Then came not many fewer than two
thousand
gladiators in pairs, all arranged in such a manner as to display to the greatest advantage their well-knit joints, and projecting and swollen muscles.
Universal Anthology - v07
163
after glittering awhile in the fierce blaze, one after another fell and disappeared in the general ruin. The Temple of the Sun stood long untouched, shining almost with the brightness of the sun itself, its polished shafts and sides reflecting the sur rounding fire with an intense brilliancy. We hoped that it might escape, and were certain that it would, unless fired from within, — as from its insulated position the flames from the neighboring buildings could not reach it. But we watched not long ere from its western extremity the fire broke forth, and warned us that that peerless monument of human genius, like all else, would soon crumble to the ground. To our amaze ment, however, and joy, the flames, after having made great progress, were suddenly arrested, and by some cause extin guished ; and the vast pile stood towering in the center of the desolation, of double size, as it seemed, from the fall and disap pearance of so many of the surrounding structures.
" This," said Fausta, " is the act of a rash and passionate man. Aurelian, before to-morrow's sun has set, will himself repent it. What a single night has destroyed, a century could not restore. This blighted and ruined capital, as long as its crumbling remains shall attract the gaze of the traveler, will utter a blasting malediction upon the name and memory of Aurelian. Hereafter he will be known, not as conqueror of the East, and the restorer of the Roman empire, but as the executioner of Longinus and the ruthless destroyer of Pal myra. "
" I fear that you prophesy with too much truth," I replied. " Rage and revenge have ruled the hour, and have committed horrors which no reason and no policy, either of the present or of any age, will justify. "
" It is a result ever to be expected," said Gracchus, " so long as mankind will prefer an ignorant, unlettered soldier as their ruler. They can look for nothing different from one whose ideas have been formed by the camp alone, — whose vulgar mind has never been illuminated by study and the knowledge of antiq uity. Such a one feels no reverence for the arts, for learning, for philosophy, or for man as man ; he knows not what these mean ; power is all he can comprehend, and all he worships. As long as the army furnishes Rome with her emperors, so long may she know that her name will, by acts like these, be handed down to posterity covered with the infamy that belongs to the polished savage, the civilized barbarian. Come, Fausta, let us now in
164 THE FALL OF PALMYRA.
and hide ourselves from this sight, too sad and sorrowful to gaze upon. "
" I can look now, father, without emotion," she replied ; " a little sorrow opens all the fountains of grief, too much seals them. I have wept till I can weep no more. My sensibility is, I believe, by this succession of calamities, dulled till it is dead. "
Aurelian, we learn, long before the fire had completed its work of destruction, recalled the orders he had given, and labored to arrest the progress of the flames. In this he to a considerable extent succeeded, and it was owing to this that the great temple was saved, and others among the most costly and beautiful structures.
On the third day after the capture of the city and the massacre of the inhabitants, the army of the "conqueror and destroyer " withdrew from the scene of its glory, and again dis appeared beyond the desert. I sought not the presence of Aurelian while before the city ; for I cared not to meet him drenched in the blood of women and children. But as soon as he and his legions were departed, we turned toward the city, as children to visit the dead body of a parent.
No language which I can use, my Curtius, can give you any just conception of the horrors which met our view on the way to the walls, and in the city itself. For more than a mile be fore we reached the gates, the roads, and the fields on either hand, were strewed with the bodies of those who, in their at tempts to escape, had been overtaken by the enemy and slain. Many a group of bodies did we notice, evidently those of a family, the parents and the children, who, hoping to reach in company some place of security, had all — and without resist ance apparently — fallen a sacrifice to the relentless fury of their pursuers. Immediately in the vicinity of the walls, and under them, the earth was concealed from the eye by the multi tudes of the slain, and all objects were stained with the one hue of blood. Upon passing the gates, and entering within those walls which I had been accustomed to regard as embracing in their wide and graceful sweep the most beautiful city of the world, my eye met naught but black and smoking ruins, fallen houses and temples, the streets choked with piles of still blazing timbers and the half-burned bodies of the dead. As I pene trated farther into the heart of the city, and to its better-built and more spacious quarters, I found the destruction to be less,
THE FALL OF PALMYRA. 165
— that the principal streets were standing, and many of the more distinguished structures. But everywhere, —in the
streets, upon the porticoes of private and public dwellings, upon the steps and within the very walls of the temples of every faith, — in all places, the most sacred as well as the most com mon, lay the mangled carcasses of the wretched inhabitants. None, apparently, had been spared. The aged were there, with their bald or silvered heads, little children and infants, women, the young, the beautiful, the good, — all were there, slaughtered in every imaginable way, and presenting to the eye spectacles of horror and of grief enough to break the heart and craze the brain. For one could not but go back to the day and the hour when they died, and suffer with these innocent thousands a part of what they suffered, when, the gates of the city giving way, the infuriated soldiery poured in, and with death written in their faces and clamoring on their tongues, their quiet houses were invaded, and, resisting or unresisting, they all fell to gether beneath the murderous knives of the savage foe. What shrieks then rent and filled the air ; what prayers of agony went up to the gods for life to those whose ears on mercy's side were adders'; what piercing supplications that life might be taken and honor spared ! The apartments of the rich and the noble presented the most harrowing spectacles, where the inmates, delicately nurtured, and knowing of danger, evil, and wrong only by name and report, had first endured all that nature most abhors, and then there, where their souls had died, were slain by their brutal violators with every circum stance of most demoniac cruelty. Happy for those, who, like Gracchus, foresaw the tempest and fled. These calamities have fallen chiefly upon the adherents of Antiochus ; but among them, alas ! were some of the noblest and most honored families of the capital. Their bodies now lie blackened and bloated upon their doorstones ; their own halls have become their tombs.
We sought together the house of Gracchus. We found it partly consumed, partly standing and uninjured. The offices and one of the rear wings were burned and level with the ground, but there the flames had been arrested, and the re mainder, comprising all the principal apartments, stands as it stood before. The palace of Zenobia has escaped without harm ; its lofty walls and insulated position were its protection. The Long Portico, with its columns, monuments, and inscriptions,
166
THE FALL OF PALMYRA.
remains also untouched by the flames, and unprofaned by any violence from the wanton soldiery. The fire has fed upon the poorer quarters of the city, where the buildings were composed in greater proportion of wood, and spared most of the great thoroughfares, principal avenues, and squares of the capital, which, being constructed in the most solid manner of stone, resisted effectually all progress of the flames ; and though fre quently set on fire for the purpose of their destruction, the fire perished from a want of material, or it consumed but the single edifice where it was kindled.
