'These are noble sentiments,' said Fausta. 'Religion has, in almost all

its forms, condemned utterly all who have not received it in the form in

which it has been proposed. Rome, indeed, used to be mild and tolerant of

every shape which the religious sentiment assumed. But since the

appearance of christianity it has wholly changed its policy. I am afraid

it formerly tolerated, only because it saw nothing to fear. Fearing

christianity, it seeks to destroy it. That is scarcely generous of you,

Lucius; nor very wise either--for surely truth can neither be created nor

suppressed by applications of force. Such is not the doctrine of

christianity, if I understand you right.'

'Lady, most certainly not,' he replied. 'Christianity is offered to

mankind, not forced upon them. And this supposes in them the power and the

right to sit in judgement upon its truth. But were not all free judgment

destroyed, and all worthy reception of it therefore, if any penal

consequences--greater or less, of one kind or another, present or

future--followed upon its rejection? Rome has done wickedly, in her aim to

suppress error and maintain truth by force. Is Rome a god to distinguish

with certainty the one from the other? But alas! Rome is not alone to

blame in this. Christians themselves are guilty of the same folly and

crime. They interpret differently the sayings of Christ--as how should

they not?--and the party which is stronger in numbers already begins to

oppress, with hard usage and language, the weaker party, which presumes to

entertain its own opinions. The Christians of Alexandria and Rome, fond of

the ancient philosophy, and desirous to recommend the doctrines of Christ,

by showing their near accordance with it, have, as many think, greatly

adulterated the gospel, by mixing up with its truths the fantastic dreams

of Plato. Others, among whom is our Paul of Antioch, deeming this

injurious and erroneous, aim to restore the Christian doctrine to the

simplicity that belongs to it in the original records, and which, for the

most part, it still retains among the common people. But this is not

willingly allowed. On the contrary, because Paul cannot see with their

eyes and judge with their judgment, he is to be driven from his bishopric.

Thus do the Christians imitate in their treatment of each other their

common enemy, the Roman. They seem already ashamed of the gentleness of

Christ, who would have every mind left in its own freedom to believe as

its own powers enable it to believe. Our good Zenobia, though no

Christian, is yet in this respect the truest Christian. All within her

realm, thought is free as the air that plays among these leaves.'

'But is it not, said Fausta, 'a mark of imperfection in your religion,

that it cannot control and bind to a perfect life its disciples? Methinks

a divine religion should manifest its divinity in the superior goodness

which it forms.'

'Is not that just?' I added.

'A divine religion,' he replied, 'may indeed be expected to show its

heaven-derived power in creating a higher virtue than human systems. And

this, I am sure, christianity does. I may safely challenge the world to

show in human form the perfection which dwelt in Jesus, the founder of

this religion. Yet his character was formed by the power of his own

doctrines. Among his followers, if there have been none so perfect as he,

there have been multitudes who have approached him, and have exhibited a

virtue which was once thought to belong only to philosophers. The world

has been accustomed to celebrate, with almost divine honors, Socrates, and

chiefly because of the greatness of mind displayed by him when condemned

to drink the cup of poison. I can tell you of thousands among the

Christians, among common and unlearned Christians, who have met death, in

forms many times more horrible than that in which the Greek encountered

it, with equal calmness and serenity. This they have been enabled to do

simply through the divine force of a few great truths, which they have

implicitly believed. Beside this, consider the many usages of the world,

which, while others hold them innocent, the Christians condemn them, and

abstain from them. It is not to be denied that they are the reformers of

the age. They are busy, sometimes with an indiscreet and violent zeal, in

new modeling both the opinions and practices of the world. But what then?

Are they to be condemned if a single fault may be charged upon, them? Must

they be perfect, because their religion is divine? This might be so, if it

were of the nature of religion to operate with an irresistible influence

upon the mind, producing an involuntary and forced obedience. But in such

an obedience there would be nothing like what we mean by virtue, but

something quite inferior in the comparison. A religion, for the reason

that it is divine, will, with the more certainty, make its appeals to a

free nature. It will explain the nature and reveal the consequences of

virtue and vice, but will leave the mind free to choose the one or the

other. Christianity teaches, that in goodness, and faithfulness to the

sense of duty, lies the chief good; in these there is a heaven of reward,

not only now and on earth, but throughout an existence truly immortal. Is

it not most evident that, with whatever authority this religion may

propound its doctrines, men not being in a single power coerced, will not,

though they may receive them, yield to them an equal observance? Hence,

even among Christians, there must foe, perhaps ever, much imperfection.'

'Does not this appear to you, Fausta and Piso,' said Julia, as the old man

paused, 'just and reasonable? Can it be an objection to this faith, that

its disciples partake of the common weaknesses of humanity? Otherwise,

religion would be a principle designed, not so much to improve and exalt

our nature, as to alter it.

'We allow it readily to be both just and reasonable.'

'But it seemed to us,' said Fausta, 'as we ascended the mountain, and were

conversing, to be with certainty a proof of imperfection in your

religion--pardon my freedom, we are come as learners, and they who would

learn, must, without restraint, express their doubts--that it recommended

or permitted a recluse and inactive life. Have your days, Father, been

passed in this deep solitude? and has your religion demanded it?'

'Your freedom pleases me,' replied the venerable man; 'and I wonder not at

the question you propose. Not my religion, lady, but an enfeebled and

decrepit frame chains me to this solitude. I have now outlasted a century,

and my powers are wasted and gone. I can do little more than sit and

ponder the truths of this life-giving book, and anticipate the renewed

activity of that immortal being which it promises. The Christian converts,

who dwell beneath those roofs which you see gleaming in the valley below,

supply the few wants which I have. When their labor is done for the day,

they sometimes come up, bringing with them baskets of fresh or dried

fruits, which serve me, together with the few roots and berries which I

myself can gather as I walk this level space, for my food. My thirst I

quench at the brook which you have just passed. Upon this simple but

wholesome nutriment, and breathing this dry mountain air, my days may yet

be prolonged through many years. But I do not covet them, since nature

makes me a prisoner. But I submit, because my faith teaches me to receive

patiently whatever the Supreme Ruler appoints. It is not my religion that

prescribes this manner of life, or permits it, but as the last refuge of

an imbecility like mine. Christianity denounces selfishness, in all its

forms, and what form of selfishness more gross than to spend the best of

one's days in solitary musing and prayer, all to secure one's own

salvation? The founder of this religion led an active and laborious life.

He did good not only to himself by prayer and meditation: he went about

doing it to others--seeking out objects whom he might benefit and bless.

His life was one of active benevolence; and the record of that life is the

religious code of his followers. No condemnation could be more severe than

that which the Prophet of Nazareth would pronounce upon such a life as

mine now is, were it a chosen, voluntary one. But it never has been

voluntary. Till age dried up the sources of my strength, I toiled night

and day in all countries and climates, in the face of every danger, in the

service of mankind. For it is by serving others, that the law of Christ is

fulfilled. Disinterested labor for others constituted the greatness of

Jesus Christ. This constitutes true greatness in his followers. I perceive

that what I say falls upon your ear as a new and strange doctrine. But it

is the doctrine of christianity. It utterly condemns, therefore, a life of

solitary devotion. It is a mischievous influence which is now spreading

outward from the example of that Paul, who suffered so much under the

persecution of the Emperor Decius and who then, flying to the solitudes of

the Egyptian Thebais, has there, in the vigor of his days, buried himself

in a cave of the earth, that he may serve God by forsaking man. His maxim

seems to be, "The farther from man, the nearer to God"---the reverse of

the Christian maxim, "The nearer man, the nearer God." A disciple of Jesus

has truly said: "He who loves not his brother whom he hath seen, how

shall he love God, whom he hath not seen?" This, it may be, Roman, is the

first sentence you have ever heard from the Christian books.'

'I am obliged to confess that it is,' I replied. 'I have heretofore lived

in an easy indifference toward all religions. The popular religion of my

country I early learned to despise. I have perused the philosophers, and

examined their systems, from Pythagoras to Seneca, and am now, what I have

long been, a disciple of none but Pyrrho. My researches have taught me

only how the more ingeniously to doubt. Wearied at length with a vain

inquiry after truth that should satisfy and fill me, I suddenly abandoned

the pursuit, with the resolve never to resume it. I was not even tempted

to depart from this resolution when Christianity offered itself to my

notice; for I confounded it with Judaism, and for that, as a Roman, I

entertained too profound a contempt to bestow upon it a single thought. I

must acknowledge that the reports which I heard, and which I sometimes

read, of the marvellous constancy and serenity of the Christians, under

accumulated sufferings and wrongs, interested my feelings in their behalf;

and the thought often arose, "Must there not be truth to support such

heroism?" But the world went on its way, and I with it, and the Christians

were forgotten. To a Christian, on my voyage across the Mediterranean, I

owe much, for my first knowledge of Christianity. To the Princess Julia I

owe a larger debt still. And now from your lips, long accustomed to

declare its truths, I have heard what makes me truly desirous to hear the

whole of that which, in the glimpses I have been able to obtain, has

afforded so real a satisfaction,'

'Were you to study the Christian books,' said the recluse, 'you would be

chiefly struck perhaps with the plainness and simplicity of the doctrines

there unfolded. You would say that much which you found there, relating to

the right conduct of life, you had already found scattered through the

books of the Greek and Roman moralists. You would be startled by no

strange or appalling truth. You would turn over their leaves in vain in

search of such dark and puzzling ingenuities as try the wits of those who

resort to the pages of the Timæus. A child can understand the essential

truths of Christ. And the value of Christianity consists not in this, that

it puts forth a new, ingenious, and intricate system of philosophy, but

that it adds to recognised and familiar truths divine authority. Some

things are indeed new; and much is new, if that may be called so which,

having been neglected as insignificant by other teachers, has by Christ

been singled out and announced as primal and essential. But the

peculiarity of Christianity lies in this, that its voice, whether heard in

republishing an old and familiar doctrine, or announcing, a new one, is

not the voice of man, but of God. It is a revelation. It is a word from

the invisible, unapproachable Spirit of the universe. For this Socrates

would have been willing to renounce all his wisdom. Is it not this which

we need? We can theorize and conjecture without end, but cannot relieve

ourselves of our doubts. They will assail every work of man. We wish to

repose in a divine assurance. This we have in Christianity. It is a

message from God. It puts an end to doubt and conjecture. Wise men of all

ages have agreed in the belief of One God; but not being able to

demonstrate his being and his unity, they have had no power to change the

popular belief, which has ever tended to polytheism and idolatry,

Christianity teaches this truth with the authority of God himself, and

already has it become the faith of millions. Philosophers have long ago

taught that the only safe and happy life is a virtuous life. Christianity

repeats this great truth, and adds, that it is such a life alone that

conducts to immortality. Philosophers have themselves believed in the

doctrine of a future existence, and have died hoping to live again; and it

cannot be denied that mankind generally have entertained an obscure

expectation of a renewed being after death. The advantage of Christianity

consists in this, that it assures us of the reality of a future life, on

the word and authority of God himself. Jesus Christ taught, that all men

come forth from death, wearing a new spiritual body, and thereafter never

die; and to confirm his teaching, he himself being slain, rose from the

dead, and showed himself to his followers alive, and while they were yet

looking upon him, ascended to some other and higher world. Surely, Roman,

though christianity announced nothing more than these great truths, yet

seeing it puts them forth in the name, and with the authority of God, it

is a vast accession to our knowledge.'

