I shall give you what I gather from them.

'When we had parted,' writes the secretary, 'from the river's edge, we

were led at a rapid pace over the same path we had just come, to the

neighborhood of the Roman camp. I learned from what I overheard of the

conversation of the Centurion with his companion at his side, that the

flight of the Queen had been betrayed. But beyond that, nothing.

'We were taken not at once to the presence of Aurelian, but lodged in one

of the abandoned palaces in the outskirts of the city--that of Seleucus,

if I err not--where? the Queen being assigned the apartments needful for

her and her effects, a guard was set around the building.

'Here we had remained not long, yet long enough for the Queen to exchange

her disguise for her usual robes, when it was announced by the Centurion

that we must proceed to the tent of the Emperor. The Queen and the

Princess were placed in a close litter, and conveyed secretly there, out

of fear of the soldiers, "who," said the Centurion, "if made aware of whom

we carry, would in their rage tear to fragments and scatter to the winds

both the litter and its burden."

'We were in this manner borne through the camp to the tent of Aurelian. As

we entered, the Emperor stood at its upper end, surrounded by the chief

persons of his army. He advanced to meet the Queen, and in his changing

countenance and disturbed manner might it be plainly seen how even an

Emperor, and he the Emperor of the world, felt the presence of a majesty

such as Zenobia's. And never did our great mistress seem more a Queen than

now--not through that commanding pride which, when upon her throne, has

impressed all who have approached her with a feeling of inferiority, but

through a certain dark and solemn grandeur that struck with awe, as of

some superior being, those who looked upon her. There was no sign of grief

upon her countenance, but many of a deep and rooted sadness, such as might

never pass away. No one could behold her and not lament the fortune that

had brought her to such a pass. Whoever had thought to enjoy the triumph

of exulting over the royal captive, was rebuked by that air of calm

dignity and profound melancholy, which even against the will, touched the

hearts of all, and forced their homage.

'"It is a happy day for Rome," said Aurelian, approaching and saluting

her, "that sees you, lately Queen of Palmyra and of the East, a captive in

the tent of Aurelian."

'"And a dark one for my afflicted country," replied the Queen.

'"It might have been darker," rejoined the emperor, "had not the good

providence of the gods delivered you into my hands."

'"The gods preside not over treachery. And it must have been by treason

among those in whom I have placed my most familiar trust, that I am now

where and what I am. I can but darkly surmise by whose baseness the act

has been committed. It had been a nobler triumph to you, Roman, and a

lighter fall to me, had the field of battle decided the fate of my

kingdom, and led me a prisoner to your tent."

'"Doubtless it had been so," replied Aurelian; "yet was it for me to cast

away what chance threw into my power? A war is now happily ended, which,

had your boat reached the further bank of the Euphrates, might yet have

raged--and but to the mutual harm of two great nations. Yet it was both a

bold and sagacious device, and agrees well with what was done by you at

Antioch, Emesa, and now in the defence of your city, A more determined, a

better appointed, or more desperate foe, I have never yet contended with."

'"It were strange, indeed," replied the Queen, "if you met not with a

determined foe, when life and liberty were to be defended. Had not

treason, base and accursed treason, given me up like a chained slave to

your power, yonder walls must have first been beaten piecemeal down by

your engines, and buried me beneath their ruins, and famine clutched all

whom the sword had spared, ere we had owned you master. What is life, when

liberty and independence are gone?"

'"But why, let me ask," said Aurelian? "were you moved to assert an

independency of Rome? How many peaceful and prosperous years have

rolled on since Trajan and the Antonines, while you and Rome were at

harmony; a part of us and yet independent; allies rather than a subject

province; using our power for your defence; yet owning no allegiance.

Why was this order disturbed? What madness ruled to turn you against

the power of Rome?"

'"The same madness," replied Zenobia, "that tells Aurelian he may yet

possess the whole world, and sends him here into the far East to wage

needless war with a woman--Ambition! Yet had Aurelian always been upon the

Roman throne, or one resembling him, it had perhaps been different. There

then could have been naught but honor in any alliance that had bound

together Rome and Palmyra. But was I, was the late renowned Odenatus, to

confess allegiance to base souls such as Aureolus, Gallienus, Balista?

While the thirty tyrants were fighting for the Roman crown, was I to sit

still, waiting humbly to become the passive prey of whosoever might please

to call me his? By the immortal gods, not so! I asserted my supremacy, and

made it felt; and in times of tumult and confusion to Rome, while her

Eastern provinces were one scene of discord and civil broil, I came in and

reduced the jarring elements, and out of parts broken and sundered, and

hostile, constructed a fair and well-proportioned whole. And when once

created, and I had tasted the sweets of sovereign and despotic power--what

they are thou knowest--was I tamely to yield the whole at the word or

threat even of Aurelian? It could not be. So many years as had passed and

seen me Queen, not of Palmyra only, but of the East--a sovereign honored

and courted at Rome, feared by Persia, my alliance sought by all the

neighboring dominions of Asia--had served but to foster in me that love of

rule which descended to me from a long line of kings. Sprung from a royal

line, and so long upon a throne, it was superior force alone--divine or

human--that should drag me from my right. Thou hast been but four years

king, Aurelian, monarch of the great Roman world, yet wouldst thou not,

but with painful unwillingness, descend and mingle with the common herd.

For me, ceasing to reign, I would cease to live."

'"Thy speech," said Aurelian, "shows thee well worthy to reign. It is no

treason to Rome, Carus, to lament that the fates have cast down from a

throne? one who filled its seat so well. Hadst thou hearkened to the

message of Petronius, thou mightest still, lady, have sat upon thy native

seat. The crown of Palmyra might still have girt thy brow."

'"But not of the East," rejoined the Queen.

'"Fight against ambition, Carus! thou seest how, by aiming at too much, it

loses all. It is the bane of humanity. When I am dead, may ambition then

die, nor rise again."

'"May it be so," replied his general; "it has greatly cursed the world.

It were better perhaps that it died now."

'"It cannot," replied Aurelian; "its life is too strong. I lament too,

great Queen, for so I may well call thee, that upon an ancient defender of

our Roman honor, upon her who revenged Rome upon the insolent Persian,

this heavy fate should fall. I would willingly have met for the first time

in a different way the brave conqueror of Sapor, the avenger of the wrongs

and insults of the virtuous Valerian. The debt of Rome to Zenobia is

great, and shall yet, in some sort at least, be paid. Curses upon those

who moved thee to this war. They have brought this calamity upon thee,

Queen, not I, nor thou. What ill designing aspirants have urged thee on?

This is not a woman's war."

'"Was not that a woman's war," replied the Queen, "that drove the Goths

from upper Asia? Was not that a woman's war that hemmed Sapor in his

capital, and seized his camp? and that which beat Heraclianus, and gained

thereby Syria and Mesopotamia? and that which worsted Probus, and so won

the crown of Egypt? Does it ask for more, to be beaten by Romans, than to

conquer these? Rest assured, great prince, that the war was mine. My

people were indeed with me, but it was I who roused, fired, and led them

on. I had indeed great advisers. Their names are known throughout the

world. Why should I name the renowned Longinus, the princely Gracchus, the

invincible Zabdas, the honest Otho? Their names are honored in Rome as

well as here. They have been with me; but without lying or vanity, I may

say I have been their head."

'"Be it so; nevertheless, thy services shall be remembered. But let us

now to the affairs before us. The city has not surrendered--though thy

captivity is known, the gates still are shut. A word from thee would

open them."

'"It is a word I cannot speak," replied the Queen; her countenance

expressing now, instead of sorrow, indignation. "Wouldst thou that I too

should turn traitor?"

'"It surely would not be that," replied the Emperor. "It can avail naught

to contend further--it can but end in a wider destruction, both of your

people and my soldiers."

'"Longinus, I may suppose," said Zenobia, "is now supreme. Let the Emperor

address him, and what is right will be done."

'Aurelian turned, and held a brief conversation with some of his officers.

'"Within the walls," said the Emperor, again addressing the Queen, "thou

hast sons. Is it not so?"

'"It is not they," said the Queen quickly, her countenance growing pale,

"it is not they, nor either of them, who have conspired against me!"

'"No--not quite so. Yet he who betrayed thee calls himself of thy family.

Thy sons surely were not in league with him. Soldiers," cried the Emperor,

"lead forth the great Antiochus, and his slave."

'At his name, the Queen started--the Princess uttered a faint cry, and

seemed as if she would have fallen.