The silence of death and of ruin rests over this once and but so lately populous city. As I stood upon a high point which overlooked a large extent of it, I could discern no signs of life except here and there a detachment of the Roman guard drag ging forth the bodies of the slaughtered citizens, and bearing them to be burned or buried. This whole people is extinct. In a single day these hundred thousands have found a common
Not one remains to bewail or bury the dead. Where are the anxious crowds, who, when their dwellings have been burned, eagerly rush in as the flames have spent themselves, to sorrow over their smoking altars, and pry with busy search among the hot ashes, if perchance they may yet rescue some lamented treasure, or bear away, at least, the bones of a parent or a child buried beneath the ruins ? They are not here. It is broad day, and the sun shines brightly ; but not a living form is seen lingering about these desolated streets and squares. Birds of prey are already hovering round, and alighting, with out apprehension of disturbance, wherever the banquet invites them ; and soon as the shadows of evening shall fall, the hyena of the desert will be here to gorge himself upon what they have left, having scented afar off upon the tainted breeze the fumes of the rich feast here spread for him. These Roman gravedig- gers from the legion of Bassus are alone upon the ground to contend with them for their prize. O miserable condition of humanity ! Why is it that to man have been given passions which he cannot tame, and which sink him below the brute? Why is it that a few ambitious are permitted by the Great Ruler, in the selfish pursuit of their own aggrandizement, to scatter in ruin, desolation, and death whole kingdoms, — mak ing misery and destruction the steps by which they mount up to their seats of pride ! O gentle doctrine of Christ ! — doctrine of love and of peace, when shall it be that I and all mankind
grave.
THE FALL OF PALMYRA. 167
shall know thy truth, and the world smile with a new happi ness under thy life-giving reign !
Fausta, as she has wandered with us through this wilderness of woe, has uttered scarce a word. This appalling and afflicting sight of her beloved Palmyra — her pride and hope, in whose glory her very life was wrapped up — so soon become a black ened heap of ruins ; its power departed ; its busy multitudes dead, and their dwellings empty or consumed, — has deprived her of all but tears. She has only wept. The sensibility which she feared was dead, she finds endued with life enough, — with too much for either her peace or safety.
As soon as it became known in the neighboring districts that the army of Aurelian was withdrawn, and that the troops left in the camp and upon the walls were no longer commis sioned to destroy, they who had succeeded in effecting their escape, or who had early retreated from the scene of danger, began to venture back. These were accompanied by great numbers of the country people, who now poured in either to witness with their own eyes the great horror of the times, or to seek for the bodies of children or friends, who, dwelling in the city for the purposes of trade or labor, or as soldiers, had fallen in the common ruin. For many days might the streets and walls and ruins be seen covered with crowds of men and women who, weeping, sought among the piles of the yet unburied and decaying dead, dear relatives or friends or lovers, for whom they hoped to perform the last offices of unfailing affection, — a hope that was, perhaps, in scarce a single instance fulfilled. And how could any but those in whom love had swallowed up reason, once imagine that where the dead were heaped fathoms deep, mangled by every shocking mode of death, and now defaced yet more by the processes of corruption, they could identify the forms which they last saw beautiful in all the bloom of health ? But love is love ; it feels, but cannot reason.
Cerronius Bassus, the lieutenant of Aurelian, has with a humane violence laid hold upon this curious and gazing multi tude, and changed them all into buriers of the dead they came to seek and bewail. To save the country from pestilence, him self and his soldiers, he hastens the necessary work of inter ment. The plains are trenched, and into them the bodies of the citizens are indiscriminately thrown. There now lie in narrow space the multitudes of Palmyra.
168
THE FALL OF PALMYRA.
The mangled bodies of Antiochus, Herennianus, and Timo- laus have been found among the slain.
We go no longer to the city, but remain at our solitary tower, — now, however, populous as the city itself. We con verse of the past and the future, but most of my speedy depar ture for Rome.
It is the purpose of Gracchus to continue for a season yet in the quiet retreat where he now is. He then will return to the capital, and become one of those to lay again the foundations of another prosperity.
" Nature," he says, " has given to our city a position and resources which, it seems to me, no power of man can deprive her of, nor prevent their always creating and sustaining, upon this same spot, a large population. Circumstances like the present may oppress and overwhelm for a time, but time again will revive, and rebuild, and embellish. I will not for one sit down in inactivity or useless grief, but if Aurelian does not hinder, shall apply the remainder of my days to the restoration of Palmyra. In Calpurnius and Fausta I shall look to find my lieutenants, prompt to execute the commissions intrusted to them by their commander. "
"We shall fall behind," said Calpurnius, "I warrant you, in no quality of affection or zeal in the great task. "
" Fausta," continued Gracchus, " has as yet no heart but for the dead and the lost. But, Lucius, when you shall have been not long in Rome, you will hear that she lives then but among the living, and runs before me and Calpurnius in every labor that promises advantage to Palmyra. "
" It may be so," replied Fausta, " but I have no faith that it will. We have witnessed the death of our country ; we have attended the funeral obsequies. I have no belief in any rising again from the dead. "
" Give not way, my child," said Gracchus, " to grief and despair. These are among the worst enemies of man. They are the true doubters and deniers of the gods and their provi dence who want a spirit of trust and hope. Hope and con fidence are the best religion, and the truest worship. I, who do not believe in the existence of the gods, am therefore to be commended for my religion more than many of the stanchest defenders of Pagan, Christian, or Jewish superstitions, who too often, it seems to me, feel and act as if the world were aban doned of all divine care, and its affairs and events the sport
THE FALL OP PALMYRA. 169
of a blind chance. What is best for man and the condition of the world must be most agreeable to the gods, — to the Creator and the possessor of the world, — be they one or many. Can we doubt which is best for the remaining inhabitants of Palmyra, and the provinces around which are dependent upon her trade, — to leave her in her ruin finally and utterly to perish, or apply every energy to her restoration ? Is it better that the sands of the desert should within a few years heap themselves over these remaining walls and dwellings, or that we who survive should cleanse, and repair, and rebuild, in the confident hope, before we in our turn are called to disappear, to behold our beloved city again thronged with its thousands of busy and laborious inhabitants? Carthage is again populous as in the days of Hamilcar. You, Fausta, may live to see Palmyra what she was in the days of Zenobia. " "
" The gods grant it may be so !
exclaimed Fausta, and a bright smile at the vision her father had raised up before her illuminated her features. She looked for a moment as if the
reality had been suddenly revealed to her, and had stood forth in all its glory.