'Indeed it cannot be denied,' I answered. 'It would be a great happiness

too to feel such an assurance, as he must who believes in your religion,

of another life. Death would then lose every terror. We could approach the

close of life as calmly and cheerfully, sometimes as gladly, as we now do

the close of a day of weary travel or toil. It would be but to lie down

and rest, and sleep, and rise again refreshed by the slumber for the

labors and enjoyments of a life which should then be without termination,

and yet unattended by fatigue. I can think of no greater felicity than to

be able to perceive the truth of such a religion as yours.'

'This religion of the Christians,' said Fausta, 'seems to be full of

reasonable and desirable truth--if it all be truth. But how is this great

point to be determined? How are we to know whether the founder of this

religion was in truth a person holding communication with God? The mind

will necessarily demand a large amount of evidence, before it can believe

so extraordinary a thing. I greatly fear, Julia, lest I may never be a

Christian. What is the evidence, Father, with which you trust, to convince

the mind of an inquirer? It must possess potency, for all the world seems

flocking to the standard of Christ.'

'I think, indeed,' replied the saint, 'that it possesses potency. I

believe its power to be irresistible. But do you ask in sincerity,

daughter of Gracchus, what to do in order to believe in christianity?'

'I do, indeed,' answered Fausta. 'But know that my mind is one not easy

of belief.'

'Christianity, lady, asks no forced or faint assent. It appeals to human

reason, and it blames not the conscientious doubter or denier. When it

requires you to examine, and constitutes you judge, it condemns no honest

decision. The mind that approaches christianity must be free, and ought to

be fearless. Hesitate not to reject that which evidence does not

substantiate. But examine and weigh well the testimony. If then you would

know whether christianity be true, it is first of all needful that you

read and ponder the Christian books. These books prove themselves. The

religion of Christ is felt to be true, as you read the writings in which

it is recorded. Just as the works of nature prove to the contemplative

mind the being of a God, so do the books of the Christians prove the truth

of their religion. As you read them, as your mind embraces the teaching,

and above all, the character of Christ, you involuntarily exclaim: "This

must be true; the sun in the heavens does not more clearly point to a

divine author, than do the contents of these books." You find them utterly

unlike any other books--differing from them just in the same infinite and

essential way that the works of God differ from the works of man.'

He paused, and we were for a few moments silent. At length Fausta said:

'This is all very new and strange, Father! Why, Julia, have you never

urged me to read these books?'

'The princess,' resumed the hermit, 'has done wisely co leave you to the

promptings of your own mind. The more every thing in religion is voluntary

and free, the more worth attaches to it. Christ would not that any should

be driven or urged to him; but that they should come. Nevertheless the way

must be pointed out. I have now shown you one way. Let me tell you of

another. The Christian books bear the names of the persons who profess to

have written them, and who declare themselves to have lived and to have

recorded events which happened in the province of Judea, in the reigns of

Tiberius and Nero. Now it is by no means a difficult matter for a person,

desirous to arrive at the truth, to institute such inquiries, as shall

fully convince him that such persons lived then and there, and performed

the actions ascribed to them. We are not so far removed from those times,

but that by resorting to the places where the events of the Christian

history took place, we can readily satisfy ourselves of their truth--if

they be true--by inquiring of the descendants of those who were concerned

in the very transactions recorded. This thousands and thousands have done,

and they believe in the events--strange as they are--of the Christian

history as implicitly as they do in the events of the Roman history, for

the same period of time. Listen, my children, while I rehearse my own

experience as a believer in Christ.

'My father, Cyprian, a native of Syria, attained, as I have attained, to

an extreme old age. At the age of five score years and ten, he died within

the walls of this quiet dwelling of nature's own hewing, and there at the

root of that ancient cedar his bones repose. He was for twenty years a

contemporary of St. John the evangelist--of that John, who was one of the

companions of Jesus the founder of christianity, and who ere he died wrote

a history of Jesus, of his acts and doctrine. From the very lips of this

holy man, did the youthful but truth-loving and truth-seeking Cyprian

receive his knowledge of christianity. He sat and listened while the aged

apostle--the past rising before him with the distinctness of a

picture--told of Jesus; of the mild majesty of his presence; of the power

and sweetness of his discourse; of the love he bore toward all that lived;

of his countenance radiant with joy when, in using the miraculous power

intrusted to show descent from God, he gave health to the pining sick,

and restored the dying and the dead to the arms of weeping friends. There

was no point of the history which the apostle has recorded for the

instruction of posterity, which Cyprian did not hear, with all its minuter

circumstances, from his own mouth. Nay, he was himself a witness of the

exercise of that same power of God which was committed without measure to

Jesus, on the part of the apostle. He stood by--his spirit wrapt and

wonderstruck--while at the name of Jesus the lame walked, the blind

recovered their sight, and the sick leaped from their couches. When this

great apostle was fallen asleep, my father, by the counsel of St. John,

and that his faith might be yet farther confirmed, travelled over all the

scenes of the Christian history. He visited the towns and cities of Judea,

where Jesus had done his marvellous works. He conversed with the children

of those who had been subjects of the healing power of the Messiah. He was

with those who themselves had mingled among the multitudes who encompassed

him, when Lazarus was summoned from the grave, and who clung to the cross

when Jesus was upon it dying, and witnessed the sudden darkness, and felt

the quaking of the earth. Finding, wherever he turned his steps in Judea,

from Bethlehem to Nazareth, from the Jordan to the great sea, the whole

land filled with those who, as either friends or enemies, had hung upon

the steps of Jesus, and seen his miracles, what was he, to doubt whether

such a person as Jesus had ever lived, or had ever done those wonderful

works? He doubted not; he believed, even as he would have done had he

himself been present as a disciple. In addition to this, he saw at the

places where they were kept, the evangelic histories, in the writing of

those who drew them up; and at Rome, at Corinth, at Philippi, at Ephesus,

he handled with his own hands the letters of Paul, which he wrote to the

Christians of those places; and in those places and others, did he dwell

and converse with multitudes who had seen and heard the great apostle, and

had witnessed the wonders he had wrought. I, the child of Cyprian's old

age, heard from him all that I have now recounted to you. I sat at his

feet, as he had sat at the evangelist's, and from him I heard the various

experiences of his long, laborious, and troubled life. Could I help but

believe what I heard?--and so could I help but be a Christian? My father

was a man--and all Syria knows him to have been such an one--of a

passionate love of truth. At any moment would he have cheerfully suffered

torture and death, sooner than have swerved from the strictest allegiance

to its very letter. Nevertheless, he would not that I should trust to him

alone, but as the apostle had sent him forth, so he sent me forth, to read

the evidences of the truth of this religion in the living monuments of

Judea. I, too, wandered a pilgrim over the hills and plains of Galilee. I

sat in the synagogue at Nazareth, I dwelt in Capernaum. I mused by the

shore of the Galilean lake. I haunted the ruins of Jerusalem, and sought

out the places where the Savior of men had passed the last hours of his

life. Night after night I wept and prayed upon the Mount of Olives.

Wherever I went, and among whomsoever I mingled, I found witnesses

eloquent and loud, and without number, to all the principal facts and

events of our sacred history. Ten thousand traditions of the life and acts

of Christ and his apostles, all agreeing substantially with the written

records, were passing from mouth to mouth, and descending from sire to

son. The whole land, in all its length and breadth, was but one vast

monument to the truth of Christianity. And for this purpose it was

resorted to by the lovers of truth from all parts of the world. Did doubts

arise in the mind of a dweller in Rome, or Carthage, or Britain,

concerning the whole or any part of the Christian story, he addressed

letters to well known inhabitants of the Jewish cities, or he visited them

in person, and by a few plain words from another, or by the evidence of

his own eyes and ears, every doubt was scattered. When I had stored my

mind with knowledge from these original sources, I then betook myself to

some of the living oracles of Christian wisdom, with the fame of whose

learning and piety the world was filled. From the great Clement of Rome,

from Dionysius at Alexandria, from Tertullian at Carthage, from that

wonder of human genius, Origen, in his school at Cæsarea, I gathered

together what more was needed to arm me for the Christian warfare; and I

then went forth full of faith myself to plant its divine seeds in the

hearts of whosoever would receive them. In this good work my days have

been spent. I have lived and taught but to unfold to others the evidences

which have made me a Christian. My children,'continued he, 'why should you

not receive my words? why should I desire to deceive you? I am an old man,

trembling upon the borders of the grave. Can I have any wish to injure

you? Is it conceivable that, standing thus already as it were before the

bar of God, I could pour false and idle tales into your ears? But if I

have spoken truly, can you refuse to believe? But I must not urge. Use

your freedom. Inquire for yourselves. Let the leisure and the wealth which

are yours carry you to read with your own eyes that wide-spread volume

which you will find among the mountains and valleys of the holy land.