'A fold of the tent was drawn aside, and the huge form of Antiochus

appeared, followed by the Queen's slave, her head bent down and eyes cast

upon the ground. If a look could have killed, the first glance of

Zenobia, so full of a withering contempt, would have destroyed her base

kinsman. He heeded it but so much as to blush and turn away his face from

her. Upon Sindarina the Queen gazed with a look of deepest sorrow. The

beautiful slave stood there where she entered, not lifting her head, but

her bosom rising and falling with some great emotion--conscious, as it

seemed, that the Queen's look was fastened upon her, and fearing to meet

it. But it was so only for a moment, when raising her head, and revealing

a countenance swollen with grief, she rushed toward the Queen, and threw

herself at her feet, embracing them, and covering them with kisses. Her

deep sobs took away all power of speech. The Queen only said, "My poor

Sindarina!"

'The stern voice of Aurelian was first heard, "Bear her away--bear her

from the tent."

'A guard seized her, and forcibly separating her from Zenobia, bore her

weeping away.

'"This," said Aurelian, turning now to Zenobia, "this is thy kinsman, as

he tells me--the Prince Antiochus?"

'The Queen replied not.

'"He has done Rome a great service." Antiochus raised his head, and

straightened his stooping shoulders, "He has the merit of ending a

weary and disastrous war. It is a rare fortune to fall to any one. 'Tis

a work to grow great upon. Yet, Prince," turning to Antiochus, "the

work is not complete. The city yet holds out. If I am to reward thee

with the sovereign power, as thou sayest, thou must open the gates.

Canst thou do it?"

'"Great Prince," replied the base spirit eagerly, "it is provided for.

Allow me but a few moments, and a place proper for it, and the gates I

warrant shall quickly swing upon their hinges."

'"Ah! do you say so? That is well. What, I pray, is the process?"

'"At a signal which I shall make, noble Prince, and which has been agreed

upon, every head of every one of the Queen's party rolls in the

dust--Longinus, Gracchus, and his daughter, Seleucus, Gabrayas, and a host

more--their heads fall. The gates are then to be thrown open."

'"Noble Palmyrene, you have the thanks of all. Of the city then we are at

length secure. For this, thou wouldst have the rule of it under Rome,

wielding a sceptre in the name of the Roman Senate, and paying tribute as

a subject province? Is it not so?"

'"It is. That is what I would have, and would do, most excellent

Aurelian."

'"Who are thy associates in this? Are the Queen's sons, Herennianus,

Timolaus, Vabalathus, of thy side, and partners in this enterprise?"

'"They are not privy to the design to deliver up to thy great power the

Queen their mother; but they are my friends, and most surely do I count

upon their support. As I shall return king of Palmyra, they will gladly

share my power."

'"But if friends of thine, they are enemies of mine," rejoined Aurelian,

in terrific tones; "they are seeds of future trouble; they may sprout up

into kings also, to Rome's annoyance. They must be crushed. Dost thou

understand me?"

'"I do, great Prince. Leave them to me. I will do for them. But to say the

truth they are too weak to disturb any--friends or enemies."

'"Escape not so. They must die." roared Aurelian.

'"They shall--they shall," ejaculated the alarmed Antiochus; "soon as I am

within the walls their heads shall be sent to thee."

'"That now is as I would have it. One thing more thou hast asked--that

the fair slave who accompanies thee be spared to thee, to be thy Queen."

'"It was her desire--hers, noble Aurelian, not mine."

'"But didst thou not engage to her as much?"

'"Truly I did. But among princes such words are but politic ones: that

is well understood. Kings marry for the state. I would be higher

matched;" and the sensual demon cast his eyes significantly towards the

Princess Julia.

'"Am I understood?" continued Antiochus, Aurelian making no response. "The

Princess Julia I would raise to the throne." The monster seemed to dilate

to twice his common size, as his mind fed upon the opening glories.

'Aurelian had turned from him, looking first at his Roman attendants,

then at the Queen and Julia--his countenance kindling with some

swelling passion.

'"Do I understand thee?" he then said. "I understand thee to say that for

the bestowment of the favors and honors thou hast named, thou wilt do the

things thou hast now specifically promised? Is it not so?"

'"It is, gracious king."

'"Dost thou swear it?"

'"I swear it by the great God of Light!"

'The countenance of the Emperor now grew black with as it seemed mingled

fury and contempt. Antiochus started, and his cheek paled. A little light

reached his thick brain.

'"Romans," cried Aurelian, "pardon me for so abusing your ears! And you,

our royal captives! I knew not that such baseness lived--still less that

it was here. Thou foul stigma upon humanity! Why opens not the earth under

thee, but that it loathes and rejects thee! Is a Roman like thee, dost

thou think, to reward thy unheard-of treacheries? Thou knowest no more

what a Roman is, than what truth and honor are. Soldiers! seize yonder

miscreant, write traitor on his back, and spurn him forth the camp. His

form and his soul both offend alike. Hence, monster!"

'Antiochus was like one thunderstruck. Trembling in every joint, he sought

to appeal to the Emperor's mercy, but the guard stopped his mouth, and

dragged him from the tent. His shrieks pierced the air as the soldiers

scourged him beyond the encampment.

'"It was not for me," said Aurelian, as these ceased to be heard, "to

refuse what fate threw into my hands. Though I despise the traitorous

informer, I could not shut my ear to the facts he revealed, without myself

betraying the interests of Rome. But, believe me, it was information I

would willingly have spared, My infamy were as his to have rewarded the

traitor. Fear not, great Queen; I pledge the word of a Roman and an

Emperor for thy safety. Thou art safe both from Roman and Palmyrene."

'"What I have but now been witness of," replied the Queen, "assures me

that in the magnanimity of Aurelian I may securely rest."

'"As the Queen uttered these words, a sound as of a distant tumult, and

the uproar of a multitude, caught the ears of all within the tent.

'"What mean these tumultuous cries?" inquired Aurelian of his attending

guard. "They increase and approach."

'"It may be but the soldiers at their game with Antiochus," replied

Probus.

'But it was not so. At the moment a Centurion, breathless, and with his

head bare, rushed madly into the tent.

'"Speak," said the Emperor, "what is it?"

'"The legions!" said the Centurion, as soon as he could command his words,

"the legions are advancing, crying out for the Queen of Palmyra! They have

broken from their camp and their leaders, and in one mixed body come to

surround the Emperor's tent."

'"As he ended, the fierce cries of the enraged soldiery were distinctly

heard, like the roaring of a forest torn by a tempest. Aurelian, baring

his sword, and calling upon his friends to do the same, sprang toward

the entrance of the tent. They were met by the dense throng of the

soldiers, who now pressed against the tent, and whose savage yells now

could be heard,--

'"The head of Zenobia."--"Deliver the Queen to our will."--"Throw out

the head of Zenobia, and we will return to our quarters."--"She

belongs to us."

'At the same moment the sides of the tent were thrown up, showing the

whole plain filled with the heaving multitude, and being itself instantly

crowded with the ringleaders and their more desperate associates. Zenobia,

supporting the Princess, who clung to her, and pale through a just

apprehension of every horror, but otherwise firm and undaunted, cried out

to Aurelian, "Save us, O Emperor, from this foul butchery!"

'"We will die else!" replied the Emperor; who with the word, sprang upon a

soldier making toward the Queen, and with a blow clove him to the earth.

Then swinging round him that sword which had drunk the blood of thousands,

and followed by the gigantic Sandarion, by Probus, and Carus, a space

around the Queen was soon cleared.

'"Back, ruffians," cried Aurelian, in a voice of thunder, "for you are no

longer Romans! back to the borders of the tent. There I will hear your

complaints." The soldiers fell back, and their ferocious cries ceased.

'"Now," cried the Emperor, addressing them, "what is your will, that thus

in wild disorder you throng my tent?"

'One from the crowd replied--"Our will is that the Queen of Palmyra be

delivered to us as our right, instantly. Thousands and thousands of our

bold companions lie buried upon these accursed plains, slain by her and

her fiery engines. We demand her life. It is but justice, and faint

justice too."

'"Her life!"--"Her life!"--arose in one shout from the innumerable

throng.

'The Emperor raised his hand, waving his sword dropping with the blood of

the slain soldier; the noise subsided; and his voice, clear and loud like

the tone of a trumpet, went to the farthest bounds of the multitude.