"I do not despair," continued Gracchus, "of the Romans themselves doing something toward the restoration of that which they have wantonly and foolishly destroyed. "
" But they cannot give life to the dead ; and therefore it is but little they can do at best," said Fausta. " They may indeed rebuild the Temple of the Sun, but they cannot give us back the godlike form of Longinus, and kindle within it that intellect that shed light over the world ; they may raise again the walls of the citizen's humble dwelling, but they cannot reanimate the bodies of the slaughtered multitudes, and call them out from their trenches to people again the silent streets. "
"They cannot, indeed," rejoined Gracchus; "they cannot do everything ; they may not do anything. But I think they will, and that the emperor himself, when reason returns, will himself set the example. And from you, Lucius, when once more in Rome, shall I look for substantial aid in disposing favor ably the mind both of Aurelian and the senate. "
" I can never be more happily employed," I replied, " than in serving either you or Palmyra. You will have a powerful advocate also in Zenobia. "
"Yes," said Gracchus, "if her life be spared, which must for some time be still quite uncertain. After gracing the!
170 THE FALL OF PALMYRA.
triumph of Aurelian, she, like Longinus, may be offered as a new largess to the still hungering legions. "
"Nay, there, I think, Gracchus, you do Aurelian hardly justice. Although he has bound himself by no oath, yet vir tually is he sworn to spare Zenobia ; and his least word is true as his sword. "
Thus have we passed the last days and hours of my resi dence here. I should in vain attempt, my Curtius, to tell you how strongly I am bound to this place, to this kingdom and city, and above all, to those who survive this destruction. No Palmyrene can lament with more sincerity than I the whirl wind of desolation that has passed over them, obliterating almost their place and name ; nor from any one do there ascend more fervent prayers that prosperity may yet return, and these widespread ruins again rise and glow in their ancient beauty. Rome has by former acts of unparalleled barbarism covered her name with reproach ; but by none has she so drenched it in guilt as by this wanton annihilation — for so do I regard it — of one of the fairest cities and kingdoms of the earth. The day of Aurelian's triumph may be a day of triumph to him, but to Rome it will be a day of never-forgotten infamy.
A Roman Triumph.
I trust that you have safely received the letter which, as we entered the Tiber, I was fortunate enough to place on board a vessel bound directly to Berytus. In that I have told you of my journey and voyage, and have said many other things of more consequence still, both to you, Gracchus, and myself.
I now write to you from my own dwelling upon the Caelian, where I have been these many days that have intervened since the date of my former letter. If you have waited impatiently to hear from me again, I hope now I shall atone for what may seem a too long delay, by telling you of those concerning whom you wish chiefly to hear and know, — Zenobia and Julia.
But first let me say that I have found Portia in health, and as happy as she could be after her bitter disappointment in Calpurnius. This has proved a misfortune, less only than the loss of our father himself. That a Piso should live, and be other than a Roman ; that he should live and bear arms against his country, — this has been to her one of those inexplicable mysteries in the providence of the gods that has tasked her
THE FALL OF PALMYRA.
171
piety to the utmost. In vain has she scrutinized her life to discover what fault has drawn down upon her and her house this heavy retribution. Yet her grief is lightened by what I have told her of the conduct of Calpurnius at Antioch and Emesa. At such times, when I have related the events of those great days, and the part which my brother took, the pride of the Roman has yielded to that of the mother, and she has not been able to conceal her satisfaction. "Ah," she would say,
"mybraveboy! " "Thatwaslikehim! "
das himself was not greater ! " " What might he not be, were he but in Rome! "
Portia is never weary with inquiring into everything relat ing to yourself and Gracchus. My letters, many and minute as they have been, so far from satisfying her, serve only as themes for new and endless conversations, in which, as well as I am able, I set before her my whole life while in Palmyra, and every event, from the conversation at the table or in the por ticoes, to the fall of the city and the death of Longinus. So great is her desire to know all concerning the " hero Fausta," and so unsatisfying is the all that I can say, that I shall not wonder if, after the ceremony of the triumph, she should her self propose a journey to Palmyra, to see you once more with her own eyes, and once more fold you in her arms. You will rejoice to be told that she bewails, even with tears, the ruin of the city, and the cruel massacre of its inhabitants. She con demns the emperor in language as strong as you and I should use. The slaughter of Sandarion and his troops she will by no
I have found Curtius and Lucilia also in health. They are at their villa upon the Tiber. The first to greet me there were Laco and Caelia. Their gratitude was affecting and oppressive. Indeed, there is no duty so hard as to receive with grace the thanks of those whom you have obliged. Curtius is for once satisfied that I have performed with fidelity the part of a cor respondent. He even wonders at my diligence. The advan tage is, I believe for the first time, fairly on my side, — though you can yourself bear testimony, having heard all his epistles, how many he wrote, and with what vividness and exactness he made Rome to pass before us. I think he will not be prevented
"I warrant Zab-
means allow to be a sufficient justification of the act. And of her opinion are all the chief citizens of Rome.
from writing to you by anything I can say. He drops in every day, Lucilia sometimes with him, and never leaves us till he
172 THE FALL OF PALMYRA.
has exhausted his prepared questions concerning you and the great events which have taken place, — there remaining innu merable points to a man of his exact turn of mind, about which he must insist upon fuller and more careful information. I think he will draw up a history of the war. I hope he will ; no one could do it better.
Aurelian, you will have heard, upon leaving Palmyra, in stead of continuing on the route which he set out, toward Emesa and Antioch, turned aside to Egypt, in order to put down, by one of his sudden movements, the Egyptian merchant Firmus, who, with a genius for war greater than for traffic, had placed himself at the head of the people, and proclaimed their inde pendence of Rome. As the friend and ally of Zenobia — although he could render her, during the siege, no assistance — I must pity his misfortunes and his end. News has just reached us that his armies have been defeated, he himself taken and put to death, and his new-made kingdom reduced again to the con dition of a Roman province. We now every hour look to hear of the arrival of the emperor and his armies.