Princess, my strength is spent, or there is much more I could gladly add.'

'My friends,' said the princess, 'are, I am sure, grateful for what you

have said, and they have heard.'

'Indeed we are,' said Fausta, 'and heartily do we thank you. One thing

more would I ask. What think you of the prospects of the Christian faith?

Are the common reports of its rapid ascendency to be heeded? Is it making

its way, as we are told, even into the palaces of kings? I know, indeed,

what happens in Palmyra; but elsewhere, holy father?'

As Fausta spoke these words, the aged man seemed wrapped in thought. His

venerable head sank upon his breast; his beard swept the ground. At

length, slowly raising his head, and with eyes lifted upward, he said, in

deep and solemn tones: 'It cannot, it cannot be difficult to read the

future. It must be so. I see it as if it were already come. The throne

which is red with blood, and he who sits thereon, wielding a sword

dropping blood, sinks--sinks--and disappears; and one all white, and he

who sits thereon, having upon his frontlet these words, "Peace on earth

and good will toward men," rises and fills its place. And I hear a

movement as of a multitude which no man number, coming and worshipping

around the throne. God of the whole earth, arise!--visit it with thy

salvation! Hasten the coming of the universal kingdom of thy Son, when

all shall know thee, and love to God and love to man possess and fill

every soul.'

As the venerable man uttered this prayer, Julia looked steadfastly upon

him, and a beauty more than of earth seemed to dwell upon her countenance.

'Father,' said Fausta, 'we are not now fair judges of truth. Your

discourse has wrought so upon us, that we need reflection before we can

tell what we ought to believe.'

'That is just,' said the saint; 'to determine right, we must think as well

as feel. And that your minds may the sooner return to the proper state,

let me set before you of such as my dwelling will afford.'

Saying this, he moved from the seat which till now he had retained, and

closing the volume he had been reading, laid it away with care, saying as

he did so, 'This, children, is the Christian's book; not containing all

those writings which we deem to be of authority in describing our faith,

but such as are most needful. It is from reading this, and noting as you

read the inward marks of honesty, and observing how easy it were, even

now, by visiting Judea, to convict its authors of error and falsehood, had

they been guilty of either, that your minds will be best able to judge of

the truth and worth of Christianity.'

'At another time, father,' said Fausta, 'it would give me great delight,

and equally too, I am sure, our friend from Rome, if you would read to us

portions of that volume, that we may know somewhat of its contents from

your lips, accompanied too by such comments as you might deem useful to

learners. It is thus we have often heard the Greek and Roman writers from

the mouth of Longinus.'

'Whenever,' he replied, 'you shall be willing to ascend these steep and

rugged paths, in pursuit of truth, I in my turn will stand prepared to

teach. To behold such listeners before me, brings back the life of

former days.'

He then, with short and interrupted steps, busied himself in bringing

forth his humble fare. Bread and fruits, and olives, formed our light

repast, together with ice-cold water, which Julia, seizing from his hand

the hermit's pitcher, brought from a spring that gushed from a

neighboring rock.

This being ended, and with it much various and agreeable conversation, in

the course of which the Christian patriarch gave many striking anecdotes

of his exposed and toilsome life, we rose, and bidding farewell, with

promises to return again, betook ourselves to our horses, and mounting

them, were soon at the gates of the palace.

I confess myself interested in the question of Christianity. The old

religions are time-worn, and in effect dead. To the common people, when

believed, they are as often injurious as useful--to others, they are the

objects of open, undisguised contempt. Yet religion, in some form, the

human mind must have. We feel the want of it as we do of food and drink.

But, as in the case of food and drink, it must be something that we shall

perceive to nourish and strengthen, not to debilitate and poison. In my

searches through antiquity, I have found no system which I could rest in

as complete and satisfying. They all fail in many vital points. They are

frequently childish in their requisitions and their principles; their

morality is faulty; their spirit narrow and exclusive; and more than all,

they are without authority. The principles which are to guide, control,

and exalt our nature, it seems to me, must proceed from the author of that

nature. The claim of Christianity to be a religion provided for man by the

Creator of man, is the feature in it which draws me toward it. This claim

I shall investigate and scan, with all the ability and learning I can

bring to the work. But whatever I or you may think of it, or ultimately

determine, every eye must see with what giant steps it is striding

onward--temples, religions, superstitions, and powers crumbling and

dissolving at its approach. Farewell.

Letter VIII.

The words of that Christian recluse, my Curtins, still ring in my ear. I

know not how it is, but there is a strange power in all that I have heard

from any of that sect. You remember how I was struck by the manner, the

countenance, and above all by the sentiments of Probus, the Christian whom

I encountered on his way to Carthage. A still stronger feeling possesses

me, when I hear the same things from the lips of Julia. It seems as if she

herself, and the religion she discourses of, must proceed from the same

author. She is certainly a divine work. And there is such an alliance

between her and those truths, that I am ready almost to believe that for

this reason alone they must have that very divine origin which is claimed

for them. Is there any thing in our Roman superstitions, or philosophy

even, that is at all kindred to the spirit of a perfect woman?--any thing

suited to her nature? Has it ever seemed as if woman were in any respect

the care of the gods? In this, Christianity differs from all former

religions and philosophies. It is feminine. I do not mean by that, weak or

effeminate. But in its gentleness, in the suavity of its tone, in the

humanity of its doctrines, in the deep love it breathes toward all of

human kind, in the high rank it assigns to the virtues which are

peculiarly those of woman, in these things and many others, it is

throughout for them as well as for us--almost more for them than for us.

In this feature of it, so strange and new, I see marks of a wisdom beyond

that of any human fabricator. A human inventor would scarcely have

conceived such a system; and could he have conceived it, would not have

dared to publish it. It would have been in his judgment to have wantonly

forfeited the favor of the world. The author of Christianity, with a

divine boldness, makes his perfect man, in the purity and beauty of his

character, the counterpart of a perfect woman. The virtues upon which

former teachers have chiefly dwelt, are by him almost unnoticed, and those

soft and feminine ones, which others seem to have utterly forgotten, he

has exalted to the highest place. So that, as I before said, Julia

discoursing to me of Christianity is in herself, in the exact accordance

between her mind and heart and that faith, the strongest argument I have

yet found of its truth. I do not say that I am a believer. I am not. But I

cannot say what the effect may be of a few more interviews with the hermit

of the mountain, in company with the princess. His arguments, illustrated

by her presence, will carry with them not a little force.

When, after our interview with the Christian, we had returned to the

Queen's villa, we easily persuaded ourselves that the heat of the day was

too great for us to set out, till toward the close of it, for the city. So

we agreed, in the absence of the Queen and other guests, to pass the day

after our own manner, and by ourselves. The princess proposed that we

should confine ourselves to the cool retreats near the fountain of the

Elephant, made also more agreeable to us than any other place by the

delightful hours we had sat there listening to the melodious accents of

the great Longinus. To this proposal we quickly and gladly assented. Our

garments being then made to correspond to the excessive heats of the

season, soothed by the noise of the falling waters, and fanned by slaves

who waved to and fro huge leaves of the palm tree, cut into graceful

forms, and set in gold or ivory, we resigned ourselves to that sleepy but

yet delicious state which we reach only a few times in all our lives, when

the senses are perfectly satisfied and filled, and merely to live is bliss

enough. But our luxurious ease was slightly diversified with additions and

changes no ways unwelcome. Ever and anon slaves entered, bearing trays

laden with every rare and curious confection which the art of the East

supplies, but especially with drinks cooled by snow brought from the

mountains of India. These, in the most agreeable manner, recruited our

strength when exhausted by fits of merriment, or when one had become weary

of reading or reciting a story for the amusement of the others, and the

others as weary, or more weary, by listening. It were in vain to attempt

to recall for your and Lucilia's entertainment the many pleasant things

which were both said and done on this day never to be forgotten. And

besides, perhaps, were they set down in order and sent to Rome, the spicy

flavor which gave life to them here might all exhale, and leave them flat

and dull. Suffice it therefore to say, that in our judgment many witty and

learned sayings were uttered--for the learning, that must rest upon our

declaration--for the wit, the slaves will bear witness to it, as they did

then, by their unrestrained bursts of laughter.

It was with no little reluctance that, as the last rays of the sun fell

upon the highest jet of the fountain, we heard the princess declare that

the latest hour had come, and we must fain prepare for the city. A little

time sufficed for this, and we were soon upon our horses threading the

defiles among the hills, or flying over the plains. A few hours brought

us within the gates of the city. Leaving Julia at the palace of the

Queen, we turned toward the house of Gracchus. Its lofty front soon rose

before us. As we passed into the court-yard, the first sound that greeted

me was Milo's blundering voice: 'Welcome, most noble Gallienus, welcome

again to Palmyra!'

'I am not,' said I, 'quite an emperor yet, but notwithstanding, I am glad

to be in Palmyra--more glad to be at the house of Gracchus--and glad most

of all to see Gracchus himself at home, and well'--the noble Roman--as I

shall call him--at that moment issuing from a door of the palace, and

descending at a quick pace the steps, to assist Fausta from her horse.

'We are not,' said he, 'long separated; but to those who really love, the

shortest separation is a long one, and the quickest return an occasion of

joy.' Saying so, he embraced and kissed his beautiful daughter, and

grasped cordially my hand.

'Come,' added he, 'enter and repose. Your ride has been a sharp one, as

your horses declare, and the heat is great. Let us to the banqueting-hall,

as the coolest, and there sit and rest.' So we were again soon within that

graceful apartment, where I had first sat and tasted the hospitalities of

Palmyra. The gods above were still at their feast, drinking or drunken.

Below, we sat at the open windows, and with more temperance regaled

ourselves with the cool air that came to us, richly laden with the

fragrance of surrounding flowers, and with that social converse that is

more inspiring than Falernian, or the soft Palmyrene. After talking of

other things, Gracchus addressed me saying:

'But is it not now time, Lucius, that a letter at least came from Isaac? I

have forborne to inquire, from time to time, as I would do nothing to add

to your necessary anxiety. It surely now however is right to consider the

steps next to be taken, if he shall have failed in his enterprise.'