'"Soldiers," he cried, "you ask for justice; and justice you shall

have."--"Aurelian is ever just!" cried many voices.--"But you shall not

have the life of the Queen of Palmyra."--He paused; a low murmur went

through the crowd.--"Or you must first take the life of your Emperor, and

of these who stand with him."--The soldiers were silent.--"In asking the

life of Zenobia," he continued, "you know not what you ask. Are any here

who went with Valerian to the Persian war?" A few voices responded, "I was

there,--and I,--and I."--"Are there any here whose parents, or brothers,

or friends fell into the tiger clutches of the barbarian Sapor, and died

miserably in hopeless captivity?"--Many voices every where throughout the

crowd were heard in reply, "Yes, yes,--Mine were there, and mine."--"Did

you ever hear it said," continued Aurelian, "that Rome lifted a finger for

their rescue, or for that of the good Valerian?"--They were silent, some

crying, "No, no."--"Know then, that when Rome forgot her brave soldiers

and her Emperor, Zenobia remembered and avenged them; and Rome fallen into

contempt with the Persian, was raised to her ancient renown by the arms of

her ally, the brave Zenobia, and her dominions throughout the East saved

from the grasp of Sapor only by her valor. While Gallienus wallowed in

sensuality and forgot Rome, and even his own great father, the Queen of

Palmyra stood forth, and with her royal husband, the noble Odenatus, was

in truth the savior of the empire. And is it her life you would have? Were

that a just return? Were that Roman magnanimity? And grant that thousands

of your brave companions lie buried upon these plains: it is but the

fortune of war. Were they not slain in honorable fight, in the siege of a

city, for its defence unequalled in all the annals of war? Cannot Romans

honor courage and conduct, though in an enemy? But you ask for justice. I

have said you shall have justice. You shall. It is right that the heads

and advisers of this revolt, for such the senate deems it, should be cut

off. It is the ministers of princes who are the true devisers of a

nation's acts. These, when in our power, shall be yours. And now, who,

soldiers! stirred up this mutiny, bringing inexpiable shame upon our brave

legions? Who are the leaders of the tumult?"

'Enough were found to name them;

'"Firmus! Carinus! the Centurions Plancus! Tatius! Burrhus! Valens!

Crispinus!"

'"Guards! seize them and hew them down. Soldiers! to your tents." The

legions fell back as tumultuously as they had come together; the faster,

as the dying groans of the slaughtered ringleaders fell upon their ears.

'The tent of the Emperor was once more restored to order. After a brief

conversation, in which Aurelian expressed his shame for the occurrence of

such disorders in the presence of the Queen, the guard were commanded to

convey back to the palace of Seleucus, whence they had been taken, Zenobia

and the Princess.'

Such are the principal matters contained in the communications of

Nichomachus.

When the facts contained in them became known, the senate, the council,

the army, and the people, agreed in the belief, that the Queen's safety

and their own would now be best secured by an immediate capitulation.

Accordingly, heralds bearing letters from Longinus, in the name of the

council, proceeded to the Roman camp. No other terms could be obtained

than a verbal promise that the city, the walls, and the common people

should be spared; but the surrender, beyond that, must be unconditional.

Upon learning the terms prescribed by the conqueror, many were for further

resistance. 'The language of Aurelian,' they said, 'is ambiguous. He will

spare the city, walls, and common people. Are our senators and counsellors

to be sacrificed? Are they, who have borne the burden of the day, now to

be selected, as the only ones who are to suffer? It shall not be so.'

Generous sentiments like these were heard on all sides. But they were

answered and overcome, by Gracchus especially, and others. Said Gracchus

to the people, 'Doubtless punishment will be inflicted by Rome upon some.

Our resistance is termed by her, rebellion, revolt, conspiracy; the

leaders will be sought and punished. It is ever her course. But this is a

light evil compared with a wide-spread massacre of this whole population,

the destruction of these famous temples, the levelling of these proud

walls. Aurelian has said that these shall be spared. His word, though an

unwritten and informal one, may be trusted. My counsel is, that it be at

once accepted. What if a few grey heads among us are taken off? That will

not touch the existence or prosperity of Palmyra. You can spare them. Your

children will soon grow up to take our places, and fill them, I hope, with

a better wisdom.'

But such words only served at first the more to strengthen the people in

their resolution, that their rulers should not be the only sacrifice.

None were loved throughout the city more than Gracchus and Otho, none

revered like Longinus. It was a long and painful struggle between

affection and the convictions of reason before it ended, and the consent

of the people was obtained to deliver up the city to the mercy of

Aurelian. But it was obtained.

I was sitting with Fausta and Calpurnius, speaking of the things that had

happened, and of the conduct of the Queen, when Gracchus entered and

joined us, informing us that 'ambassadors were now gone to the camp of

Aurelian, clothed with authority to deliver up the city into his hands. So

that now the end has drawn on, and Palmyra ceases to exist.'

Fausta, although knowing that this must happen, and might at any

moment, could not hear the fatal words, announcing the death of her

country, as she deemed it, and quenching forever in darkness the bright

dreams upon which she had fed so long, without renewed grief. We were a

long time silent.

'Something yet remains,' at length Gracchus resumed, 'for us to resolve

upon and do. Before many hours have elapsed, a Roman army will fill the

streets of the city, perhaps our houses also, and a general plunder may

be commenced of all the valuables we possess. It will be useless to

conceal what it will be well enough known, from the manner in which we

live, must be beneath our roof. It will but expose our lives. Yet,

Fausta, your jewels, valued by you as gifts, and other things precious

for the same or a like reason, may easily be secreted, nor yet be missed

by the licensed robbers. See to this, my child; but except this there is

now naught to do concerning such affairs, but to sit still and observe

the general wreck. But there are other and weightier matters to be

decided upon, and that at once.'

'Concerning the care of ourselves, you mean?' said Fausta.

'I do,' replied Gracchus.

'I,' said Fausta, 'would remain here, where I am.'

'It is that which I wish,' replied her father. 'I commit you to the care

of Lucius. For Calpurnius, he must leave you, and as he would live, fly if

that yet be possible beyond the walls, or conceal himself within them.'

'Never!' said Calpurnius; 'I can do neither. I have never shunned a

danger--and I cannot.'

'Let pride and passion now,' said Gracchus, 'go fast asleep. We have no

occasion for them; they are out of place, dealing as we now do with stern

necessities. Your life will be especially sought by Aurelian; it is a life

that cannot be spared. Fausta needs you. In you she must find, or nowhere,

father, husband, friend. Lucius, when these troubles are over, will return

to Rome, and I shall be in the keeping of Aurelian. You must live; for

her sake, if not for your own.'

'For mine too, surely, if for hers,' replied Calpurnius.

'Father,' said Fausta, throwing her arms around him, 'why, why must you

fall into the hands of Aurelian? Why not, with Calpurnius, fly from these

now hated walls?'

'My daughter!' replied Gracchus, 'let not your love of me make you

forgetful of what I owe my own name and our country's. Am I not bound by

the words of Aurelian?--"He will spare the city and the common

people"--reserving for himself their rulers and advisers. Were they all to

fly or shrink into concealment, can we doubt that then the fury of the

fierce Roman would discharge itself upon the helpless people, and men,

women and children suffer in our stead? And shall I fly while the rest are

true to their trust?'

'The gods forbid!' sobbed Fausta.

'Now you are yourself again. Life is of little account with me. For you I

would willingly hold on upon it, though in any event my grasp would be

rapidly growing weaker and weaker; age would come and weaken and dissolve

it. But for myself, I can truly say, I survey the prospect of death with

indifference. Life is one step; death is another. I have taken the first,

I am as ready to take the second. But to preserve life, agreeable as I

have found it, by any sacrifice--'

'O, that were dying twice!' said Fausta; 'I know it.'

'Be thankful then that I shall die but once, and so dry your tears. Of

nothing am I more clear, than that if the loss of my head will bring

security to the city and the people, I can offer it to the executioner

with scarce a single regret. But let us leave this. But few hours remain

to do what is yet to be done.'

It was so indeed. Already the commotion in the streets indicated that the

entrance of the Roman army was each moment expected.

It was determined that Calpurnius should avail himself of the old conduit,

and fly beyond the walls. To this he consented, though with pain; and

bidding us farewell, departed. Fausta retired to fulfil the injunctions of

her father, while Gracchus employed himself in arranging a few papers, to

be entrusted to my keeping.

In the course of a few hours the gates of the city were thrown open, and

the army of the conqueror made its unobstructed entrance. Soon as the

walls were secured, the towers of the gates, and the arms of the Queen's

remaining forces, Aurelian himself approached, and by the Roman gate

passed into a city that had cost him so dear to gain. He rode through its

principal streets and squares, gazing with admiration at the magnificence

which every where met his view. As he arrived at the far-famed Temple of

the Sun, and was told to what deity it was dedicated, he bared his head,

flung himself from his horse, and on foot, followed by an innumerable

company of Romans, ascended its long flight of steps, and there within its

walls returned solemn thanks to the great God of Light, the protecting

deity of his house, for the success that had crowned his arms.