Although there has been observed some secrecy concerning the progress and places of residence of Zenobia, yet we learn with a good degree of certainty that she is now at Brundusium, awaiting the further orders of Aurelian, having gone overland from Byzantium to Apollonia, and there crossing the Adriatic. I have not been much disturbed by the reports which have pre vailed, because I thought I knew too much of the queen to think them well grounded. Yet I confess I have suffered some what, when, upon resorting to the Capitol or the baths, I have found the principal topic to be the death of Zenobia, — accord ing to some, of grief, on her way from Antioch to Byzantium ; or, as others had it, of hunger, she having resolutely refused all nourishment. I have given no credit to the rumor ; yet as all stories of this kind are a mixture of truth and error, so in this case I can conceive easily that it has some foundation in reality, and I am led to believe from it that the sufferings of the queen have been great. How, indeed, could they be otherwise? A feebler spirit than Zenobia's, and a feebler frame, would necessarily have been destroyed. With what impatience do I wait the hour that shall see her in Rome !
already relieved of all anxiety as to her treatment by Aurelian ; no fear need be entertained for her safety. Desirous as far as may be to atone for the rash severity of his orders in Syria, he
I am happily
THE FALL OF PALMYRA. 173
will distinguish with every possible mark of honor the queen, her family, and such other of the inhabitants of Palmyra as have been reserved to grace his triumph.
For this august ceremony the preparations are already making. It is the sole topic of conversation, and the single object toward which seem to be bent the whole genius and industry of the capital. It is intended to surpass in magnifi cence all that has been done by former emperors or generals. The materials for it are collecting from every part of the empire, and the remotest regions of Asia and Africa. Every day there arrive cargoes either of wild beasts, or of prisoners destined to the amphitheater. Illustrious captives also from Asia, Germany, and Gaul, among whom are Tetricus and his son. The Tiber is crowded with vessels bringing in the treasures drawn from Palmyra, — her silver and gold, her statuary and works of art, and every object of curiosity and taste that was susceptible of transportation across the desert and the ocean.
It is now certain that the queen has advanced as far as Tusculum, where with Julia, Livia, Faustula, and Vabalathus, she will remain — at a villa of Aurelian's, it is said — till the day of triumph. Separation seems the more painful as they approach nearer. Although knowing that they would be scrupulously prohibited from all intercourse with any beyond the precincts of the villa itself, I have not been restrained from going again and again to Tusculum, and passing through it and around it in the hope to obtain were it but a distant glimpse of persons to whom I am bound more closely than to any others on earth. But it has been all in vain. I shall not see them till I behold them a part of the triumphal procession of their conqueror.
Aurelian has arrived ; the long-expected day has come and is gone. His triumph has been celebrated, and with a magnifi cence and a pomp greater than the traditionary glories of those of Pompey, Trajan, Titus, or even the secular games of Philip.
I have seen Zenobia !
The sun of Italy never poured a flood of more golden light upon the great capital and its surrounding plains than on the day of Aurelian's triumph. The airs of Palmyra were never more soft. The whole city was early abroad ; and added to our over grown population, there were the inhabitants of all the neigh boring towns and cities, and strangers from all parts of the
174 THE PALL OF PALMYRA.
empire, so that it was with difficulty and labor only, and no little danger too, that the spectacle could be seen. I obtained a position opposite the Capitol, from which I could observe the whole of this proud display of the power and greatness of Rome.
A long train of elephants opened the show, their huge sides and limbs hung with cloth of gold and scarlet, some having upon their backs military towers or other fanciful structures, which were filled with the natives of Asia or Africa, all arrayed in the richest costumes of their countries. These were followed by wild animals, and those remarkable for their beauty, from every part of the world, either led, as in the case of lions, tigers, leopards, by those who from long management of them pos sessed the same power over them as the groom over his horse, or else drawn along upon low platforms, upon which they were made to perform a thousand antic tricks for the amusement of the gaping and wondering crowds.
Then came not many fewer than two thousand gladiators in pairs, all arranged in such a manner as to display to the greatest advantage their well-knit joints, and projecting and swollen muscles. Of these a great number have already perished on the arena of the Flavian, and in the sea fights in Domitian's theater. Next, upon gilded wagons, and arrayed so as to produce the most dazzling effect, came the spoils of the wars of Aurelian, — treasures of art, rich cloths and embroideries, utensils of gold and silver, pictures, statues, and works in brass, from the cities of Gaul, from Asia, and from Egypt. Conspicuous here over all were the rich and gorgeous contents of the palace of Zenobia. The huge wains groaned under the weight of vessels of gold and silver, of ivory, and the most precious woods of India. The jeweled wine cups, vases, and golden statuary of Demetrius attracted the gaze and excited the admiration of every beholder. Immediately after these came a crowd of youths richly habited in the costumes of a thousand different tribes, bearing in their hands, upon cushions of silk, crowns of gold and precious stones, the offerings of the cities and kingdoms of all the world, as it were, to the power and fame of Aurelian. Following these, came the ambassadors of all nations, sumptu ously arrayed in the habits of their respective countries. Then an innumerable train of captives, showing plainly, in their downcast eyes, in their fixed and melancholy gaze, that hope had taken its departure from their breasts. Among these were many women from the shores of the Danube, taken in arms
one only that you wish to hear ?
THE FALL OF PALMYRA. 175
fighting for their country, of enormous stature, and clothed in the warlike costume of their tribes.
But why do I detain you with these things, when it is of
I cannot tell you with what impatience I waited for that part of the procession to approach
where were Zenobia and Julia. I thought its line would stretch on forever. And it was the ninth hour before the alternate shouts and deep silence of the multitudes announced that the conqueror was drawing near the Capitol. As the first shout arose, I turned toward the quarter whence it came, and beheld, not Aurelian as I expected, but the Gallic emperor Tet- ricus — yet slave of his army and of Victoria — accompanied by the prince his son, and followed by other illustrious captives from Gaul. All eyes were turned with pity upon him, and with indignation too that Aurelian should thus treat a Roman, and once a senator. But sympathy for him was instantly lost in a stronger feeling of the same kind for Zenobia, who came immediately after. You can imagine, Fausta, better than I can describe them, my sensations, when I saw our beloved friend — her whom I had seen treated never otherwise than as a sov ereign queen and with all the imposing pomp of the Persian ceremonial — now on foot, and exposed to the rude gaze of the Roman populace, — toiling beneath the rays of a hot sun, and the weight of jewels such as, both for richness and beauty, were never before seen in Rome, and of chains of gold, which first passing around her neck and arms, were then borne up by at tendant slaves. I could have wept to see her so — yes, and did. My impulse was to break through the crowd and support her almost fainting form ; but I well knew that my life would answer for the rashness on the spot. I could only, therefore, like the rest, wonder and gaze. And never did she seem to me, not even in the midst of her own court, to blaze forth with such transcendent beauty, yet touched with grief. Her look was not that of dejection, of one who was broken and crushed by misfortune ; there was no blush of shame. It was rather one of profound, heartbreaking melancholy. Her full eyes looked as if privacy only was wanted for them to overflow with floods of tears ; but they fell not. Her gaze was fixed on va cancy, or else cast toward the ground. She seemed like one unobservant of all around her, and buried in thoughts to which all else were strangers, and had nothing in common with. They were in Palmyra, and with her slaughtered multitudes.