'Isaac and Calpurnius,' I replied, 'are never absent from my thoughts, and

I have already resolved--the gods willing and favoring--that when a period

of sufficient length shall have elapsed, and the Jew does not appear,

having either perished on the way or else in the capital of the Great

King--myself to start, as I at first designed to do, upon this expedition,

and either return with my brother, or else die also in the endeavor. Seek

not, Fausta, as I perceive you are about to do, to turn me from my

purpose. It will be--it ought to be--in vain. I can consent no longer to

live thus in the very heart of life, while this cloud of uncertainty hangs

over the fate of one so near to me. Though I should depute the service of

his rescue to a thousand others, my own inactivity is insupportable, and

reproaches me like a crime.'

'I was not, as you supposed, Lucius,' replied Fausta, 'about to draw you

away from your purpose, but, on the contrary, to declare my approbation of

it. Were I Lucius, my thoughts would be, I am sure, what yours now are;

and to-morrow's sun would light me on the way to Ecbatana. Nay, father, I

would not wait a day longer. Woman though I am, I am almost ready to offer

myself a companion of our friend on this pious service.'

'I shall not,' said Gracchus, 'undertake to dissuade our friend from what

seems now to be his settled purpose. Yet still, for our sakes, for the

sake of the aged Portia, and all in Rome, I could wish--supposing Isaac

should fail--that one more attempt might be made in the same way, ere so

much is put at hazard. It needs no great penetration to see how highly

prized by Persia must be the possession of such a trophy of her prowess as

the head of the ancient house of Piso--with what jealousy his every

movement would be watched, and what danger must wait upon any attempt at

his deliverance. Moreover, while a mere hireling might, if detected, have

one chance among a thousand of pardon and escape, even that were wanting

to you. Another Piso would be either another footstool of the Persian

despot, while life should last, or else he would swing upon a Persian

gibbet, and so would perish the last of a noble name.'

'I cannot deny that reason is on your side,' I said, in reply to this

strong case of Gracchus, 'but feeling is on mine, and the contest is never

an equal one. Feeling is, perhaps, the essence of reason, of which no

account need or can be given, and ought to prevail. But however this may

be, I feel that I am right, and so I must act.'

'But let us now think of nothing else,' said Fausta, 'than that before

another day is ended, we shall get intelligence of Isaac. Have you,

Lucius, inquired, since your return, of Demetrius?'

'Milo is now absent on that very errand,' I replied, 'and here he is,

giving no signs of success.'

Milo at the same moment entered the hall, and stated that Demetrius was

himself absent from the city, but was every moment expected, and it was

known that he had been seeking anxiously--the preceding day--for me. While

Milo was yet speaking, a messenger was announced, inquiring for me, and

before I could reach the extremity of the apartment, Demetrius himself

entered the room in haste, brandishing in his hand a letter, which he knew

well to be from Isaac.

''Tis his own hand,' said he, 'The form of his letters is not to be

mistaken. Not even the hand of Demetrius can cut with more grace the Greek

character. Observe, Roman, the fashion of his touch. Isaac would have

guided a rare hand at the graving tool. But these Jews shun the nicer

arts. They are a strange people.'

'Quickly,' said I, interrupting the voluble Greek, 'as you love the gods,

deliver to me the letter! By and by we will discourse of these

things'--and seizing the epistle, I ran with it to another apartment,

first to devour it myself.

I cannot tell you, dear friends, with what eagerness I drank in the

contents of the letter, and with what ecstasy of joy I leaped and shouted

at the news it brought. In one word, my brother lives, and it is possible

that before this epistle to you shall be finished, he himself will sit at

my side. But to put you in possession of the whole case, I shall

transcribe for you the chief parts of Isaac's careful and minute account,

preserving for your amusement much of what in no way whatever relates to

the affair in hand, and is useful only as it will present a sort of

picture of one of this strange tribe. As soon as I had filled myself with

its transporting contents, I hastened to the hall where I had left Fausta

and Gracchus, to whom--Demetrius having in the mean time taken his

departure--I quickly communicated its intelligence, and received their

hearty congratulations, and then read it to them very much as I now

transcribe it for you. You will now acknowledge my obligations to this

kind-hearted Jew, and will devoutly bless the gods for my accidental

encounter with him on board the Mediterranean trader. Here now is the

letter itself.

ISAAC, _the Son of Isaac of Rome, to the most noble_ L. MANLIUS Piso,

_at Palmyra_:

That I am alive, Roman, after the perils of my journey, and the worse

perils of this Pagan city, can be ascribed to nothing else than the

protecting arm of the God of our nation. It is new evidence to me, that

somewhat is yet to be achieved by my ministry, for the good of my

country. That I am here in this remote and benighted region, that I

should have adventured hither in the service of a Roman to save one Roman

life, when, were the power mine, I would cut off every Roman life, from

the babe at the breast to the silver head, and lay waste the kingdom of

the great Mother of Iniquity with fire and sword, is to me a thing so

wonderful, that I refer it all to the pleasure of that Power, who orders

events according to a plan and wisdom impenetrable by us. Think not,

Roman, that I have journeyed so far for the sake of thy two talents of

gold--though that is considerable. And the mention of this draws my mind

to a matter, overlooked in the stipulations entered into between thee and

me, at my dwelling in Palmyra. Singular, that so weighty a part of that

transaction should have been taken no note of! Now I must trust it wholly

to thee, Piso, and feel that I may safely do so. In case of my death, the

double of the recompense agreed upon was to be paid, in accordance with

directions left. But what was to be done in case of thy death? Why, most

thoughtful Isaac--most prudent of men--for this thou didst make no

provision! And yet may not Piso die; as well as Isaac? Has a Roman more

lives than a Jew? Nay, how know I but thou art now dead, and no one

living to do me justice? See to this, excellent Roman. Thou wouldst not

have me go unrequited for all this hazard and toil. Let thy heirs be

bound, by sure and legal instruments, to make good to me all thou hast

bound thyself to pay. Do this, and thy gods and my God prosper thee!

Forget it not. Let it be done as soon as these words are read. Demetrius

will show thee one who will draw up a writing in agreement with both the

Palmyrene and Roman Law. Unheard of heedlessness! But this I thought not

about till I took my pen to write.

What was I saying?--that I came not for thy gold--that is, not for that

solely or chiefly. For what, and why, then? Because, as I have hinted, I

felt myself driven by an invisible power to this enterprise. I wait with,

patience to know what its issue is to be.

Now let me inform thee of my journey and my doings. But first, in one

brief word, let me relieve thy impatience by saying, I think thy brother

is to be rescued! No more of this at present, but all in order. When I

parted from thee that night, I had hardly formed my plan, though my mind,

quick in all its workings, did suddenly conceive one way in which it

appeared possible to me to compass the desired object. Perhaps you will

deem it a piece of rashness rather than of courage so quickly to undertake

your affair, I should call it so too, did I not also catch dimly in the

depth of the Heavens the form of the finger of God. This thou wilt not and

canst not understand. It is beyond thee. Is it not so? But, Roman, I trust

the day is to come when by my mouth, if not by another's, thou shalt hear

enough to understand that truth is to be found no where but in Moses.

Avoid Probus. I fear me he is already in Palmyra. There is more cunning in

him than is good. With that deep face and serene air he deceives many. All

I say is, shun him. To be a Roman unbeliever is better than to be a

Christian heretic. But to my journey.

The morning after I parted from thee saw me issuing at an early hour from

the Persian Gate, and with my single Ethiopian slave bearing toward the

desert, I took with me but a light bale of merchandise, that I might not

burden my good dromedary. Than mine, there is not a fleeter in the whole

East. One nearly as good, and at a huge price, did I purchase for my

slave. 'T was too suddenly bought to be cheaply bought. But I was not

cozened. It proved a rare animal. I think there lives not the man in

Palmyra or Damascus who could blind Isaac. I determined to travel at the

greatest speed we and our beasts could bear, so we avoided as far as we

could the heats of day, and rode by night. The first day being through the

peopled regions of the Queen's dominions, and through a cultivated

country, we travelled at our ease; and not unfrequently at such places as

I saw promised well, did we stop, and while our good beasts regaled

themselves upon the rich herbage or richer grain, trafficked. In this

surely I erred not. For losing, as I have done by this distant and

unwonted route, the trade of Ctesiphon, 't was just, was it not, that to

the extent possible, without great obstruction thrown in the way of your

affairs, I should repair the evil of that loss? Truth to speak, it was

only because my eye foresaw some such profitings on the way, that I made

myself contented with but two gold talents of Jerusalem. Two days were

passed thus, and on the third we entered upon a barren region--barren as

where the prophet found no food but such as birds from Heaven brought him.

But why speak of this to thee? O, that thou wouldst but once only once,

sit at the feet of that man of God, Simon Ben Gorah! Solomon was not more

wise. His words are arrows with two heads from a golden bow. His reasons

weigh as the mountains of Lebanon. They break and crush all on whom they

fall. Would, Roman, they might sometime fall on thee! The third day we

were on this barren region, and the next fairly upon the desert. Now did

we reap the benefit of our good beasts. The heat was like that of the

furnace of Nebuchadnezzar, out of which the three children, Shadrach,

Meshach, and Abednego came, through the power of God, unscorched. And

moreover, they were soon put to an unwonted and unlooked for burden, and

in such a manner as, to thy wonder, I shall relate.

It was a day the air of which was like the air of that

furnace--burning--burning hot. Death was written upon the whole face of

the visible earth. Where leaves had been, there were none now, or they

crumbled into ashes as the hand touched them. The atmosphere, when moved

by the wind, brought not, as it is used to do, a greater coolness, but a

fiercer heat. It was full of flickering waves that danced up and down with

a quivering motion, and dazzled and blinded the eye that looked upon them.