When this act of worship had been performed, and votive offerings had been

hung upon the columns of the temple, the Emperor came forth, and after

visiting and inspecting all that was beautiful and rare, made

proclamation of his will concerning the city and its inhabitants. This

was, that all gold and silver, precious stones, all pictures, statues, and

other works of art, were to be placed in the hands of the Romans, and that

all the members of the Queen's senate and council, with the nobility, were

to be delivered up as prisoners of war, together with certain specified

portions of the army. Beyond these requisitions, the persons and property

of the citizens were to be respected. No violence of any kind on the part

of the soldiers would be allowed, or pardoned if committed.

Immediately upon this, the Roman army was converted into a body of

laborers and artisans, employed in the construction of wains of every form

and size, for the transportation across the desert to the sea-coast, of

whatever would adorn the triumph of Aurelian, or add to the riches of the

great capital of the world. Vast numbers of elephants and camels were

collected from the city, and from all the neighboring territory, with

which to drag the huge and heavy loaded wagons through the deep sands and

over the rough and rocky plains of Syria. The palaces of the nobles and

the wealthy merchants have been stripped of every embellishment of art and

taste. The private and public gardens, the fountains, the porticos, have

each and all been robbed of every work, in either marble or brass, which

had the misfortune or the merit to have been wrought by artists of

distinguished names. The palaces of the Queen and of Longinus were objects

of especial curiosity and desire, and, as it were, their entire contents,

after being secured with utmost art from possibility of injury, have been

piled upon carriages prepared for them, ready for their journey toward

Rome. It was pitiful to look on and see this wide desolation of scenes,

that so little while ago had offered to the eye all that the most

cultivated taste could have required for its gratification. The citizens

stood around in groups, silent witnesses of the departing glories of their

city and nation.

But the sight saddest of all to behold, was that of the senators and

counsellors of Palmyra, led guarded from the city to the camp of Aurelian.

All along the streets through which they passed, the people stood in dumb

and motionless array, to testify in that expressive manner their affection

and their grief. Voices were indeed occasionally heard invoking the

blessings of the gods upon them, or imprecating curses upon the head of

the scourge Aurelian. Whenever Longinus and Gracchus appeared, their names

were uttered in the tones with which children would cry out to venerated

parents, whom they beheld for the last time; beheld borne away from them

by a power they could not resist to captivity or death. No fear of the

legion that surrounded them availed to repress or silence such testimonies

of regard. And if confidence was reposed in the Roman soldiery, that they

would not, because conquerors and the power was theirs, churlishly deny

them the freedom to relieve in that manner their over-burdened hearts, it

was not--happy was I, as a Roman, to witness it--misplaced. They resented

it not either by word or look or act, but moved on like so many statues in

mail, turning neither to the one hand nor the other, nor apparently so

much as hearing the reproaches which were by some lavished upon them and

their Emperor.

Livia, Faustula, and the other inmates of the palace have joined

Zenobia and Julia, by order of Aurelian, at the house of Seleucus. The

Cæsars, Herennianus and Timolaus, have fled or concealed themselves;

Vabalathus has surrendered himself, and has accompanied the princesses

to the Roman camp.

How desolate is the house of Gracchus, deprived of its princely

head!--especially as the mind cannot help running forward and conjecturing

the fate which awaits him. Fausta surrenders herself to her grief--loss of

country and of parent, at one and the same moment, is loss too great for

her to bear with fortitude. Her spirit, so alive to affection and every

generous sentiment, is almost broken by these sorrows and disappointments.

I did not witness the parting between her and Gracchus, and happy am I

that I did not. Her agony was in proportion to her love and her

sensibility. I have not met her since. She remains within her own

apartments, seen only by her favorite slaves. A double darkness spreads

around while Fausta too is withdrawn.

It appeared to me now, my Curtius, as if something might be done on my

part in behalf of Gracchus. According to the usages of Rome, the chief

persons among the prisoners, and who might be considered as the leaders of

the rebellion, I knew would die either at once, or at farthest, when

Aurelian should re-enter Rome as the conqueror of the East. I considered

that by reason of the growing severity of the Emperor toward all, friends

as well as foes--amounting, as many now deem, to cruelty--the danger to

Gracchus was extreme, beyond any power perhaps to avert. Yet I remembered,

at the same time, the generous traits in Aurelian's character; his

attachment toward old friends; his gratitude for services rendered him in

the early part of his life, while making his way up through the lower

posts of the army. It seemed to me that he was open to solicitation; that

he would not refuse to hear me--a friend--the son of Cneius Piso--with

what object soever I might present myself before him: and that,

consequently, there was from this quarter a ray of hope, however small,

for the father of our beloved Fausta.

Accordingly, so soon as the affairs at first calling for the entire

devotion of Aurelian were through, and I knew that his leisure would allow

of an interruption, I sought the Roman camp, and asked an audience of the

Emperor. It was immediately granted.

As I entered his tent, Aurelian was seated at a table holding in his hand

a parchment scroll, which he seemed intently considering. His stern

countenance lowered over it like a thunder-cloud. I stood there where I

had entered a few moments before he seemed aware of the presence of any

one. His eye then falling almost accidentally upon me, he suddenly rose,

and with the manner of his ancient friendship warmly greeted me.

'I am glad,' said he, 'to meet so true a Roman in these distant parts.'

'I am still a true Roman,' I replied, 'notwithstanding I have been, during

this siege, upon the side of the enemy.'

'I doubt it not. I am not ignorant of the causes that led you to

Palmyra, and have detained you there. Henceforward your Roman blood must

be held of the purest, for as I learn, and since I have seen can believe,

they are few who have come within the magic circle of the late Queen, who

have not lost their name and freedom--themselves fastening on the chains

of her service.'

'You have heard truly. Her court and camp are filled with those who at

first perhaps sought her capital, as visiters of curiosity or traffic, but

being once within the marvellous influence of her presence, have remained

there her friends or servants. She is irresistible.'

'And well nigh so in war too. In Rome they make themselves merry at my

expense, inasmuch as I have been warring thus with a woman--not a poet in

the garrets of the Via Coeli, but has entertained the city with his

couplets upon the invincible Aurelian, beset here in the East by an army

of women, who seem likely to subdue him by their needles or their charms.

Nay, the Senate looks on and laughs. By the immortal gods! they know not

of what they speak. Julius Cæsar himself, Piso, never displayed a better

genius than this woman. Twice have I saved my army but by stratagem. I

give the honor of those days to Zenobia. It belongs to her rather than to

me. Palmyra may well boast of Antioch and Emesa. Your brother did her good

service there. I trust, for your sake and for mine, he will not fall into

my hands.'

That dark and cruel frown, which marks Aurelian, grew above and

around his eyes.

'I never,' he continued, 'forgive a traitor to his country.'

'Yet,' I ventured to say, 'surely the circumstances of his captivity, and

long abandonment, may plead somewhat in extenuation of his fault.'

'Never. His crime is beyond the reach of pardon.'

Aurelian had evidently supposed that I came to seek favor for Calpurnius.

But this I had not intended to do, as Calpurnius had long ago resolved

never again to dwell within the walls of Rome, I then opened the subject

of my visit.

'I have come,' I said, 'not to seek the pardon of Calpurnius Piso. Such,

to my grief, is his hostility toward Rome, that he would neither seek nor

accept mercy at her hands. He has forsworn his country, and never

willingly will set foot within her borders. He dwells henceforward in

Asia. But there is another--'

'You would speak of Gracchus. It cannot be. Longinus excepted, he is the

first citizen of Palmyra. If the Queen be spared, these must suffer. It

is due to the army, and to justice, and to vengeance. The soldiers have

clamored for the blood of Zenobia, and it has been at no small cost that

her and her daughter's life have been redeemed. But I have sworn it,

they shall live; my blood shall flow before theirs. Zenobia has done

more for Rome than many an Emperor. Besides, I would that Rome should

see with her own eyes who it is has held even battle with Roman legions

so long, that they may judge me to have had a worthy antagonist. She

must grace my triumph.'

'I truly thank the gods,' I said, 'that it is so resolved! Fortune has

placed me, while in her dominions, near the Queen, and though a Roman,

I have come to love and revere her even like a Palmyrene. Would that

the like clemency might be shown toward Gracchus! There is no greatness

like mercy.'

'I may not, noble Piso, win glory to myself at the cost of Rome. On the

field of battle I and Rome win together. In pardoning her enemies fallen

into my power, I may indeed crown myself with the praise of magnanimity in

the eye of the world, while by the same act I wound my country. No

rebellion is quelled, till the heads that moved and guided it are

off--off. Who is ignorant that Longinus, that subtle Greek, has been the

master-spring in this great revolt? and hand and hand with him Gracchus?

Well should I deserve the gibes and sneers of the Roman mob, if I turned

my back upon the great work I have achieved, leaving behind me spirits

like these to brew fresh trouble. Nor, holding to this as it may seem to

you harsh decision, am I forgetful, Piso, of our former friendship; nor of

the helping hand often stretched out to do me service of Cneius Piso, your

great parent. I must trust in this to your generosity or justice, to

construe me aright. Fidelity to Rome must come before private friendship,

or even gratitude. Am I understood?'