176 THE FALL OP PALMYRA.
Yet though she wept not, others did ; and one could see all along, wherever she moved, the Roman hardness yielding to pity, and melting down before the all-subduing presence of this wonderful woman. The most touching phrases of compassion fell constantly upon my ear. And ever and anon, as in the road there would happen some rough or damp place, the kind souls would throw down upon it whatever of their garments they could quickest divest themselves of, that those feet, little used to such encounters, might receive no harm. And, as when other parts of the procession were passing by, shouts of tri umph and vulgar joy frequently arose from the motley crowds, yet when Zenobia appeared, a deathlike silence prevailed, or it was interrupted only by exclamations of admiration or pity, or of indignation at Aurelian for so using her. But this hap pened not long ; for when the emperor's pride had been suffi ciently gratified, and just there where he came over against the steps of the Capitol, he himself, crowned as he was with the diadem of universal empire, descended from his chariot, and unlocking the chains of gold that bound the limbs of the queen, led and placed her in her own chariot — that char iot in which she had hoped herself to enter Rome in triumph — between Julia and Livia. Upon this, the air was rent with the grateful acclamations of the countless multitudes. The queen's countenance brightened for a moment as if with the expressive sentiment, " The gods bless you ! " and was then buried in the folds of her robe. And when, after the lapse of many minutes, it was again raised and turned toward the people, every one might see that tears burning hot had coursed her cheeks, and relieved a heart which else might well have burst with its restrained emotion. Soon as the chariot which held her had disappeared upon the other side of the Capitol, I extricated myself from the crowd, and returned home. It was not till the shades of evening had fallen that the last of the procession had passed the front of the Capitol, and the emperor reposed within the walls of his palace.
THE ART OF COMPOSITION. 177
THE ART OF COMPOSITION. By LONGINUS.
[Dionysius Cassius Longikus, the foremost rhetorician, critic, and philo sophic expositor of his age, pronounced by some the best critic of all antiquity, was born probably in Syria, a. d. 213. He studied under Origen at Alexandria, and settled as teacher of oratory and composition at Athens, gaining immense reputation not only for learning, as a " walking library," but for taste and in sight. He became in his latter years tutor to Zenobia's children at Palmyra, and her chief political counselor ; and on her overthrow by Aurelian, was exe
cuted for treason. ]
But since the sentiments and the language of compositions are generally best explained by the light they throw upon one another, let us in the next place consider what it is that re mains to be said concerning the "Diction. " And here, that a judicious choice of proper and magnificent terms has wonderful effects in winning upon and entertaining an audience, cannot, I think, be denied. For it is from hence that the greatest writers derive with indefatigable care the grandeur, the beauty, the solemnity, the weight, the strength, and the energy of their expressions. This clothes a composition in the most beautiful dress, makes it shine like a picture in all the gayety of color, and, in a word, it animates our thoughts and inspires them with a kind of vocal life. But it is needless to dwell upon these particulars before persons of so much taste and experience. Fine words are indeed the peculiar light in which our thoughts must shine. But then it is by no means proper that they should everywhere swell and look big. For dressing up a trifling subject in grand, exalted expressions makes the same ridiculous appearance as the enormous mask of a trage dian would do upon the diminutive face of an infant.
. . . In this verse of "Anacreon," the terms are vulgar, yet there is a
. . . [The beginning of this Section is lost. ]
simplicity in it which pleases, because it is natural : Nor shall this Thracian vex me more !
And for this reason, that celebrated expression of Theo- pompus seems to me the most significant of any I ever met with, though Cecilius has found something to blame in it:
VOL. VII. — 12
178 THE ART OF COMPOSITION.
" Philip " (says he) " was used to swallow affronts, in compli ance with the exigencies of his affairs. "
Vulgar terms are sometimes much more significant than the most ornamental could possibly be. They are easily under stood, because borrowed from common life ; and what is most familiar to us, soonest engages our belief. Therefore, when a person, to promote his ambitious designs, bears ill-treatment and reproaches not only with patience, but a seeming pleasure, to say that he swallows affronts is as happy and expressive a phrase as could possibly be invented. The following passage from " Herodotus " in my opinion comes very near it. " Cle- omenes," (says he) "being seized with madness, with a little knife that he had, cut his flesh into small pieces, till, having entirely mangled his body, he expired. " And again, "Pythes remaining still in the ship, fought courageously, till he was hacked in pieces. " These expressions approach near to the vulgar, but are far from having vulgar significations.
As to a proper number of Metaphors, Cecilius has gone into their opinion, who have settled it at two or three at most, in expressing the same object. But in this also let Demos thenes be observed as our model and guide ; and by him we shall find that the proper time to apply them is when the passions are so much worked up as to hurry on like a torrent, and unavoidably carry along with them a whole crowd of meta phors. " Those prostituted souls, those cringing traitors, those furies of the commonwealth, who have combined to wound and mangle their country, who have drunk up its liberty in healths, to Philip once and since to Alexander, measuring their happiness by their belly and their lust. As for these generous principles of honor and that maxim never to endure a master, which to our brave forefathers were the high ambition of life and the standard of felicity, — these they have quite subverted. " Here, by means of this multitude of Tropes, the orator bursts out upon the traitors in the warmest indignation. It is, how ever, the precept of Aristotle and Theophrastus that bold Metaphors ought to be introduced with some small allevia
tIions ; such as, if it may be so expressed, and as it were, and if may speak with so much boldness. For this excuse, say they, very much palliates the hardness of the figures.