And the sand was not like that which for the most part is met with on that

desert stretching from the Mediterranean to Palmyra, and of which thou

hast had some experience--heavy, and hard, and seamed with cracks--but

fine, and light, and raised into clouds by every breath of wind, and

driven into the skin like points of needles. When the wind, as frequently

it did, blew with violence, we could only stop and bury our faces in our

garments, our poor beasts crying out with pain. It was on such a day,

having, because there was no place of rest, been obliged to endure all the

noonday heat, that, when the sun was at the highest and we looked eagerly

every way for even a dry and leafless bush that we might crouch down

beneath its shade, we saw at a distance before us the tall trunk of a

cedar, bleached to ivory, and twinkling like a pharos under the hot rays.

We slowly approached it, Hadad, my Ethiopian, knowing it as one of the

pillars of the desert.

'There it has stood and shone a thousand years,' said he; 'and but for

such marks, who could cross these seas of sand, where your foot-mark is

lost, as soon as made?' After a few moments' pause, he again exclaimed:

'And by the beard of holy Abraham! a living human being sits at the

root--or else mayhap my eyes deceive me, and I see only the twisted roots

of the tree.'

''T is too far for my eyes to discern aught but the blasted trunk. No

living creature can dwell here. 'T is the region of death only.'

A blast of the desert struck us at the moment, and well nigh buried us in

its rushing whirlwind of sand. We stood still, closed our eyes, and buried

our faces in the folds of our garments.

'Horrible and out of nature!' I cried--'the sun blazing without a cloud as

big as a locust to dim his ray, and yet these gusts, like the raging of a

tempest. The winds surely rise. Providence be our guide out of this valley

of fire and death!'

'There is no providence here,' said the slave, 'nor any where; else why

these savage and dreary deserts, which must be crossed, and yet we die in

doing it.'

'Hold thy peace, blasphemer!' I could not but rejoin, 'and take heed

lest thy impious tongue draw down a whirlwind of God to the destruction

of us both.'

'The curse of Arimanes'--began the irritated slave--when suddenly he

paused, and cried out in another tone: 'Look! look! Isaac, and see now

for thyself: I am no Jew, if there sit not a woman at the root of

yonder tree,'

I looked, and now that we had drawn nearer, and the wind had subsided for

an instant, I plainly beheld the form of a woman, bent over as if in the

act of holding and defending an infant. I believed it a delusion of Satan.

'It is awful,' said I; 'but let us hasten; if it be a reality, our coming

must be as the descent of angels.'

I pressed on my weary animal, and in a few moments we stood before

what seemed indeed a human being, of flesh and bone--and what was

more wonderful still, a woman. Yet she stirred not, nor gave other

sign of life.

'Is the breath of life yet in you?' I cried out--not doubting, however,

that whoever it was, death had already released her from her misery--and

at the same time laid my hand upon her shoulder. At which she started, and

lifting up her head, the very ghastliness of death stamped upon every

feature, she shrieked: 'I drown! I drown! Hassan, save me!' and her head

fell again upon her knees.

'Poor fool,' said I, 'thou art upon the sands of the desert, and thou

dreamest: awake!--awake!--and here is water for thee--real water.'

At which she waked indeed, with a convulsive start, and while with one

hand she held fast her child--for a child was indeed laid away among the

folds of her garments--with the other she madly grasped the small cup I

held out to her, and tearing aside the covering from the face of the

infant, she forced open its mouth, and poured in some of the water we gave

her, watching its effect. Soon as the little one gave signs of life, she

drank the remainder at a draught, crying out, 'More! more!' Our water, of

which we had as yet good store, though hot as the wind itself, quickly

restored both mother and child.

'And now tell me, miserable woman, what direful chance has brought and

left thee here?--but hasten--speak quickly as thou canst--and dost thou

look for any one to come to thy relief?'

'Robbers of the desert,' said she, 'have either murdered or carried into

slavery my husband, and destroyed and scattered the caravan of which we

made a part. I am alone in the desert; and I know of no relief but such

as you can give. Leave us not, if you are men, to perish in these

burning sands!'

'Fear not that I will leave you,' said I: 'what I can spare, shall freely

be thine. But time is precious, for we are yet but midway the desert, and

the signs of the heavens portend wind and whirlwind: hasten then and mount

the dromedary of my slave, while I upon mine-bear as stronger than

thou--the child.'

'Isaac,' here muttered Hadad, in an undertone, 'art thou mad? Is thy

reason wholly gone? It is scarcely to be hoped that we alone may cross in

safety what remains of the desert, beset as we are by these sweeping

gusts, and wilt thou oppress our fainting beasts with this new burden?'

'Thou accursed of God! wouldst thou leave these here to perish? I believed

not before that out of hell there could be so black a soul. Bring down thy

dromedary. One word of hesitancy, and thy own carcass shall bleach upon

the sands.'

I knew well who I was dealing with--that I was safe from immediate

violence, though not from ultimate revenge.

Hadad then drew up his beast, which kneeling received the woman, while I

took in my arms the child. We then set forward at an increased pace, to

reach before light, if possible, the 'place of springs,' where a small

green spot, watered by fountains which never fail, blesses these

inhospitable plains.

Not a cloud was to be seen in all the compass of the heavens, yet the

winds raged. The blueness of the sky was gone, and the whole inflamed dome

above us was rather of the color of molten brass, the sun being but its

brightest and hottest spot. At a distance we saw clouds of sand whirled

aloft, and driven fiercely over the boundless plain, any one of which, it

seemed to us, if it should cross our path, would bury us under its moving

mass. We pressed on, trembling and silent through apprehension. The blood

in my veins seemed hotter than the sand, or the sun that beat upon my

face. Roman, thou canst form no conception of the horrors of this day. But

for my faith, I should have utterly failed. What couldst thou have

done?--nay, or the Christian Probus? But I will not taunt thee. I will

rather hope. The wind became more and more violent. The sand was driven

before it like chaff. Sometimes the tempest immediately around us would

abate, but it only served to fill us with new apprehensions, by revealing

to us the tossings of this great deep, in the distance. At one of these

moments, as I was taking occasion to speak a word of comfort to the half

dead mother, and cherish the little one whom I bore, a sound as of the

roar of ocean caught my ear--more awful than aught I had yet heard--and at

the same time a shriek and a shout from Hadad, 'God of Israel, save us!

The sand! the sand!'

I looked in the direction of the sound, and there in the south it

looked--God, how terrible to behold!--as if the whole plain were risen

up, and were about to fall upon us.

''T is vain to fly!' I cried aloud to Hadad, who was urging his animal to

its utmost speed. 'Let us perish together. Besides, observe the heaviest

and thickest of the cloud is in advance of us.'

The mother of the child cried out, as Hadad insanely hastened on, for her

offspring, to whom I answered: 'Trust the young Ishmael to me--fear me

not--cleave to the dromedary.'

Hardly were the words spoken, when the whirlwind struck us. We were dashed

to the earth as we had been weeds. My senses were for a time lost in the

confusion and horror of the scene. I only knew that I had been torn from

my dromedary--borne along and buried by the sand--and that the young child

was still in my arms. In the first moment of consciousness, I found myself

struggling to free myself from the sand which was heaped around and over

me. In this, after a time, I succeeded, and in restoring to animation the

poor child, choked and blinded, yet--wonderful indeed!--not dead. I then

looked around for Hadad and the woman, but they were no where to be seen.

I shouted aloud, but there was no answer. The sand had now fallen--the

wind had died away--and no sound met my ear, but the distant rumbling of

the retreating storm. Not far from me, my own dromedary stood, partly

buried in sand, and vainly endeavoring to extricate himself. With my aid,

this was quickly effected. I was soon upon his back. But I knew not which

way to turn. My dependence was upon Hadad, familiar with the route. The

sun however had declined sensibly toward the west--I knew that my general

direction was toward the east and north, so that with some certainty as to

the true path, I sorrowfully recommenced my journey. Have I not thy pity,

Roman? Has a worse case ever come to thy ear? I will not distress thee by

reciting my sufferings all the way to the 'place of springs,' which by the

next morning, plodding on wearily through the night, I safely reached.

There one of the first objects that greeted me, was Hadad and the mother

of my Ishmael. I approached them unobserved, as they sat on the border of

a spring. In the midst of other travellers, some of whom I saw were

comforting the wailing Hagar--and, without a word, dropped the young child

into the lap of its mother. Who shall describe the transports of her joy?

'T was worth, Piso, the journey and all its hazards.

How refreshing it was to lie here on the cool soil, beneath the shade of

the grateful palm, enjoying every moment of existence, and repairing the

injuries the journey had inflicted upon ourselves and our beasts! Two days

we passed in this manner. While here, Hadad related what befel him after

our separation. Owing to his urging on his animal in that mad way, at the

time I called out to him, instead of stopping or retreating, he was

farther within the heart of the cloud than I, and was more rudely handled.

'Soon as the blast fell upon us,' said he, 'that instant was my reason

gone. I knew nothing for I cannot tell how long. But when I came to

myself, and found that I was not in the place of the wicked--whereat I

rejoiced and was amazed--I discovered, on looking round, that my good

dromedary, whom I could ill spare, was dead and buried, and your Hagar,

whom I could have so well spared, alive and weeping for her lost boy. I

made her, with difficulty, comprehend that time was precious, and that

strength would be impaired by weeping and wailing. Knowing at once in what

direction to travel--after searching in vain for thee--we set out upon a

journey, which, on foot, beneath a burning sun, and without water, there

was small hope of accomplishing. I looked with certainty to die in the

desert. But Oromasdes was my protector. See, Isaac, the advantage of a

little of many faiths. We had not travelled far among the hillocks, or

hills rather, of sand which we found piled up in our way, and completely

altering the face of the plain, before, to our amazement and our joy, we

discovered a camel, without rider or burden, coming toward us. I secured

him without difficulty. At a little distance, we soon saw another; and by

and by we found that we were passing over the graves of a caravan, the

whole or chief part of which had been overwhelmed by the storm. Here was a

body partly out of the sand, there the head or leg of a dromedary or

camel. Ruin and death seemed to have finished their work. But it was not

quite so. For presently on reaching the summit of a wave of sand, we

discerned a remnant mounted upon the beasts that had been saved, making in

the same direction, and probably to the same point, as ourselves. We

joined them, and partaking of their water, were recruited, and so reached

this place alive. It is now from here,' he added, 'a safe and easy road to

Ecbatana.'