'I think so.'

'Neither must you speak to me of Longinus the learned Greek--the

accomplished scholar--the great philosopher. He has thrown aside the

scholar and the philosopher in putting on the minister. He is to me known

only as the Queen's chief adviser; Palmyra's strength; the enemy of Rome.

As such he has been arrayed against me; as such he has fallen a prisoner

into my hands; as such he must feel the sword of the Roman executioner.

Gracchus--I would willingly for thy sake, Piso, spare him--the more, as I

hear thou art betrothed to his far-famed daughter, she who upon the fields

of Antioch and Emesa filled with amazement even Roman soldiers.'

To say that instead of me it was Calpurnius to whom she was betrothed,

would seem to have sealed the fate of Gracchus at the moment there was a

gleam of hope. I only said,

'She was the life of the Queen's army. She falls but little below her

great mistress.'

'I believe it. These women of Palmyra are the true wonder of the age.

When for the first time I found myself before Zenobia and her daughter,

it is no shame for me to confess that it was hard for the moment to

believe myself Aurelian and conqueror. I was ready to play the subject; I

scarce kept myself from an oriental prostration. Never, Piso, was such

beauty seen in Rome. Rome now has an Empress worthy of her--unless a

Roman Emperor may sue in vain. Think you not with me? You have seen the

Princess Julia?'

You can pity me, Curtius and Lucilia. I said only,

'I have. Her beauty is rare indeed, but by many, nay by most, her sister,

the Princess Livia, is esteemed before her.'

'Hah! Nay, but that cannot be. The world itself holds not another like the

elder Princess, much less the same household. He seemed as if he would

have added more, but his eye fell upon the scroll before him, and it

changed the current of his thoughts and the expression of his countenance,

which again grew dark as when I first entered the tent. He muttered over

as to himself the names of 'Gracchus,' 'Fausta,' 'the very life of their

cause,' 'the people's chief trust,' and other broken sentences of the same

kind. He then suddenly recommenced:

'Piso, I know not that even I have power to grant thy suit. I have saved,

with some hazard, the life of the Queen and her daughter; in doing it I

promised to the soldiers, in their place, the best blood of Palmyra, and

theirs it is by right. It will not be easy to wrest Gracchus from their

hands. It will bring danger to myself, to the Queen, and to the empire. It

may breed a fatal revolt. But, Piso, for the noble Portia's sake, the

living representative of Cneius Piso my early friend, for thine, and

chiefly for the reason that thou art affianced to the warlike daughter of

the princely Palmyrene--'

'Great Prince,' said I--for it was now my turn to speak,--'pardon me that

I break in upon your speech, but I cannot by a deception, however slight

and unintentional, purchase the life even of a friend.'

'To what does this tend?'

'It is not I who am affianced to the daughter of Gracchus, but Calpurnius

Piso my brother and the enemy of Rome. If my hope for Gracchus rests but

where you have placed it, it must be renounced. Rumor has dealt falsely

with you.'

'I am sorry for it. You know me, Piso, well enough to believe me--I am

sorry for it. That plea would have availed me more than any. Yet it is

right that he should die, It is the custom of war. The legions clamor for

his death--it has been promised--it is due to justice and revenge. Piso,

he must die!'

I however did not cease to importune. As Aurelian had spoken of Portia, I

too spoke of her, and refrained not from bringing freshly before his

memory the characters of both my parents, and especially the services of

my father. The Emperor was noways displeased, but on the contrary, as I

recurred to the early periods of his career, when he was a Centurion in

Germany, under tutelage to the experienced Cneius Piso, he himself took up

the story, and detained me long with the history of his life and actions,

while serving with and under my father--and then afterward when in Gaul,

in Africa, and in the East. Much curious narrative, the proper source of

history, I heard from the great actor himself, during this long interview.

It was terminated by the entrance of Sandarion, upon pressing business

with the Emperor, whereupon I withdrew, Gracchus not being again named,

but leaving his fate in the hands of the master of the world, and yet--how

often has it been so with our Emperors--the slave of his own soldiers. I

returned to the city.

The following day I again saw Fausta--now pale, melancholy and silent. I

told her of my interview with Aurelian, and of its doubtful issue. She

listened to me with a painful interest, as if wishing a favorable result,

yet not daring to hope. When I had ended, she said,

'You have done all, Lucius, that can be done, yet it avails little or

nothing. Would that Aurelian had thought women worthy his regard so much

as to have made me a prisoner too. I can now feel how little one may fear

death, dying in a certain cause. Palmyra is now dead, and I care no more

for life. And if Gracchus is to die too, how much rather would I die with

him, than live without him. And this is not as it may seem, infidelity to

Calpurnius. I love him better than I ever thought to have loved anything

beside Palmyra and Gracchus. But my love for these is from my infancy, and

is in reason stronger than the other. The gods make it so, not I. I love

Calpurnius with all that is left. When does the army depart?'

'To-morrow, as I learn. I shall follow it to Emesa, for it is there, so it

is reported, that the fate of the prisoners will be decided.'

'Do so, Lucius, and by bribery, cunning, or force, find your way to the

presence of Gracchus. Be not denied. Tell him--but no, you know what I

would say; I cannot--' and a passionate flood of tears came to her relief.

The preparations of the army are now completed. The city has been drained

of its wealth and its embellishments. Scarce anything is left but the

walls and buildings, which are uninjured, the lives and the industry of

the inhabitants. Sandarion is made Governor of the city and province,

with, as it seems to me, a very incompetent force to support his

authority. Yet the citizens are, as they have been since the day the

contest was decided, perfectly peaceable--nay, I rather should say, stupid

and lethargic. There appear to be on the part of Aurelian no apprehensions

of future disturbance.

I have stood upon the walls and watched till the last of the Romans has

disappeared beyond the horizon, Two days have been spent in getting into

motion and beyond the precincts of the city and suburbs, the army with its

innumerable wagons--its long trains of elephants, and camels, and horses.

Not only Palmyra, but the whole East, seems to have taken its departure

for the Mediterranean. For the carriages were hardly to be numbered which

have borne away for the Roman amphitheatres wild animals of every kind,

collected from every part of Asia, together with innumerable objects of

curiosity and works of art.

Letter XVI.

I write to you, Curtius, as from my last you were doubtless led to expect,

from Emesa, a Syrian town of some consequence, filled now to overflowing

with the Roman army. Here Aurelian reposes for a while, after the fatigues

of the march across the desert, and here justice is to be inflicted upon

the leaders of the late revolt, as by Rome it is termed.

The prisons are crowded with the great, and noble, and good, of Palmyra.

All those with whom I have for the last few months mingled so much, whose

hospitality I have shared, whose taste, accomplishments, and elegant

displays of wealth I have admired, are now here immured in dungeons, and

awaiting that death which their virtues, not their vices nor their crimes,

have drawn upon them. For I suppose it will be agreed, that if ever

mankind do that which claims the name and rank of virtue, it is when they

freely offer up their lives for their country, and for a cause which,

whatever may be their misjudgment in the case, they believe to be the

cause of liberty. Man is then greater in his disinterestedness, in the

spirit with which he renounces himself, and offers his neck to the axe of

the executioner, than he can be clothed in any robe of honor, or sitting

upon any throne of power. Which is greater in the present instance,

Longinus, Gracchus, Otho--or Aurelian--I cannot doubt for a moment;

although I fear that you, Curtius, were I to declare my opinion, would

hardly agree with me. Strange that such a sacrifice as this which is about

to be made, can be thought to be necessary! It is not necessary; nor can

Aurelian himself in his heart deem it so. It is a peace-offering to the

blood-thirsty legions, who, well do I know it--for I have been of

them--love no sight so well as the dying throes of an enemy. It is, I am

told, with an impatience hardly to be restrained within the bounds of

discipline, that they wait for the moment, when their eyes shall be

feasted with the flowing blood and headless trunks of the brave defenders

of Palmyra. I see that this is so, whenever I pass by a group of soldiers,

or through the camp. Their conversation seems to turn upon nothing else

than the vengeance due to them upon those who have thinned their ranks of

one half their numbers, and who, themselves shielded by their walls,

looked on and beheld in security the slaughter which they made. They cry

out for the blood of every Palmyrene brought across the desert. My hope

for Gracchus is small; not more, however, because of this clamor of the

legions, than on account of the stern and almost cruel nature of Aurelian

himself. He is himself a soldier. He is one of the legions. His sympathies

are with them, one of whom he so long has been, and from whom he sprang.