Such a rule hath a general use, and therefore I admit it ; yet still I maintain what I advanced before in regard to
THE ART OF COMPOSITION. 179
Figures : that bold Metaphors, and those, too, in good plenty, are very seasonable in a noble composition, where they are always mitigated and softened by the vehement Pathetic and generous Sublime dispersed through the whole. For as it is the nature of the Pathetic and Sublime to run rapidly along and carry all before them, so they require the figures they are worked up in to be strong and forcible, and do not so much as give leisure to a hearer to cavil at their number, because they immediately strike his imagination and inflame him with all the warmth and fire of the speaker.
But let us for once admit the possibility of a faultless and consummate writer ; and then will it not be worth while to consider at large that important question, Whether, in poetry or prose, what is truly grand in the midst of some faults be not preferable to that which has nothing extraordinary in its best parts, correct, however, throughout and faultless? And further, Whether the excellence of fine writing consists in the number of its beauties or in the grandeur of its strokes ? For these points, being peculiar to the Sublime, demand an illus tration.
I readily allow that writers of a lofty and towering genius are by no means pure and correct, since whatever is neat and accurate throughout must be exceedingly liable to flatness. In the Sublime, as in great affluence of fortune, some minuter articles will unavoidably escape observation. But it is almost impossible for a low and groveling genius to be guilty of error, since he never endangers himself by soaring on high, or aiming at eminence, but still goes on in the same uniform secure track, whilst its very height and grandeur exposes the Sublime to sud den falls. Nor am I ignorant indeed of another thing, which will no doubt be urged, that in passing our judgment upon the works of an author, we always muster his imperfections, so that the remembrance of his faults sticks indelibly fast in the mind, whereas that of his excellencies is quickly worn out. For my part, I have taken notice of no inconsiderable number of faults in Homer, and some other of the greatest authors, and cannot by any means be blind or partial to them ; however, I judge them not to be voluntary faults, so much as accidental slips incurred through inadvertence ; such as, when the mind is intent upon things of a higher nature, will creep insensibly into
compositions.
And for this reason I give it as my real opinion,
180 THE ART OF COMPOSITION.
that the great and noble flights, though they cannot everywhere boast an equality of perfection, yet ought to carry off the prize, by the sole merit of their own intrinsic grandeur.
Apollonius, author of the "Argonautics," was a writer with out blemish ; and no one ever succeeded better in Pastoral than Theocritus, excepting some pieces where he has quitted his own province. But yet, would you choose to be Apollonius or Theocritus rather than Homer? Is the poet Eratosthenes, whose " Erigone " is a complete and delicate performance, and not chargeable with one fault, to be esteemed a superior poet to Archilochus, who flies off into many and brave irregularities, a godlike spirit bearing him forward in the noblest career, such spirit as will not bend to rule, or easily brook control ? In " Lyrics," would you sooner be Bacchylides than Pindar, or Io the Chian than the great Sophocles ? Bacchylides and Io have written smoothly, delicately, and correctly, they have left nothing without the nicest decoration ; but in Pindar and Sophocles, who carry fire along with them through the violence of their motion, that very fire is many times unseasonably quenched, and then they drop most unfortunately down. But yet no one, I am certain, who has the least discernment, will scruple to prefer the single " CEdipus " of Sophocles before all that Io ever composed.
If the beauties of writers are to be estimated by their number, and not by their quality or grandeur, then Hyperides will prove far superior to Demosthenes. He has more harmony and a finer cadence, he has a greater number of beauties, and those in a degree almost next to excellent. He resembles a champion who, professing himself master of the five exercises, in each of them severally must yield the superiority to others, but in all together stands alone and unrivaled. For Hyperides has in every point, except the structure of his words, imitated all the virtues of Demosthenes, and has abundantly added the graces and beauties of Lysias. When his subject demands simplicity, his style is exquisitely smooth ; nor does he utter everything with one emphatical air of vehemence, like Demos thenes. His thoughts are always just and proper, tempered with most delicious sweetness and the softest harmony of words. His turns of wit are inexpressibly fine. He raises a laugh with the greatest art, and is prodigiously dexterous at irony or sneer. His strokes of raillery are far from ungenteel ; by no means
THE AKT OF COMPOSITION. 181
far-fetched, like those of the depraved imitators of Attic neatness, but apposite and proper. How skillful at evading an argument ! With what humor does he ridicule, and with what dexterity does he sting in the midst of a smile ! In a word, there are inimitable graces in all he says. Never did any one more artfully excite compassion ; never was any one more diffuse in narration ; never any more dexterous at quit ting and resuming his subject with such easy address, and such pliant activity. This plainly appears in his little poetical fables of " Latona " ; and besides, he has composed a funeral oration with such pomp and ornament as I believe never will or can be equaled.
Demosthenes, on the other side, has been unsuccessful in representing the humors and characters of men ; he was a stranger to diffusive eloquence ; awkward in his address ; void of all pomp and show in his language ; and, in a word, for the most part deficient in all the qualities ascribed to Hyperides. Where his subject compels him to be merry or facetious, he makes people laugh, but it is at himself. And the more he en deavors at raillery, the more distant he is from it. Had he ever attempted an oration for a Phryne or an Athenogenes, he would in such attempts have only served as a foil to Hyperides.
Yet, after all, in my opinion, the numerous beauties of Hyperides are far from having any inherent greatness. They show the sedateness and sobriety of the author's genius, but have not force enough to enliven or to warm an audience. No one that reads him is ever sensible of extraordinary emotion. Whereas Demosthenes, adding to a continued vein of grandeur and to magnificence of diction (the greatest qualifications requi site in an orator), such lively strokes of passion, such copious ness of words, such address, and such rapidity of speech ; and, what is his masterpiece, such force and vehemence, as the greatest writers besides durst never aspire to : being, I say, abundantly furnished with all these divine (it would be sin to call them human) abilities, he excels all before him in the beauties which are really his own ; and, to atone for deficiencies in those he has not, overthrows all opponents with the irresist ible force and the glittering blaze of his lightning. For it is much easier to behold with steadfast and undazzled eyes the flashing lightning, than those ardent strokes of the Pathetic, which come so thick, one upon another, in his orations.
182 THE ART OF COMPOSITION.
The parallel between Plato and his opponents must be drawn in a different light. For Lysias not only falls short of him in the excellence, but in the number of his beauties. And what is more, he not only falls short of him in the number of his beauties, but exceeds him vastly in the number of his faults.