So we found it. But confess now, noble Piso, if in thy judgment it would

have been exorbitant if I had required of thee three talents of Jerusalem

instead of two? For what wouldst thou cross that molten sea, and be buried

under its fiery waves! It is none other than a miracle that I am here

alive in Ecbatana. And for thee I fear that miracle would not have been

wrought. Hadst thou been in my place, the sands of the desert were now thy

dwelling-place. Yet have I again to tempt those horrors. Being here, I

must return. The dromedary of my slave Hadad was worth a hundred

aurelians. A better or a fleeter never yet was in the stables of Zenobia.

And dost thou know, Roman, how curious the Queen is in horses and

dromedaries? There cannot a rare one of either kind enter the walls of

Palmyra, but he is straightway bought up for the service of Zenobia. The

swiftest in the East are hers. 'T was my purpose, returning, to have drawn

upon Hadad's beast the notice of the Queen. Doubtless I should have sold

it to her, and two hundred aurelians is the very least I should have asked

or taken for her. To no other than Zenobia would I have parted with her

for less than three hundred. But alas! her bones are on the desert. But

why, you ask, should I have so favored Zenobia? It is no wonder you ask.

And in answer, I tell thee perhaps a secret. Zenobia is a Jewess! Receive

it or not, as thou wilt--she is a Jewess--and her heart is tender toward

our tribe. I do not say, mark me, that she is one by descent, nor that

she is so much as even a proselyte of the Gate, but that she believes in

some sort Moses and the prophets and reads our sacred books. These things

I know well from those who have been near her. But who ever heard that she

has been seen to read the books of the Christians! Probus will not dare to

assert it. 'T is not more public that Longinus himself is inclined to our

faith--by my head, I doubt not that he is more than inclined--than 'tis

that Zenobia is. If our Messiah should first of all gird on the sword of

Palmyra, what Jew, whose sight is better than a mole's, would be

surprised? My father--may his sleep be sweet!--whose beard came lower than

his girdle, and whose wisdom was famous throughout the East, built much

upon what he knew of the Queen, and her great minister, and used to say,

'That another Barchochab would arise in Palmyra, whom it would require

more than, another Hadrian to hinder in his way to empire; and that if

horses again swam in blood, as once at Bither, 'twould be in Roman blood.'

Who am I, to deny truth and likelihood to the words of one in whom dwelt

the wisdom of Solomon and the meekness of Moses, the faith of Abraham, the

valor of Gideon, and the patience of Job? I rather maintain their truth.

And in the features of the present time, I read change and

revolution--war, and uproar, and ruin--the falling of kingdoms that have

outlasted centuries, and the uprising of others that shall last for other

centuries. I see the Queen of the East at battle with the Emperor of Rome,

and through her victories deliverance wrought out for Israel, and the

throne of Judah once more erected within the walls of Jerusalem! Now dost

thou, Piso, understand, I suppose, not one word of all this. How shouldst

thou? But I trust thou wilt. Surely now you will say, 'What is all this to

the purpose?' Not much to any present purpose, I confess freely; and I

should not marvel greatly if thou wert to throw this letter down and

trample it in the dust--as Rome has done by Judea--but that thou lookest

to hear of thy brother. Well, now I will tell thee of him.

When we drew near to the capital of the Great King, wishing to enrage

Hadad, I asked, 'What mud-walled village is it that we see yonder over the

plain?' Thou shouldst have seen the scowl of his eye--answer he gave none.

I spit upon such a city--I cast out my shoe upon it! I who have dwelt at

Rome, Carthage, Antioch, and Palmyra, may be allowed to despise a place

like this. There are but two things that impress the beholder--the Palace

of Sapor, and the Temple of Mithras, near it. These truly would be noted

even in Palmyra. Not that in the building any rule or order of art is

observed, but that the congregation of strange and fantastic

trickery--some whereof, it cannot be gainsaid, is of rare beauty--is so

vast that one is pleased with it as he is with the remembrance of the

wonderful combinations of a dream.

Soon as we entered the gates of the city, I turned to the woman whom we

brought from the desert, and who rode the camel with Hadad, and said to

her: 'First of all, Hagar, we take thee to those who are of thy kindred,

or to thy friends, and well may they bless the good Providence of God that

they see thee. 'T was a foul deed of thy husband, after the manner of the

patriarch to leave thee and thy little one to perish on the burning sands

of the desert.'

'Good Jew,' she replied, 'my name is not Hagar, nor did my husband leave

me willingly. I tell thee we were set upon by robbers, and Hassan, my poor

husband, was either killed, or carried away no one can tell whither.'

'No matter--names are of little moment. To me, thou art Hagar, and thy

little one here is Ishmael--and if thou wilt, Ishmael shall be mine. I

will take him and rear him as mine--he shall be rich--and thou shalt be

rich, and dwell where thou wilt.' The child, Roman, had wound itself all

around my heart. He was of three years or more, and, feature for feature,

answered to the youngest of my own, long since lost, and now in Abraham's

bosom. But it was not to be as I wished. All the mother rushed into the

face of the woman.

'Good Jew,' she cried, 'the God of Heaven will reward thee for thy

mercy shown to us; but hadst thou saved my life a thousand times, I

could not pay thee with my child. I am poor, and have nought to give

thee but my thanks.'

'I will see thee again,' said I to the widow of Hassan, as we set her down

in the street where her kinsfolk dwelt, 'if thou wilt allow me. Receive

thy child.'

The child smiled as I kissed him and gave him again to his mother. It was

the smile of Joseph. I could at that moment almost myself have become a

robber of the desert, and taken what the others had left.

We here parted, and Hadad and myself bent our way to the house of Levi,

a merchant well known to Hadad, and who, he assured me, would gladly

receive us. His shop, as we entered it, seemed well stored with the

richest goods, but the building of which it made a part promised not

very ample lodgings. But the hospitable welcome of the aged Levi

promised better.

'Welcome every true son of Israel,' said he, as we drew near where in a

remoter part of the large apartment he sat busy at his books of account.

'Make yourselves at home beneath the roof of Levi. Follow me and find more

private quarters.'

So, leaving Hadad and the camels to the care of those whom our host

summoned, I followed him as desired to another part of the dwelling. It

now seemed spacious enough. After winding about among narrow and dark

passages, we at length came to large and well-furnished rooms, apparently

quite remote from the shop, and far removed from the street. Here we

seated ourselves, and I unfolded to Levi the nature of my business. He

listened, wondered, smiled, shook his head, and made a thousand contrary

movements and signs. When I had done, he comforted and instructed me after

this manner.

'Something like a fool's errand. Yet the pay is good--that cannot be

doubted. It had been better, I think, for thee to have followed thy trade

in Palmyra or Ctesiphon. Yet perhaps this may turn out well. The promised

sum is large. Who can tell? 'Tis worth a risk. Yet if, in taking the risk,

one loses his head, it were a mad enterprise. Verily, I can say nothing

but that time will disclose it, and the event prove it. A thing is not

seen all at once, and the eye cannot at once reach every part of a ball.

Wait with patience, and God shall show it.'

I saw that nothing was to be got from this prophet. Yet perhaps he knew

facts. So I asked him of Hormisdas and Sapor, and if he knew aught of the

Roman Piso, held a strict prisoner in Ecbatana.

'A prisoner, say you?' he replied, beginning at the end of my question;

'how can a Persian Satrap be called a prisoner? He dwells in the palace of

Hormisdas, and when seen abroad, rides upon a horse whose harness is

jewelled like the prince's, and his dress moreover is of the richest

stuffs, and altogether Persian. 'Tis forgotten by most that he is any

other than a native Persian.'

'Is he ever seen to ride alone?' I asked.

'Why the question? I know not. Who should know who rides alone and who in

company? When I have seen him, it has always been in the train of others.'

'I thought as much. Doubtless he goes abroad well guarded. His companions,

Levi, I doubt are little better than jailers?'

Levi opened his eyes, but it was to no purpose; they can see no other

thing clearly, save a Persian coin.

I found, upon further inquiry, that it was even as I had supposed and had

heard. Calpurnius lives in the palace of Hormisdas, and is his chosen

companion and friend, but is allowed by Sapor no liberty of movement, and

wherever he goes is attended by persons appointed to guard him. Nor have

the many years that he has been here caused this vigilance in any degree

to relax. All outward honor is shown him, except by the king, who, had he

not, in the time of Valerian, passed his word to the prince his son, and

fully surrendered Piso into his hands, would, it is believed, even now use

him as he did the unhappy emperor. But he is safe in the keeping of the

prince. And the guard about him, it is my present suspicion, is as much to

defend him against any sudden freak of the king or his satellites, as it

is to prevent his escape. The least that could happen to any Roman falling

into Sapor's power would be to be flayed alive. My safety will lie in my

being known only as a Jew, not as a dweller in Rome.

And now, Roman, thou desirest to know in what manner I mean to accomplish

the deliverance of thy brother. It is thus. Commend the cunning of it. My

Ethiopian slave is then--I must tell thee to thine amazement--no Ethiopian

and no slave! He is one of my own tribe whom I have many times employed in

difficult affairs, and having often conferred upon him the most essential

favors, have bound him to my will. Him I am to leave here, being first

cleansed of the deep dye with which by my art--and what art is it I am not

familiar with?--I have stained his skin to the darkest hue of the African,

and then in his place, and retained to the same hue, am I to take thy

brother, and so with security and in broad day walk through the gates of

Ecbatana. Is it to be thought of that I should fail? All will rest with

Calpurnius. If, in the first place, he shall be willing to return, and

then, in the next place, shall consent to submit to this momentary and

only apparent degradation, the issue is as certain to be happy, as the

means shall be tried. My head never set with a sense of more security upon

my shoulders, than now, while planning and putting into execution this

Carthaginian plot.

