourners.
They seemed as if they came to bury their Queen.

Yet the scene changed to a brighter aspect, as the army
drew nearer and nearer to the walls, and the city throwing
open her gates, the populace burst forth, and with loud and
prolonged shouts, welcomed them home. These shouts
sent new life into the hearts of the desponding ranks, and
with brightened faces and a changed air, they waved their
arms and banners, and returned shout for shout. As they
passed through the gates to the ample quarters provided
within the walls, a thousand phrases of hearty greeting
were showered down upon them, from those who lined the
walls, the towers, and the way-side, which seemed from
the effects produced in those on whom they fell, a more
quickening restorative than could have been any medicine
or food that had ministered only to the body.

The impatience of the multitude to behold and receive
the Queen, was hardly to be restrained from breaking
forth in some violent way. They were ready to rush upon
the great avenue, bearing aside the troops, that they might
the sooner greet her. When, at length, the centre of the
army approached, and the armed chariot appeared in
which Zenobia sat, the enthusiasm of the people knew no
bounds. They broke through all restraint, and with cries
that filled the heavens, pressed towards her — the soldiers
catching the frenzy and joining them — and quickly detaching
the horses from her carriage, themselves drew her
into the city just as if she had returned victor with
Aurelian in her train. There was no language of devotion
and loyalty that did not meet her ear, nor any sign
of affection that could be made from any distance, from
the plains, the walls, the gates, the higher buildings of the

city, the roofs of which were thronged, that did not meet
her eye. It was a testimony of love so spontaneous and
universal, a demonstration of confidence and unshaken
attachment so hearty and sincere, that Zenobia was more
than moved by it, she was subdued — and she, who, by
her people, had never before been seen to weep, bent her
head and buried her face in her hands.

With what an agony of expectation, while this scene
was passing, did I await the appearance of Fausta, and
Gracchus, and Calpurnius — if, indeed, I were destined
ever to see them again. I waited long, and with pain,
but the Gods be praised, not in vain, nor to meet with
disappointment only. Not far in the rear of Zenobia, at
the head of a squadron of cavalry, rode, as my eye distinctly
informed me, those whom I sought. No sooner did
they in turn approach the gates, than almost the same
welcome that had been lavished upon Zenobia, was repeated
for Fausta, Gracchus, and Calpurnius. The names
of Calpurnius and Fausta — of Calpurnius, as he who
had saved the army at Antioch, of Fausta as the intrepid
and fast friend of the Queen, were especially heard from
a thousand lips, joined with every title of honor. My
voice was not wanting in the loud acclaim. It reached
the ears of Fausta, who, starting and looking upward,
caught my eye just as she passed beneath the
arch of the vast gateway. I then descended from my
tower of observation, and joined the crowds who thronged
the close ranks, as they filed along the streets of the
city. I pressed upon the steps of my friends, never being
able to keep my eyes from the forms of those I loved so
well, whom I had so feared to lose, and so rejoiced to behold
returned alive and unhurt.

All day the army has continued pouring into the city,
and beside the army greater crowds still of the inhabitants

of the suburbs, who, knowing that before another
day shall end, the Romans may encamp before the walls,
are scattering in all directions — multitudes taking refuge
in the city, but greater numbers still mounted upon elephants,
camels, dromedaries and horses, flying into the
country to the north. The whole region as far as the eye
can reach, seems in commotion, as if society were dissolved,
and breaking up from its foundations. The
noble and the rich, whose means are ample, gather together
their valuables, and with their children and friends,
seek the nearest parts of Mesopotamia, where they will
remain in safety till the siege shall be raised. The poor,
and such as cannot reach the Euphrates, flock into the
city, bringing with them what little of provisions or
money they may possess, and are quartered upon the inhabitants,
or take up a temporary abode in the open
squares, or in the courts and porticos of palaces and
temples — the softness and serenity of the climate rendering
even so much as the shelter of a tent superfluous.
But by this vast influx the population of the city cannot
be less than doubled, and I should tremble for the means
of subsistence for so large a multitude, did I not know
the inexhaustible magazines of corn, laid up by the prudent
foresight of the Queen, in anticipation of the possible
occurrence of the emergency which has now arrived.
A long time — longer than he himself would be able to
subsist his army, must Aurelian lie before Palmyra ere he
can hope to reduce it by famine. What impression his
engines may be able to make upon the walls, remains to
be seen. Periander pronounces the city impregnable.
My own judgment, formed upon a comparison of it with
the cities most famous in the world for the strength of
their defences, would agree with his.