What, then, can we suppose that those godlike writers had in view, who labored so much in raising their compositions to the highest pitch of the Sublime, and looked down with con tempt upon accuracy and correctness? Amongst others, let this reason be accepted. Nature never designed man to be a groveling and ungenerous animal, but brought him into life, and placed him in the world, as in a crowded theater, not to be an idle spectator, but, spurred on by an eager thirst of excel ling, ardently to contend in the pursuit of glory. For this purpose she implanted in his soul an invincible love of grandeur, and a constant emulation of whatever seems to approach nearer to divinity than himself. Hence it is that the whole universe is not sufficient for the extensive reach and piercing specula tion of the human understanding. It passes the bounds of the material world, and launches forth at pleasure into endless space. Let any one take an exact survey of a life which, in its every scene, is conspicuous on account of excellence, grandeur, and beauty, and he will soon discern for what noble ends we were born. Thus the impulse of nature inclines us to admire, not a little, clear, transparent rivulet that ministers to our necessities, but the Nile, the Ister, the Rhine, or still much more, the Ocean. We are never surprised at the sight of a small fire that burns clear and blazes out on our own private hearth, but view with amaze the celestial fires, though they are often obscured by vapors and eclipses. Nor do we reckon any thing in nature more wonderful than the boiling furnaces of . /Etna, which cast up stones, and sometimes whole rocks, from their laboring abyss, and pour out whole rivers of liquid and unmingled flame. And from hence we may infer that what ever is useful and necessary to man lies level to his abilities, and is easily acquired ; but whatever exceeds the common size is always great and always amazing.
With regard, therefore, to those sublime writers whose flight, however exalted, never fails of its use and advantage, we must add another consideration. Those other inferior beauties show their authors to be men, but the Sublime makes
THE ART OF COMPOSITION. 183
near approaches to the height of God. What is correct and faultless comes off barely without censure, but the grand and lofty command admiration. What can I add further? One exalted and sublime sentiment in those noble authors makes ample amends for all their defects. And what is more re markable, were the errors of Homer, Demosthenes, Plato, and the rest of the most celebrated authors to be culled carefully out and thrown together, they would not bear the least pro portion to those infinite, those inimitable excellencies which are so conspicuous in these heroes of antiquity. And for this reason has every age and every generation, unmoved by partiality and unbiased by envy, awarded the laurels to these great masters, which flourish still green and unfading on their brows, and will flourish,
As long as streams in silver marges rove,
Or Spring with annual green renews the grove.
(— Fenton. )
A certain writer objects here that an ill-wrought Colossus cannot be set upon the level with a little faultless statue ; for instance, the little soldier of Polyclitus ; but the answer to this is very obvious. In the works of art we have regard to exact proportion ; in those of nature to grandeur and mag nificence. Now speech is a gift bestowed upon us by nature. As, therefore, resemblance and proportion to the originals is required in statues, so in the noble faculty of discourse there should be something extraordinary, something more than humanly great. . . .
. . . [The beginning of this section on Hyperbole is lost. ] As this Hyperbole, for instance, is exceedingly bad, " If you carry not your brains in the soles of your feet and tread upon them. " One consideration, therefore, must always be attended to, " How far the thought can properly be carried. " For over shooting the mark often spoils an Hyperbole ; and whatever is overstretched loses its tone and immediately relaxes; nay, sometimes produces an effect contrary to that for which it was intended. Thus Isocrates, childishly desirous of saying nothing without enlargement, has fallen into a shameful puerility. The end and design of his " Panegyric " is to prove that the Athenians had done greater service to the united body of Greece than the Lacedaemonians ; and this is his beginning : " The virtue and
184 THE ART OF COMPOSITION.
efficacy of eloquence is so great as to be able to render great things contemptible, to dress up trifling subjects in pomp and show, to clothe what is old and obsolete in a new dress, and put off new occurrences in an air of antiquity. " And will it not be immediately demanded, Is this what you are going to practice with regard to the affairs of the Athenians and Lace daemonians? For this ill-timed encomium of eloquence is an inadvertent admonition to the audience not to listen or give credit to what he says.
Those Hyperboles, in short, are the best (as I have before observed of Figures) which have neither the appearance nor air of Hyperboles. And this never fails to be the state of those which in the heat of a passion flow out in the midst of some grand circumstance. Thus Thucydides has dexterously applied one to his countrymen that perished in Sicily. "The Syra- cusans," says he, " came down upon them and made a slaughter chiefly of those who were in the river. The water was im mediately discolored with blood. But the stream polluted with mud and gore deterred them not from drinking it greedily, nor many of them from fighting desperately for a draught of it. " A circumstance so uncommon and affecting gives those expres sions of drinking mud and gore and fighting desperately for it an air of probability.
Hyperboles literally are impossibilities, and therefore can only then be reasonable or productive of sublimity where the circumstances may be stretched beyond their proper size, that they may appear without fail important and great.
Herodotus has used a like Hyperbole concerning those war riors who fell at Thermopylae : " In this place they defended themselves with the weapons that were left, and with their hands and teeth, till they were buried under the arrows of bar barians. " Is it possible, you will say, for men to defend them selves with their teeth against the fury and violence of armed assailants? Is it possible that men could be buried under arrows? Notwithstanding all this, there is a seeming prob ability in it. For the circumstance does not appear to have been fitted to the Hyperbole, but the Hyperbole seems to be the necessary production of the circumstance. For applying these strong Figures only where the heat of action or impetuosity of passion demands them (a point I shall never cease to insist upon) very much softens and mitigates the boldness of too daring expressions. So in comedy circumstances wholly absurd
THE VIGIL OF VENDS. 185
and incredible pass off very well, because they answer their end and raise a laugh. As in this passage : " He was owner of a piece of ground not so large as a Lacedaemonian letter. " For laughter is a passion arising from some inward pleasure.
But Hyperboles equally serve two purposes ; they enlarge and they lessen. Stretching anything beyond its natural size is the property of both. And the Diasyrm (the other species of the Hyperbole) increases the lowness of anything, or renders trifles more trifling.
THE VIGIL OF VENUS. (Translated by Thomas Stanley. )
[Author unknown ; date perhaps about third or fourth century a. d. ]
Love he to-morrow, who loved never ; To-morrow, who hath loved, persever.