It was first of all necessary that I should become acquainted with the

city, with the situation and structure of the palace of Hormisdas, and

make myself known in the streets as one of those way-side merchants whom

all abuse, yet whom all are glad to trade with. So, with my slave bending

under the burden of those articles of use or luxury which I thought would

be most attractive, we set forth into the midst of the busy streets,

seeking a market for our commodities. Several days were passed in this

manner, returning each night to lodge in the house of the rich and

foolish, but hospitable Levi.

While thus employed, I frequently saw Calpurnius in company with the

prince or other nobles, either riding in state through the streets of the

city, or else setting out upon excursions of pleasure beyond the walls.

But my chief object was to observe well the palace of the prince, and

learn the particular part of it inhabited by the Roman, and how and where

it was his custom to pass his time. This it was not difficult to do. The

palace of the prince I found to occupy a square of the city not far from

that of the king his father. It is of vast extent, but of a desolate

aspect, from the fewness of its inhabitants and the jealousy with which

the prince and all his movements are watched by the wicked and now

superannuated Sapor. Every day I diligently paced the streets upon which

it stands. I at first went without Hadad, that I might observe with the

more leisure. I at length discovered the apartments used by Calpurnius,

and learned that it was his custom, when not absent from the palace upon

some enterprise of pleasure, to refresh himself by breathing the air, and

pacing to and fro upon a gallery of light Persian architecture, which

borders immediately upon one of the four streets that bounds the palace.

This gallery was not so high above the street but what the voice could

easily reach those who were walking there, and that without greatly

increasing its natural tone. From pillar to pillar there ran along a low

lattice-work of fanciful device, upon which it was the usage of

Calpurnius, and those who were with him, often to lean and idly watch the

movements of the passengers below. Here, I found, must be my place of

audience. Here I must draw his attention, and make myself known to him.

For an opportunity to do this, I saw at once I might be obliged to wait

long, for scarce ever was Calpurnius there, but Hormisdas, or some one of

the nobles, was with him; or if he was alone, yet the street was so

thronged that it must be difficult to obtain a hearing.

Having learned these things, I then came forth, with Hadad bearing my

merchandise, I myself going before him as owner and crier. Many times did

I pass and repass the gallery of Calpurnius to no purpose--he either not

being there, or attended closely by others, or wrapped in thought so that

my cries could not arouse him. It was clear to me that I must make some

bold attempt. He was one day standing at the lattice-work already named,

alone, and looking at the passers by. Seeing him there as I entered the

street, I made directly toward the spot, crying in the loudest tone my

goods; and notwithstanding the numbers who were on their way along the

street, I addressed myself boldly to him, purposely mistaking him for

Hormisdas. 'Prince,' said I, 'buy a little, if it please you, of a poor

Jew, who has lately traversed the desert to serve you. I have in these

panniers wonders from all parts of the world. There is not a city famous

for its art in any rare and curious work, that is not represented here.

Kings, queens, and princes, have not disdained to purchase of me. The

great Sapor at Ctesiphon has of me procured some of his largest diamonds.

I have sold to Claudius, and Zenobia, and half the nobility of Palmyra.

Dost thou see, prince, the glory of this assortment of diamonds? Look! How

would they become thy finger, thy hunting cap, or thy sandals?'

Thy brother listened to me with unmoved countenance and folded arms,

receiving passively whatever I was pleased to say. When I paused, he said,

in a tone of sadness, though of affected pleasantry:

'Jew, I am the worst subject for thee in all Ecbatana. I am a man without

wants. I do nothing but live, and I have nothing to do to live.'

'Now,' I replied, 'is it time for me to die, having seen the chief wonder

of the world--a man without wants.'

'There is a greater yet,' said he smiling; 'thou must live on.'

'And what is that?'

'A woman.'

'Thou hast me. But I can easily compound with life. I have many wants, yet

I love it. I was but a day or two since buried alive under the burning

sands of the desert, and lost there a dromedary worth--if a

farthing--four hundred aurelians, for which thou mayest have him. Yet I

love to live, and take the chances of the world as they turn up. Here now

have I all the way consoled myself with the thought of what I might sell

to the great Prince Hormisdas, and thou seest my reward. Still I cry my

goods with the same zeal. But surely thou wantest something? I have jewels

from Rome--of the latest fashion.'

'I want nothing from Rome.'

Seeing no one was near, and lowering my voice, I said, 'Thou wantest

nothing from Rome? What wouldst thou give, Roman, for news from Rome?'

'News from Rome? Not an obolus. How knowest thou me to be a Roman? But

now, I was the prince Hormisdas.'

'I have seen thee many times, and know thee well, as the Roman Piso. I

have news for thee.'

'The prince approaches!' said Piso, in a hurried manner. 'Begone, but come

again at the hour of dusk, and I shall be alone, and will have thee

admitted within the gates of the palace.'

The fates ordering it so, I was obliged to depart, and trust again to the

future for such chances of renewing my conversation with him as it might

have to offer. Here let me tell thee, Lucius Piso, that not having seen

thy brother, thou hast never seen a man. He is one with every mark of the

noblest manhood. His air is that of a born prince of the highest bearing,

yet free and unrestrained. The beauty of his countenance is beyond that of

any other I have ever seen, yet is it a manly beauty. A line of dark short

hair covers his upper lip. His eyes are large and dark, yet soft in their

general expression. He seems of a melancholy and thoughtful temper, and

sometimes in his words there is an inexpressible bitterness. Yet it has

appeared to me, that his nature is gentle, and that the other character is

one accidental or assumed. If I should compare him with any one for

beauty, it would be, Roman, not with thee--though I see him and thee to be

of the same stock--but with the princess Julia. Were her beauty only made

masculine, she would then be Calpurnius; or were his made feminine, he

would then be Julia. But this fancy might not strike others. His features

and air are not so much Roman as oriental--thine are purely Roman. It may

be that costume alone imparts this Eastern aspect to the countenance and

the form--for his dress is wholly that of a Persian.

As I passed into the dwelling of my host, entering it as at first by the

way of the shop, its owner was holding a conversation of business with

some of his customers. How does money seem native to the palm of some men!

They have but to open it, and straight it is lined with gold. If they

blunder, it is into more wealth. With wit scarce sufficient to make it

clear to another that they are properly men, do they manage to make

themselves the very chief of all, by reason of the riches they heap

up--which ever have claimed and received, and ever will, the homage of the

world. Levi is of this sort. The meanness of his understanding words

cannot express--or no words but his own. He was talking after this manner,

as I entered, to one who seemed to hold him in utmost reverence:

'The thing is so--the thing is so. If 't were otherwise 'tis most clear it

would not be the same. Ha! The price may change. Who can say? The world is

full of change. But it cannot be less, and leave a gain to the

seller--unless indeed, circumstances altering, the profit should still be

the same. But who can understand the future? An hour is more than I can

comprehend. He that deals well with the present, is it not he, Holy

Abraham! who best secures the passing time? It cannot be denied!'

As the oracle ended, the Persian bowed low, saying:

'The wisdom of it is clearer than the light. I shall so report to the

prince.' Seeing me, he, in his friendly way, inquired after my success,

shaking his head at what he is pleased to regard my mad enterprise.

'Better not meddle nor make in such matters. With thy pack upon thy back,

and exercising diligence, thou wouldst become rich here in the streets of

Ecbatana. And for what else shouldst thou care? 'Tis only money that

remains the same in the midst of change. All agree in the value they place

upon this, while they agree in nothing else. Who can remember a difference

here? Leave thy project, Isaac, which thou must have undertaken half for

love, and I will make thee a great man in Ecbatana.' Little does he know

of Isaac, and thou I believe as little.

No sooner had the god of these idolaters gone down to his rest, and the

friendly twilight come, than I set forth for the palace of Hormisdas. Upon

coming beneath the gallery, I waited not long before thy brother appeared,

and pointed out the way in which, through a low and private entrance at a

remote spot, I might reach an apartment where I should find him. Following

his directions, and accompanied by Hadad, I was received, at the specified

place, by a slave of the palace, who conducted me to Piso's presence. It

was in one of his more private apartments, but still sumptuously set out

with every article of Persian luxury, in which I found myself once more in

company with thy brother, and where I ordered Hadad to display for his

entertainment the most curious and costly of the contents of his pack.

'I marvel chiefly, Roman,' I began by saying, 'at the ease with which I

obtain an entrance into the palace, and into thine own apartment. I had

thought this to have been attended with both difficulty and danger.'

'It is not without danger,' he replied; 'thou mayst lose thy head for this

adventure. But this risk I suppose thee to have weighed. Every one in

Ecbatana knows Sapor and me--with what jealousy I am guarded--and that the

king will not flinch to keep his word, and take off any head that meddles.

But fear not. The king is old and weak, and though cruel as ever, forgets

me as every thing else. Besides, it is found that I am so good a Persian,

that all strictness in the watch has long since ceased. Half Ecbatana

believe me more a Persian than a Roman--and in truth they are right.'

'Thou hast not, Roman, forgotten thy country! Surely thou hast not, though

suffering captivity, ceased to love and long for thy native land. The Jew

never forgets his. He lives indeed in every corner and hole of the earth,

but ever in the hope--'tis this that keeps his life--either himself or

through his children to dwell once more within the walls of Jerusalem, or

among the hills and valleys of Judea.'

'Where we are not loved nor remembered, we cannot love,' he bitterly

replied. 'I loved Rome once, more than I loved parent or kindred. The

greatness and glory of Rome were to me infinitely more than my own. For

her--in my beardless youth--I was ready to lay down my life at any

moment. Nay, when the trial came, and the good Valerian set forth to

redeem the East from the encroaching power of Persia, I was not found

wanting, but abandoned a home, than which there was not a prouder nor

happier within the walls of Rome, to take my chance with the emperor and

my noble father. The issue thou knowest. How has Rome remembered me, and

the brave legions that with me fell into the hands of these fierce

barbarians? Even as Gallienus the son seemed to rejoice in the captivity

of his parent, so has Rome the mother seemed to rejoice in the captivity

of her children. Not an arm has she lifted, not a finger has she moved,

to lighten the chains of our bondage, or rescue us from this thraldom.

Rome is no longer my country.'