The gratifications which he remembers himself so often to have sought and

so dearly to have prized, he is willing to bestow upon those who he knows

feel as he once did. He may speak of his want of power to resist the will

of the soldiers; but I almost doubt his sincerity, since nothing can equal

the terror and reverence with which he is regarded throughout the army;

reverence for his genius, terror for his passions, which, when excited,

rage with the fury of a madman, and wreak themselves upon all upon whom

the least suspicion falls, though among his most trusted friends. To this

terror, as you well know, his bodily strength greatly adds.

It was my first office to seek the presence of Gracchus. I found, upon

inquiry, that both he and Longinus were confined in the same prison, and

in the charge of the same keeper. I did not believe that I should

experience difficulty in gaining admission to them, and I found it so.

Applying to the jailer for admittance to Gracchus the Palmyrene, I was

told that but few were allowed to see him, and such only whose names had

been given him. Upon giving him my name, he said that it was one which was

upon his list, and I might enter. 'Make the most of your time,' he added,

'for to-morrow is the day set for the general execution.'

'So soon?' I said.

'Aye,' he replied, 'and that is scarce soon enough to keep the soldiers

quiet. Since they have lost the Queen, they are suspicious lest the

others, or some of them, may escape too,--so that they are well guarded, I

warrant you.'

'Is the Queen,' I asked, 'under your guard, and within the same prison?'

'The Queen?' he rejoined, and lowering his tone added, 'she is far enough

from here. If others know it not, I know that she is well on her way to

Rome. She has let too much Roman blood for her safety within reach of

Roman swords, I can tell you--Aurelian notwithstanding. That butchery of

the Centurions did neither any good.'

'You say to-morrow is the day appointed for the execution?'

'So I said. But you will scarce believe it when you see the prisoners.

They seem rather as if they were for Rome upon a journey of pleasure, than

so soon for the axe. But walk in. And when you would be let out, make a

signal by drawing the cord which you will find within the inner ward.'

I passed in, and meeting another officer of the prison, was by him shown

the door that led to the cell of Gracchus, and the cord by which I was to

make the necessary signal.

I unbarred the door and entered. Gracchus, who was pacing to and fro in

his apartment, upon seeing who his visiter was, greeted me in his cordial,

cheerful way. His first inquiry was,

'Is Fausta well?'

'I left her well; well as her grief would allow her to be.'

'My room is narrow, Piso, but it offers two seats. Let us sit. This room

is not our hall in Palmyra, nor the banqueting room--this window is too

small--nay, it is in some sort but a crevice--and this ceiling is too

low--and these webs of the spider, the prisoner's friend, are not our

purple hangings--but it might all be worse. I am free of chains, I can

walk the length of my room and back again, and there is light enough from

our chink to see a friend's face by. Yet far as these things are from

worst, I trust not to be annoyed or comforted by them long. You have done

kindly, Piso, to seek me out thus remote from Palmyra, and death will be

lighter for your presence. I am glad to see you.'

'I could not, as you may easily suppose, remain in Palmyra, and you here

and thus. For Fausta's sake and my own, I must be here. Although I

should not speak a word, nor you, there is a happiness in being near and

in seeing.'

'There is. Confinement for a long period of time were robbed of much of

its horror, if there were near you but a single human countenance, and

that a stranger's, upon which you might look, especially if you might read

there pity and affection. Then if this countenance should be that of one

known and beloved, it would be almost like living in society, even though

speech were prohibited. Tyrants know this--these walls are the proof of

it. Aurelian is not a tyrant in this sense. He is not without magnanimity.

Are you here with his knowledge?'

'By his express provision. The jailer had been furnished with my name. You

are right surely, touching the character of Aurelian. Though rude and

unlettered, and severe almost to cruelty, there are generous sentiments

within which shed a softening light, if inconstant, upon the darker

traits. I would conceal nothing from you, Gracchus; as I would do nothing

without your approbation. I know your indifference to life. I know that

you would not purchase a day by any unworthy concession, by any doubtful

act or word. Relying with some confidence upon the generosity of

Aurelian--'

'Why, Lucius, so hesitating and indirect? You would say that you have

appealed to Aurelian for my life--and that hope is not extinct in your

mind of escape from this appointed death.'

'That is what I would say. The Emperor inclines to spare your life, but

wavers. Shall I seek another interview with him? And is there any argument

which you would that I should urge?--or--would you rather that I should

forbear? It is, Gracchus, because I feared lest I had been doing you a

displeasing and undesired service, that I have now spoken.'

'Piso, it is the simple truth when I say that I anticipate the hour and

the moment of death with the same indifference and composure that I do

any, the most common event. I have schooled myself to patience.

Acquiescence in the will of the gods--if gods there are--or which is the

same thing, in the order of events, is the temper which, since I have

reflected at all, I have cultivated, and to which I can say I have fully

attained. I throw myself upon the current of life, unresisting, to be

wafted withersoever it will. I look with desire neither to this shore nor

the opposite, to one port nor another, but wherever I am borne and

permitted to act, I straightway find there and in that my happiness. Not

that one allotment is not in itself preferable to another, but that there

being so much of life over which man has no control, and cannot, if he

would, secure his felicity, I think it wiser to renounce all action and

endeavor concerning it--receiving what is sent or happens with joy if it

be good, without complaint if it be evil. In this manner have I secured an

inward calm, which has been as a fountain of life. My days, whether they

have been dark ones or bright, as others term them, have flowed along a

smooth and even current. Under misfortune, I believe I have enjoyed more

from this my inward frame, than many a son of prosperity has in the very

height of his glory. That which so disturbs the peace of multitudes--even

of philosophers--the prospect of death, has occasioned me not one moment's

disquiet. It is true, I know not what it is--do I know what life is?--but

that is no reason why I should fear it. One thing I know, which is this,

that it will come, as it comes to all, and that I cannot escape it. It may

take me where it will, I shall be content. If it be but a change, and I

live again elsewhere, I shall be glad, especially if I am then exempt from

evils in my condition which assail me here; if it be extinction of being,

it will but resemble those nights when I sleep without dreaming--it will

not yield any delights, but it will not bring affright nor torment. I

desire not to entertain, and I do not entertain either hope or fear. I am

passive. My will is annihilated. The object of my life has been to secure

the greatest amount of pleasure--that being the best thing of which we can

conceive. This I have done by acting right. I have found happiness, or

that which we agree to call so, in acting in accordance with that part of

my nature which prescribes the lines of duty: not in any set of

philosophical opinions; not in expectations in futurity; not in any

fancies or dreams; but in the substantial reality of virtuous action. I

have sought to treat both myself and others in such a way, that afterward

I should not hear from either a single word of reproach. In this way of

life I have for the most part succeeded, as any one can who will apply

his powers as he may if he will. I have at this hour, which it may be is

the last of my life, no complaints to make or hear against myself. So too

in regard to others. At least I know not that there is one living whom I

have wronged, and to whom I owe the least reparation. Now therefore by

living in the best manner for this life on earth, I have prepared myself

in the best manner for death, and for another life, if there be one. If

there be none--still what I have enjoyed I have enjoyed, and it has been

more than any other manner of life could have afforded. So that in any

event, I am like a soldier armed at all points. To me, Piso, to die is no

more than to go on to live. Both are events: to both I am alike

indifferent; I know nothing about either. As for the pain of death, it is

not worthy a moment's thought, even if it were considerable--but it

appears to me that it is not. I have many times witnessed it, and it has

ever seemed that death, so far from being represented by any word

signifying pain, would be better expressed by one that should stand for

insensibility. The nearer death the nearer apathy. There is pain which

often precedes it, in various forms of sickness; but this is sickness, not

death. Such pains we often endure and recover; worse often than apparently

are endured by those who die.'

'I perceive then, Gracchus, that I have given you neither pain nor

pleasure by any thing I have done.'

'Not that exactly. It has given me pleasure that you have sought to do me

a service. For myself, it will weigh but little whether you succeed or

fail. Your intercession has not displeased me. It cannot affect my good

name. For Fausta's sake--'at her name he paused as if for strength--'and

because she wishes it, I would rather live than die. Otherwise my mind is

even-poised, inclining neither way.'

'But would it not afford you, Gracchus, a sensible pleasure, if, supposing

you are now to die, you could anticipate with certainty a future

existence? You are now, you say, in a state of indifference, as to life or

death? Above all you are delivered from all apprehensions concerning death

and futurity. This is, it cannot be denied, a great felicity. You are able

to sit here calm and composed. But it seems to me, if you were possessed

of a certain expectation of immortality, you would be very much animated

and transported, as it were, with the prospect of the wonderful scenes so

soon to be revealed. If, with such a belief, you could turn back your eye

upon as faultless and virtuous a life as you have passed, you would cast

it forward with feelings far from those of indifference.'