Following on in the wake of the squadron to which

Fausta was attached, I wished to reach the camp at the
same time with herself and Gracchus and my brother,
but owing to the press in the streets, arising from the
causes just specified, I was soon separated from, and lost
sight of it. Desirous however to meet them, I urged my
way along with much labor till I reached the quarter of
the city assigned to the troops, and where I found the
tents and the open ground already occupied. I sought
in vain for Fausta. While I waited, hoping still to see
her, I stood leaning upon a pile of shields, which the soldiers,
throwing off their arms, had just made, and
watching them as they were, some disencumbering themselves
of their armour, others unclasping the harness of
their horses, others arranging their weapons into regular
forms, and others, having gone through their first tasks,
were stretching themselves at rest beneath the shadow of
their tents, or of some branching tree. Near me sat a
soldier, who, apparently too fatigued to rid himself of
his heavy armour, had thrown himself upon the ground,
and was just taking off his helmet, and wiping the dust
and sweat from his face, while a little boy, observing his
wants, ran to a neighboring fountain, and filling a vessel
with water, returned and held it to him, saying, `Drink,
soldier, this will make you stronger than your armour.'

`You little traitor,' said the soldier, `art not ashamed
to bring drink to me, who have helped to betray the city?
Beware, or a sharp sword will cut you in two.'

`I thought,' replied the child, nothing daunted, `that
you were a soldier of Palmyra, who had been to fight the
Romans. But whoever you may be, I am sure you need
the water.

`But,' rejoined the soldier, swallowing at long draughts,
as if it had been nectar, the cooling drink, `do I deserve
water, or any of these cowards here, who have been

beaten by the Romans, and so broken the heart of our
good Queen, and possibly lost her her throne? Answer
me that.'

`You have done what you could I know,' replied the
boy, `because you are a Palmyrene, and who can do
more? I carry round the streets of the city in this palm-leaf
basket, date cakes, which I sell to those who love
them. But does my mother blame me because I do not
always come home with an empty basket? I sell what I
can. Should I be punished for doing what I can not?'

`Get you gone you rogue,' replied the soldier, `you
talk like a Christian boy, and they have a new way of
returning good for evil. But here, if you have cakes in
your basket, give me one and I will give you a penny, all
the way from Antioch. See! there is the head of Aurelian
on it. Take care he dont eat you up — or at least your
cakes. But hark you, little boy, do you see yonder that
old man with a bald head, leaning against his shield, go
to him with your cakes.'

The boy ran off.

`Friend,' said I, addressing him, `your march has not
lost you your spirits, you can jest yet.'

`Truly I can, if the power to do that were gone then
were all lost. A good jest in a time of misfortune, is
food and drink. It is strength to the arm, digestion to
the stomach, courage to the heart. It is better than wisdom
or wine. A prosperous man may afford to be melancholy,
but if the miserable are so, they are worse than
dead — but it is sure to kill them. Near me I had a
comrade whose wit it was alone that kept life in me upon
the desert. All the way from Emesa, had it not been
for the tears of laughter, those of sorrow and shame
would have killed me.'

`But in the words of the little cake urchin, you did
what you could. The fates were opposed to you.'

`If all had done as much and as well as some, we
would have had the fates in our own keeping. Had it not
been for that artifice of the Romans at Antioch, we would
have now been rather in Rome than here, and it was a
women — or girl rather, as I am told — the daughter of
Gaacchus who first detected the cheat, and strove to
save the army, but it was too late.'

`Were you near her?'

`Was I not? Not the great Zabdas himself put more
mettle into the troops than did that fiery spirit and her
black horse. And beyond doubt, she would have perished
through an insane daring, had not the Queen in time
called her from the field, and afterward kept her within
her sight and reach. Her companion, a Roman turned
Palmyrene as I heard, was like one palsied when she was
gone, till when he had been the very Mars of the field.
As it was, he was the true hero of the day. He brought to
my mind Odenatus. 'T was so he looked that day we entered
Ctesiphon. I could wish — and hope, too, — that he
might share the throne of Zenobia, but that all the world
knows what a man hater she is. But were you not
there?'

`No. It could not be. I remained in the city.'

`Ten thousand more of such men as you — and we
would not have fallen back upon Emesa, nor left Antioch
without the head of Aurelian. But alas for it, the men of
Palmyra are men of silk, and love their pleasures too well
to be free. I should call them women, but for Zenobia
and the daughter of Gracchus.'

`Do not take me for one of them. I am a Roman —
and could not fight against my country.'

`A Roman! and what makes you here? Suppose I
were to run you through with this spear?'

`Give me another and you are welcome to try.'

`Am I so? Then will I not do it. Give a man his
will and he no longer cares for it. Besides, having escaped
with hazard from the clutches of one Roman, I will
not encounter another. Dost thou know that demon
Aurelian? Half who fell, fell by his hand. His sword
made no more of a man in steel armour, than mine would
of a naked slave. Many a tall Palmyrene did he split to
the saddle, falling both ways. The ranks broke and fled
wherever he appeared. Death could not keep pace with
him. The Roman Piso — of our side — sought him over
the field, to try his fortune with him, but the Gods protected
him, and he found him not. Otherwise his body
were now food for hyenas. No arm of mortal mould can
cope with him. Mine is not despicable. There is not
its match in Palmyra. But I would not encounter Aurelian
unless I were in love with death.'