'Consider, Roman,' I replied, 'in extenuation of thy country's fault, who

it was that succeeded the good Valerian--then the brief reign of virtuous

Claudius, who died ere a single purpose had time to ripen--and the hard

task that has tied the hands of Aurelian on the borders of Gaul and

Germany. Have patience.'

'Dost thou not blush, old man,' he said, 'with that long gray beard of

thine, and thy back bent with years, to stand there the apologist of

crime? If ingratitude and heartlessness are to be defended, and numbered

among the virtues, the reign of Arimanes has indeed begun. Such is not the

lesson, Jew, thy sacred books have taught thee. But a truce with this! Thy

last words this morning were, that thou hadst news for me. For Roman news

I care not, nor will hear. If thou canst tell me aught of family and

friends, say on--although--O gods, that it should be so!--even they seem

to share the guilt of all. How many messengers have I bribed with gold,

more than thou hast ever seen, Jew, to bear my letters to Rome, and never

a word has been returned of good or evil. Canst thou tell me any thing of

Portia my mother? or of Lucius Piso my brother? Live they?'

'Do I not know them well?' I replied: 'who that dwells in Rome knows not

the noble Portia? She lives yet; and long may she live, the friend of all!

To Jew, and even to Nazarene, she is good, even as to her own. Never did

age, or want, or helplessness, ask of her in vain. Years have not stopped

the fountains of her tears, nor chilled a single affection of her heart.

And dost thou think that while she remembers the outcast Jew, and the

despised Nazarene, she forgets her own offspring? Where is thy heart,

Roman, to suppose it? Have I not heard her, many a time, when I have been

to solicit alms for some poor unfortunate of my tribe, run back upon the

line of years, and speak of the wars of Valerian, of the day when she

parted from her great husband, and her two sons, and of that dark day too

when the news came that they were all fast in the clutch of that foul

barbarian, Sapor---and stood a silent and astonished witness of a love,

such as I never saw in any other, and which seemed so great as to be a

necessary seed of death to her frail and shattered frame? Of thee

especially have I heard her descant as mothers will, and tell one after

another of all thy beauties, nay and of the virtues which bound her to

thee so, and of her trust so long cherished, that thou, more than either

of her other sons, wouldst live to sustain, and even bear up higher, the

name of Piso.'

'My noble mother! was it so indeed?'

'How should it be otherwise? Is it any thing that thou hast not heard from

her? Was she to tempt herself the horrors of a Persian journey? Was she,

in her age, to seek thee over the sands of Asia? or thy brother?

Especially when it was held in Rome not more certain that Valerian was

dead, than that thy father and thou wert also. The same messengers related

both events. No other news ever came from Ctesiphon. Was not one event as

likely as the other? Did not both rest upon the same authority? In the

same commemorative acts of the Senate were thy name, thy father's, thy

brother's, and the emperor's, with others who were also believed to have

perished. Was Portia alone, of all Rome, to give the lie to universal

fame? As for thy messengers, art thou so foolish as to believe that one

ever crossed the desert, or escaped the meshes set for him by the jealous

and malignant Sapor?'

'It is enough, Jew--say no more.'

'But I have much more to say, or else be false to those who sent me.'

'Sent thee? who sent thee? Speak! do Portia then, and Lucius, know that I

live? And art thou here a messenger from them?'

'It is even so.'

Thy brother was greatly moved. At first he made as though he would have

embraced me, but turned and paced with quick and agitated steps the room.

I then related to him how we had in Rome first heard through that soldier

a rumor of his being yet alive--but at the same time, that he had

renounced his country and become a Persian Satrap. I told him of thy faith

in him and of Portia's that he would never prove a recreant to his

country--of thy instant journey to Palmyra, with purpose to cross the

desert thyself and risk all the dangers of Ecbatana to accomplish his

deliverance, and of the counsel of Gracchus, which caused thee to make me

a substitute.

'Lucius then,' he at length said, approaching me, 'is in Palmyra?

Is it so?'

'It is,' I said. 'At least I left him there. He was to remain there, and

learn the issue of my attempt. If I perished, or failed in the endeavor to

obtain thy freedom, then was it his purpose himself to try--unless in the

mean time he should learn through me, or otherwise, that thou wert too

wedded to Persia and to Persian customs, to consent to change them for

Rome and Roman ways.'

'Jew, thou seest that now I hesitate. Thou hast roused all the son, the

brother, and something of the Roman within me. I am drawn many ways. To

Rome I will never return. Toward her, a resentment burns deep within,

which I know will close only with life itself. But toward Palmyra, my

heart yearns 'Twas Zenobia alone of all the world that ever moved for the

rescue of Valerian: 'twas she alone of all the world, who pitied our

sorrows, and though she could not heal, avenged them. Her image has been a

dear source of consolation in this long captivity. I have eagerly sought

for all that could be obtained concerning her character, her acts, her

policy, and the state of her affairs. And often have I thought to slip my

bonds and throw myself at her feet, to serve with her, if need should be,

either against Rome or Persia. But habit has prevailed, and the generous

friendship of Hormisdas, to keep me here. And why should I change this not

unpleasing certainty for the doubtful future that must await me in

Palmyra? Here I am in the very lap of luxury. I am, as I have said to

thee, a man without wants. All countries, and climates, and seas, and

arts, minister to my pleasure. The learning of ancient and of modern

times, you see there piled upon shelves, to entertain my leisure, or task

my hours of study. I am without care--without the necessity of toil--with

a palace, its slaves, and, I may add, its prince, at my command. And

beyond all this present reality, there is the prospect of every thing else

that Persia contains, upon the death of Sapor, which, in the course of

nature, cannot be far off, if violence do not anticipate that hour. Yet

what thou now tellest me, renews my desire of change. Lucius is in

Palmyra--perhaps he would dwell there. 'Tis the home, I learn, of many

noble Romans. Who can say that Portia might not come and complete our

happiness?'

And saying these things, he began to muse. He again paced with folded arms

the long apartment. I saw that he was still distracted by doubts. I knew

of but one thing more to say, by which to work upon his passionate nature.

I resolved to say it, though I know not what thou wilt think of it, nor

what the event may be. There was, thou knowest, ere I left Palmyra, rumor

of war between Palmyra and Rome. Barely to name this, it seemed to me,

would be on the instant to fix his wavering mind. I could not withstand

the temptation. But, Piso once in Palmyra, and sure I am I shall be

forgiven. I began again thus.

'Gracchus too, Roman; dost thou not remember the family of Gracchus? He

also is in Palmyra.'

'Ay, I remember him well. A man of true nobility--now one of the Queen's

chief advisers, and head of the Senate. He had a daughter too, who, her

mother dying young, was committed to the care of Portia, and was as a

sister. Does she live?--and dwells she in Palmyra?'

'She lives, and beneath her father's roof. Fame speaks loudly of her

beauty and her wit, and more loudly still of her young wisdom, and

influence with the Queen. Her spirit is the counterpart of Zenobia's. She

is, notwithstanding her long Roman nurture, a Palmyrene of the truest

stamp. And ever since there have been these rumors of a war with Rome'--

'What sayst thou? What is that? War with Rome? Did I hear aright?'

'Verily thou didst. 'Twas the current report when I left Palmyra. It came

both by the way of Antioch and Alexandria. Nothing was talked of else.

Ever since, I say--'

'Why hast thou not said this before? How shall I believe thee?'

'I said it not before, simply because I thought not of it. How was I to

know what thou most desiredst to hear? I can give thee no other ground of

belief than common rumor. If my own opinion will weigh aught, I may add,

that for myself I have not a doubt that the report springs from truth.

When at Rome, it was commonly spoken of, and by those too whom I knew to

be near the emperor, that Aurelian felt himself aggrieved and insulted,

that a woman should hold under her dominion territories that once belonged

to Rome, and who had wrested them from Rome by defeat of Roman

generals--and had sworn to restore the empire in the East as well as West,

to its ancient bounds. At Palmyra too I found those who were of deep

intelligence in the politics of the times, who felt sure of nothing more

than that, what with the pride of Zenobia and the ambition of Aurelian,

war was inevitable. I tell thee these things as they fell upon my ear.

Before this, as I think, it is most likely that war may have broken out

between the two nations.'

'Thou hast now spoken, Jew,' said Calpurnius. 'Hadst thou said these

things at first, thou hadst spared me much tormenting doubt. My mind is

now bent and determined upon flight. This it will not be difficult, I

think, to accomplish. But what is thy plan?--for I suppose, coming upon

this errand, thou hast one well digested. But remember now, as I have

already warned thee, that thy head will answer for any failure: detection

will be death.'

'Death is little to a Jew, who in dying dies for his country. And such

would be my death. Whether I live or die, 'tis for Jerusalem. Thy brother

rewards me largely for this journey, and these dangers I encounter; and

if I perish, the double of the whole sum agreed upon is to be paid

according to certain directions left with him. I would rather live; but I

shall not shrink from death. But, Piso, detection shall not ensue. I have

not lived to this age, to writhe upon a Persian spear, or grin from over a

Persian gateway. What I have devised is this. Thou seest my slave Hadad?'

'I see him--an Ethiopian.'

'So he seems to thee. But his skin is white as thine. By an art, known

only to me, it has been changed to this ebon hue.'

'What follows?'

'This. Thou art to take his place, thy skin being first made to resemble

his, while he is cleansed, and remains in Ecbatana. We then, thou bearing

my packages of merchandise, take our way, quietly and in broad day-light,

through the gates of Ecbatana. How sayst thou?'

'The invention is perfect. I cannot fear the result.

'So soon then as I shall have made some few preparations, for which

to-morrow will suffice, I shall be ready for the desert.'

I heard these words with joy. I now called to Hadad to open his cases of

jewels, from which I took a seal, having upon it the head of Zenobia, and

offered it to Calpurnius. He seized it with eagerness, having never

before seen even so much as a drawing of the Great Queen. I then drew

forth thine own ring and gave him, with that locket containing the hair

of Portia, and thy letter. He received them with emotion; and as I

engaged myself in re-packing my goods, my quick ear caught tears falling

upon the sheet as he read.