'What you assert is very true: doubtless it would be as you say. I can

conceive that death may be approached not only with composure, but with a

bursting impatience; just as the youthful traveller pants to leap from the

vessel that bears him to a foreign land. This would be the case if we were

as secure of another and happier life as we are certain that we live now.

In future ages, perhaps through the discoveries of reason, perhaps by

disclosures from superior beings, it may be so universally, and death come

to be regarded even with affection, as the great deliverer and rewarder.

But at present it is very different; I have found no evidence to satisfy

me in any of the systems of ancient or modern philosophers, from

Pythagoras to Seneca, and our own Longinus, either of the existence of a

God, or of the reality of a future life. It seems to me oftentimes in

certain frames of mind, but they are transient, as if both were true; they

feel true, but that is all. I find no evidence beyond this inward feeling

at all complete and sufficient; and this feeling is nothing, it is of the

nature of a dream, I cannot rely upon it. So that I have, as I still

judge, wisely intrenched myself behind indifference. I have never indulged

in idle lamentations over evils that could not be removed, nor do I now.

Submission is the law of my life, the sum of my philosophy.'

'The Christians,' I here said, 'seem to possess that which all so much

desire, a hope, amounting to a certain expectation, of immortality.

They all, so I am informed, the poor and the humble, as well as the

rich and the learned, live while they live, as feeling themselves to be

only passengers here, and when they die, die as those who pass from one

stage of a journey to another. To them death loses its character of

death, and is associated rather in their minds with life. It is a

beginning rather than an ending; a commencement, not a consummation;

being born, not dying.'

'So I have heard; but I have never considered their doctrine. The

Christian philosophy or doctrine is almost the only one of all, which lay

claim to such distinction, that I have not studied. I have been repelled

from that I suppose by seeing it in so great proportion the property of

the vulgar. What they so rejoiced in, it has appeared to me, could not at

the same time be what would yield me either pleasure or wisdom. At least

in other things the vulgar and the refined seek their knowledge and their

pleasures from very different sources. I cannot conceive of the same

philosophy approving itself to both classes. Do you learn, Piso, when the

time for the execution of the prisoners is appointed?'

'To-morrow, as I heard from the jailer.'

'To-morrow. It is well. Yet I marvel that the jailer told not me. I am

somewhat more concerned to know the hour than you, yet to you he has

imparted what he has withheld from me. He is a partial knave. Have you yet

seen Longinus?'

'I have not, but shall visit him in the morning.'

'Do so. He will receive you with pleasure. Tell me if he continues true in

his affections for the Queen. His is a great trial, laboring, as at first

he did, to turn her from the measures that have come to this end; now

dying, because at last, out of friendship for her rather than anything

else, he espoused her cause. Yet it is almost the same with me. And for

myself, the sweetest feeling of this hour is, that I die for Zenobia, and

that perhaps my death is in part the sacrifice that spares her.

Incomparable woman! how the hearts of those who have known thee are bound

to thee, so that thy very errors and faults are esteemed to be virtues!'

Our conversation here ended, and I turned from the prison, resolved to

seek the presence of Aurelian. I did so. He received me with urbanity as

before, but neither confirmed my hopes nor my fears. I returned again to

the cell of Gracchus, with whom, in various, and to me most instructive

conversation, we passed the remainder of the day.

In the morning, with a spirit heavy and sad, burdened indeed with a grief

such as I never before had experienced, I turned to seek the apartment of

Longinus. It was not far from that of Gracchus. The keeper of the prison

readily admitted me, saying, 'that free intercourse was allowed the

prisoners with all whom it was their desire to see, and that there were

several friends of Longinus already with him.' With these words he let

fall a heavy bar, and the door of the cell creaked upon its hinges.

The room into which I passed seemed a dungeon, rather than any thing else

or better, for the only light it had, came from a small barred window far

above the reach. Longinus was seated near a massy central column, to which

he was bound by a chain; his friends were around him, with whom he

appeared to have been engaged in earnest conversation, He rose as I

approached him, and saluted me with the grace that is natural to him, and

which is expressive, not more of his high breeding, than of an inward

benevolence that goes forth and embraces all who draw near him.

'Although,' said he, 'I am forsaken of that which men call fortune, yet I

am not forgotten by my friends. So that the best things remain. Piso, I

rejoice truly to see you. These whom you behold are pupils and friends

whom you have often met at my house, if this dim light will allow you to

distinguish them.'

'My eyes are not yet so used to darkness as to see with much distinctness,

but I recognise well-known faces.'

After mutual salutations, Longinus said, 'Let me now first inquire

concerning the daughter of Gracchus, that bright emanation of the Deity. I

trust in the gods she is well!'

'I left her,' I replied, 'overwhelmed by sorrow. To lose at once country,

parent, and friends, is loss too great I fear for her. Death to Gracchus

will be death also to her.'

'The temper of Fausta is too sanguine, her heart too warm: she was

designed for a perpetual prosperity. The misfortunes that overtake her

friends she makes more than her own. Others' sufferings--her own she could

bear--falling upon her so thickly, will, if they leave her life, impart a

lasting bitterness to it. It were better perhaps that she died with us.

Gracchus you have found altogether Gracchus?'

'I have. He is in the prison as he was in his own palace. His thoughts

will sometimes wander to his daughter--oftener than he would--and then in

the mirror of the face you behold the inward sorrow of the heart, but it

is only a momentary ruffling of the surface, and straightway it is calm

again. Except this only, and he sits upon his hard seat in the same

composure as if at the head of the Senate.'

'Gracchus,' said Longinus in reply, 'is naturally great; he is a

giant! the ills of life, the greater and the lesser, which assail and

subdue so many, can make nothing of him. He is impenetrable,

immovable. Then he has aided nature by the precepts of philosophy.

What he wanted of insensibility to evil, he has added from a doctrine,

to which he himself clings tenaciously, to which he refers and will

refer, as the spring of his highest felicity, but from which I--so

variously are we constituted--shrink with unfeigned horror. Doubtless

you all know what it is?'

'We do.'

'I grant it thus much; that it steels the mind against pain; that it is

unrivalled in its power to sear and harden the soul; and that if it were

man's common lot to be exposed to evil, and evil chiefly, it were a

philosophy to be greatly coveted. But it is benumbing, deadening in its

influences. It oppresses the soul and overlays it; it delivers it by

rendering it insensible, not by imparting a new principle of vitality

beyond the reach of earthly ill. It does the same service that a

stupifying draught does to him who is about to submit to the knife of the

surgeon, or the axe of the executioner. But is it not nobler to meet such

pains fortified in no other way than by a resolute purpose to bear them as

well as the nature the gods have given you will allow? And suppose you

shrink or give signs of suffering? that does not impeach the soul. It is

rather the gods themselves who cry out through you: you did not; it was

your corporeal nature, something beside your proper self. It is to be no

subject of humiliation to us, or of grief, that when the prospect of acute

suffering is before us; or, still more, when called to endure it, we give

many tokens of a keen sensibility; so it be that at the same time we

remain unshaken in our principles, and ready to bear what we must.'

'And what,' asked the young Cleoras, a favorite disciple of the

philosopher, 'is it in your case that enables you to meet misfortune and

death without shrinking? If you take not shelter behind indifference, what

other shield do you find to be sufficient?'

'I know,' said Longinus, 'that you ask this question not because you have

never heard from me virtually at least its answer, but because you wish to

hear from me at this hour, whether I adhere with firmness to the

principles I have ever inculcated, respecting death, and whether I myself

derive from them the satisfactions I have declared them capable to impart.

It is right and well that you do so. And I on my part take pleasure in

repeating and re-affirming what I have maintained and taught. But I must

be brief in what I say, more so than I have been in replying to your other

inquiries, Cleoras and Bassus, for I perceive by the manner in which the

rays of the sun shoot through the bars of the window, that it is not long

before the executioner will make his appearance. It affords me then, I

say, a very especial satisfaction, to declare in the presence of so many

worthy friends, my continued attachment and hearty devotion to the truths

I have believed and taught, concerning the existence of a God, and the

reality of a future and immortal life. Upon these two great points I

suffer from no serious doubts, and it is from this belief that I now

derive the serenity and peace which you witness. All the arguments which

you have often heard from me in support of them, now seem to me to be

possessed of a greater strength than ever--I will not repeat them, for

they are too familiar to you, but only re-affirm them, and pronounce them,

as in my judgment, affording a ground for our assurance in the department

of moral demonstration, as solid and sufficient as the reasonings of

Euclid afford in the science of geometry. I believe in a supreme God and

sovereign ruler of the world, by whose wisdom and power all things and

beings have been created, and are sustained, and in whose presence I live

and enjoy, as implicitly as I believe the fifth proposition of Euclid's

first book. I believe in a future life with the like strength. It is

behind these truths, Cleoras, that I entrench myself at this hour; these

make the shield which defends me from the assaults of fear and despair,

that would otherwise, I am sure, overwhelm me.'