`It is, as you say, I well know. He is reputed in our
army to have killed more with his single arm in battle,
than any known in Roman history. Our camp resounds
with songs which celebrate his deeds of blood. His slain
are counted by thousands, nothing less.'

`The Gods blast him, ere he be seen before the walls
of Palmyra; our chance were better against double the
number of legions under another general. The general
makes the soldier. The Roman infantry are so many
Aurelians. Yet to-morrow's sun will see him here. I
am free to say, I tremble for Palmyra. A war ill begun,
will, if auguries are aught, end worse. Last night
the sky was full of angry flashes, both white and red.
While the army slept over-wrought upon the desert, and
the silence of death was around, the watches heard sounds

as of the raging of a battle, distinct and clear, dying away
in groans as of a host perishing under the sword and
battle-axe. These horrid sounds at length settled over the
sleeping men, till it seemed as if they proceeded from
them. The sentinels—at first struck dumb with terror and
amazement — called out to one another to know what it
should mean, but they could only confirm to each other what
had been heard, and together ask the protection of the
Gods. But what strikes deeper yet, is what you have
heard, that the Queen's far-famed Numidian, just as we
came in sight of the walls of the city, stumbled, and where
he stumbled, fell and died. What these things forebode,
if not disaster and ruin, 't is hard to say. I need no one
to read them to me.'

Saying thus, he rose and began to divest himself of the
remainder of his heavy armour, saying, as he did it — `It
was this heavy armour that lost us the day at Antioch —
lighter, and we could have escaped the meshes. Now let
me lie and sleep.'

Returning, hardly had I arrived at the house of Gracchus,
when it was announced in loud shouts by the slaves
of the palace, that Gracchus himself, Fausta and Calpurnius
were approaching. I hastened to the portico overlooking
the court-yard, and was there just in season to
assist Fausta to dismount. It was a joyful moment I
need scarce assure you. Fausta returns wholly unhurt.
Gracchus is wounded upon his left, and Calpurnius upon
his right arm — but will not long suffer from the
injury.

It was an unspeakable joy, once more to hear the cheerful
voice of Gracchus resounding in the walls of his own
dwelling, and to see Fausta eased of her unnatural load
of iron, again moving in her accustomed sphere in that
graceful costume, partly Roman and partly Persian, and

which now hides and now betrays the form, so as to reveal
its beauty in the most perfect manner. A deep sadness,
deeper than ever, sits upon her countenance, whenever
her own thoughts occupy her. But surrounded
by her friends, and her native spirit, too elastic to
be subdued, breaks forth, and she seems her former self
again.

Our evening meal was sad, but not silent.

Gracchus instructed me, by giving a minute narrative
of the march to Antioch — of the two battles — and the
retreat. Calpurnius related with equal exactness the
part which he took, and the services which Fausta,
by her penetrating observation, had been able to render
to the army. They united in bestowing the highest encomiums
upon Zenobia, who herself planned the battle,
and disposed the forces, and with such consummate judgment,
that Zabdas himself found nothing to disapprove
or alter.

`The day was clearly ours,' said Fausta, `but for the
artifice of Aurelian — allowable, I know, by all the rules
of war — by which we were led on blindfold to our ruin.
But flushed as we were by the early and complete success
of the day, is it to be severely condemned that our
brave men followed up their advantages with too much
confidence, and broke from that close order, in which till
then, they had fought, — and by doing so, lost the command
of themselves and their own strength. O, the dulness
of our spirits, that we did not sooner detect the rank
insincerity of that sudden — unexpected retreat of the
Roman horse.'

`The Gods rather be praised,' said Gracchus, `that
your watchful eye detected so soon, what was too well
concerted and acted to be perceived at all, and as the
fruit of it we sit here alive, and Zenobia holds her throne,

and so many of our brave soldiers are now locked in
sleep beneath their quiet tents.'

`That, I think,' said Calpurnius,' is rather the sentiment
that should possess us. You will hardly believe,
Lucius, that it was owing to the military genius of your
ancient playmate, that we escaped the certain destruction
that had been prepared for us?'

`I can believe any thing good in that quarter, and upon
slighter testimony. I have already heard from the lips of
a soldier of your legion, that which you have now related.
Part of the praise was by him bestowed upon one
Piso, a Roman turned Palmyrene, as he termed him,
who, he reported, fought at the side of the daughter of
Gracchus.'

`He could not have said too much of that same Piso,'
said Gracchus. `Palmyra owes him a large debt of
gratitude, which I am sure she will not be slow to pay.
But let us think rather of the future than of the past,
which, however we may have conducted, speaks only of
disaster.'

I thank you for your assurances concerning Laco and
Cœlia. Your conscience will never reproach you for
this lenity.