'But how do they defend you, Longinus,' asked Cleoras--'by simply

rendering you inaccessible to the shafts which are directed against you,

or by any other and higher operation upon the soul?'

'Were it only,' replied the philosopher, 'that truth made me insensible

and indifferent, I should pray rather to be left to the tutelage of

nature. I both despise and abhor doctrines that can do no more than this.

I desire to bless the gods that the philosophy I have received and taught

has performed for me a far more essential service. This elevates and

expands: it renders nature as it were superior to itself and its

condition: it causes the soul to assert its entire supremacy over its

companion, the body, and its dwelling-place the earth, and in the perfect

possession of itself to inhabit a better world of its own creation: it

infinitely increases all its sensibilities, and adds to the constitution

received from nature, what may be termed new senses, so vividly does it

come to apprehend things, which to those who are unenlightened by this

excellent truth, are as if they had no existence, their minds being

invested with no faculty or power whereby to discern and esteem them. So

far from carrying those who embrace it farther toward insensibility and

indifference, which may truly be called a kind of death, it renders them

intensely alive, and it is through the transforming energies of this new

life that the soul is made not insensible to pain, but superior to it, and

to all the greater ills of existence. It soars above them. The knowledge

and the belief that fill it furnish it with wings by which it is borne far

aloft, even at the very time that the body is in the deepest affliction.

Gracchus meets death with equanimity, and that is something. It is better

than to be convulsed with vulgar and excessive fear. But it is a state of

the soul very inferior to what exists in those who truly receive the

doctrines which I have taught. I, Cleoras, look upon death as a release,

not from a life which has been wholly evil, for I have, through the favor

of the gods, enjoyed much, but from the dominion of the body and the

appetites which clog the soul and greatly hinder it in its efforts after a

perfect virtue and a true felicity. It will open a way for me into those

elysian realms in whose reality all men have believed, a very few

excepted, though few or none could prove it. Even as the great Roman could

call that "O glorious day," that should admit him to the council of the

gods, and the society of the great and good who had preceded him, so can I

in like manner designate the day and hour which are now present. I shall

leave you whom I have known so long; I shall be separated from scenes

familiar and beloved through a series of years; the arts and the sciences,

which have ministered so largely to my happiness, in these forms of them I

shall lose; the very earth itself, venerable to my mind for the events

which have passed upon it, and the genius it has nurtured and matured,

and beautiful too in its array of forms and colors, I shall be conversant

with no more. Death will divide me from them all: but it will bear me to

worlds and scenes of a far exceeding beauty: it will introduce me to

mansions inconceivably more magnificent than anything which the soul has

experience of here; above all it will bring me into the company of the

good of all ages, with whom I shall enjoy the pleasures of an

uninterrupted intercourse. It will place me where I shall be furnished

with ample means for the prosecution of all those inquiries which have

engaged me on earth, exposed to none or fewer of the hindrances which have

here thronged the way. All knowledge and all happiness will then be

attainable. Is death to be called an evil, or is it to be feared or

approached with tears and regrets, when such are to be its issues?'

'By no means,' said Cleoras; 'it is rather to be desired. If my philosophy

were as deep and secure as yours, Longinus, I should beg to exchange

places with you. I should willingly suffer a brief pain to be rewarded so

largely. But I find within me no such strong assurance.'

'That,' replied Longinus, 'is for want of reflection. It is only by

conversing with itself that the soul rises to any height of faith.

Argument from abroad is of but little service in the comparison. I have

often discoursed with you concerning these things, and have laid open

before you the grounds upon which my convictions rest. But I have ever

taught that consciousness was the true source of belief, and that of this

you could possess yourselves only through habits of profound attention.

What I believe I feel. I cannot communicate the strength of my belief to

another, because it is mysteriously generated within, interweaving itself

with all my faculties and affections, and abundantly imparting itself to

them, but at the same time inseparable from them in such a sense that I

can offer it as I can a portion of my reason or my knowledge, to any whom

I might desire to benefit. It is in truth in its origin the gift of God,

strengthened and exalted infinitely by reflection. It is an instinct. Were

it otherwise, why could I not give to you all I possess myself, and

possess because I have by labor acquired it? Whereas, though I believe so

confidently myself, I find no way in which to bestow the same good upon

you. But each one will possess it, I am persuaded, in the proportion in

which he prepares himself by a pure life and habitual meditation. It will

then reveal itself with new strength every day. So will it also be of

service to contemplate the characters and lives of those who have lived

illustriously, both for their virtue and their philosophy. To study the

character of Plato will be more beneficial in this regard than to ponder

the arguments of the Phoedo. Those arguments are trivial, fanciful, and

ingenious, rather than convincing. And the great advantage to be derived

from the perusal of that treatise is, as it shall be regarded as a sublime

expression of the confidence with which its author entertained the hope of

immortality. It is as a part of Plato's biography--of the history of his

mind--that it is valuable. Through meditation, through inward purity,

through the contemplation of bright examples, will the soul be best

prepared for the birth of that feeling or conviction that shall set before

you with the distinctness and certainty of actual vision the prospect of

immortality.'

'But are there, Longinus, after all, no waverings of the mind, no

impertinent doubts, no overcasting shadows, which at all disturb your

peace, or impair the vividness of your faith? Are you wholly superior to

fear--the fear of suffering and death?'

'That is not, Cleoras, so much to ask whether I still consider my

philosophy as sufficient, and whether it be so, as whether or not I am

still a man, and therefore a mixed and imperfect being. But if you desire

the assurance, I can answer you, and say that I am but a man, and

therefore notwithstanding my philosophy subject to infirmity and to

assaults from the body, which undoubtedly occasion me some distress. But

these seasons are momentary. I can truly affirm, that although there have

been and still are conflicts, the soul is ever conqueror, and that too by

very great odds. My doubts and fears are mere flitting shadows; my hope, a

strong and unchanging beam of light. The body sometimes slips from beyond

my control and trembles, but the soul is at the very same time secure in

herself and undaunted. I present the same apparent contradiction that the

soldier often does upon the field of battle; he trembles and turns pale as

he first springs forward to encounter the foe, but his arm is strong and

his soul determined at the very same moment, and no death nor suffering in

prospect avails to alarm or turn him back. Do not therefore, although I

should exhibit signs of fear, imagine that my soul is terrified, or that I

am forsaken of those steadfast principles to which I have given in my

allegiance for so long a time.'

'We will not, Longinus,' said they all.

Longinus here paused, and seemed for a time buried in meditation. We were

all silent--or the silence was broken only by the sobs of those who could

not restrain their grief.

'I have spoken to you, my friends,' he at length resumed, 'of the hope of

immortality, of the strength it yields, and of its descent from God. But

think not that this hope can exist but in the strictest alliance with

virtue. The hope of immortality without virtue is a contradiction in

terms. The perpetuation of vice, or of any vicious affections or desires,

can be contemplated only with horror. If the soul be without virtue, it is

better that it should perish. And if deep stained with vice, it is to be

feared that the very principle of life may be annihilated. As then you

would meet the final hour, not only with calmness, but with pleasant

expectations, cherish virtue in your souls; reverence the divinity; do

justly by all; obey your instincts, which point out the right and the

wrong; keep yourselves pure; subdue the body. As virtue becomes a habit

and a choice, and the soul, throughout all its affections and powers,

harmonizes with nature and God, will the hope of immortality increase in

strength till it shall grow to a confident expectation. Remember that

virtue is the golden key, and the only one, that unlocks the gates of the

celestial mansions.'

I here asked Longinus if he was conscious of having been influenced in any

of his opinions by Christianity. 'I know,' I said, 'that in former

conversations you have ever objected to that doctrine. Does your judgment

remain the same?'

'I have not read the writings of the Christians, yet am I not wholly

ignorant of them, since it were impossible to know with such familiarity

the Princess Julia, and not arrive at some just conceptions of what that

religion is. But I have not received it. Yet even as a piece of polished

metal takes a thousand hues from surrounding objects, so does the mind;

and mine may have been unconsciously colored and swayed by the truths of

Christianity, which I have heard so often stated and defended. Light may

have fallen upon it from that quarter as well as from others. I doubt not

that it has. For although I cannot myself admit that doctrine, yet am I

now, and have ever been, persuaded of its excellence, and that upon such

as can admit it, it must exert a power altogether beneficial. But let us

now, for the little time that remains, turn to other things. Piso, know

you aught concerning the Queen? I have not seen her since the day of her

flight, nor have I heard concerning her that which I could trust.'