The spring appears, in which the earth Receives a new harmonious birth ; When all things mutual love unites ; When birds perform their nuptial rites ; And fruitful by her watery lover,
Each grove its tresses doth recover.
Love's Queen to-morrow, in the shade, Which by these verdant trees is made, Their sprouting tops in wreaths shall bind, And myrtles into arbors wind ;
To-morrow, raised on a high throne, Dione shall her laws make known.
Love he to-morrow, who loved never; To-morrow, who hath loved, persever.
Then the round ocean's foaming flood Immingled with celestial blood, THongst the blue purple of the main, And horses whom two feet sustain, Rising Dione did beget
With fruitful waters dropping wet.
THE VIGIL OF VENUS.
after glittering awhile in the fierce blaze, one after another fell and disappeared in the general ruin. The Temple of the Sun stood long untouched, shining almost with the brightness of the sun itself, its polished shafts and sides reflecting the sur rounding fire with an intense brilliancy. We hoped that it might escape, and were certain that it would, unless fired from within, — as from its insulated position the flames from the neighboring buildings could not reach it. But we watched not long ere from its western extremity the fire broke forth, and warned us that that peerless monument of human genius, like all else, would soon crumble to the ground. To our amaze ment, however, and joy, the flames, after having made great progress, were suddenly arrested, and by some cause extin guished ; and the vast pile stood towering in the center of the desolation, of double size, as it seemed, from the fall and disap pearance of so many of the surrounding structures.
" This," said Fausta, " is the act of a rash and passionate man. Aurelian, before to-morrow's sun has set, will himself repent it. What a single night has destroyed, a century could not restore. This blighted and ruined capital, as long as its crumbling remains shall attract the gaze of the traveler, will utter a blasting malediction upon the name and memory of Aurelian. Hereafter he will be known, not as conqueror of the East, and the restorer of the Roman empire, but as the executioner of Longinus and the ruthless destroyer of Pal myra. "
" I fear that you prophesy with too much truth," I replied. " Rage and revenge have ruled the hour, and have committed horrors which no reason and no policy, either of the present or of any age, will justify. "
" It is a result ever to be expected," said Gracchus, " so long as mankind will prefer an ignorant, unlettered soldier as their ruler. They can look for nothing different from one whose ideas have been formed by the camp alone, — whose vulgar mind has never been illuminated by study and the knowledge of antiq uity. Such a one feels no reverence for the arts, for learning, for philosophy, or for man as man ; he knows not what these mean ; power is all he can comprehend, and all he worships. As long as the army furnishes Rome with her emperors, so long may she know that her name will, by acts like these, be handed down to posterity covered with the infamy that belongs to the polished savage, the civilized barbarian. Come, Fausta, let us now in
164 THE FALL OF PALMYRA.
and hide ourselves from this sight, too sad and sorrowful to gaze upon. "
" I can look now, father, without emotion," she replied ; " a little sorrow opens all the fountains of grief, too much seals them. I have wept till I can weep no more. My sensibility is, I believe, by this succession of calamities, dulled till it is dead. "
Aurelian, we learn, long before the fire had completed its work of destruction, recalled the orders he had given, and labored to arrest the progress of the flames. In this he to a considerable extent succeeded, and it was owing to this that the great temple was saved, and others among the most costly and beautiful structures.
On the third day after the capture of the city and the massacre of the inhabitants, the army of the "conqueror and destroyer " withdrew from the scene of its glory, and again dis appeared beyond the desert. I sought not the presence of Aurelian while before the city ; for I cared not to meet him drenched in the blood of women and children. But as soon as he and his legions were departed, we turned toward the city, as children to visit the dead body of a parent.
No language which I can use, my Curtius, can give you any just conception of the horrors which met our view on the way to the walls, and in the city itself. For more than a mile be fore we reached the gates, the roads, and the fields on either hand, were strewed with the bodies of those who, in their at tempts to escape, had been overtaken by the enemy and slain. Many a group of bodies did we notice, evidently those of a family, the parents and the children, who, hoping to reach in company some place of security, had all — and without resist ance apparently — fallen a sacrifice to the relentless fury of their pursuers. Immediately in the vicinity of the walls, and under them, the earth was concealed from the eye by the multi tudes of the slain, and all objects were stained with the one hue of blood. Upon passing the gates, and entering within those walls which I had been accustomed to regard as embracing in their wide and graceful sweep the most beautiful city of the world, my eye met naught but black and smoking ruins, fallen houses and temples, the streets choked with piles of still blazing timbers and the half-burned bodies of the dead. As I pene trated farther into the heart of the city, and to its better-built and more spacious quarters, I found the destruction to be less,
THE FALL OF PALMYRA. 165
— that the principal streets were standing, and many of the more distinguished structures. But everywhere, —in the
streets, upon the porticoes of private and public dwellings, upon the steps and within the very walls of the temples of every faith, — in all places, the most sacred as well as the most com mon, lay the mangled carcasses of the wretched inhabitants. None, apparently, had been spared. The aged were there, with their bald or silvered heads, little children and infants, women, the young, the beautiful, the good, — all were there, slaughtered in every imaginable way, and presenting to the eye spectacles of horror and of grief enough to break the heart and craze the brain. For one could not but go back to the day and the hour when they died, and suffer with these innocent thousands a part of what they suffered, when, the gates of the city giving way, the infuriated soldiery poured in, and with death written in their faces and clamoring on their tongues, their quiet houses were invaded, and, resisting or unresisting, they all fell to gether beneath the murderous knives of the savage foe. What shrieks then rent and filled the air ; what prayers of agony went up to the gods for life to those whose ears on mercy's side were adders'; what piercing supplications that life might be taken and honor spared ! The apartments of the rich and the noble presented the most harrowing spectacles, where the inmates, delicately nurtured, and knowing of danger, evil, and wrong only by name and report, had first endured all that nature most abhors, and then there, where their souls had died, were slain by their brutal violators with every circum stance of most demoniac cruelty. Happy for those, who, like Gracchus, foresaw the tempest and fled. These calamities have fallen chiefly upon the adherents of Antiochus ; but among them, alas ! were some of the noblest and most honored families of the capital. Their bodies now lie blackened and bloated upon their doorstones ; their own halls have become their tombs.
We sought together the house of Gracchus. We found it partly consumed, partly standing and uninjured. The offices and one of the rear wings were burned and level with the ground, but there the flames had been arrested, and the re mainder, comprising all the principal apartments, stands as it stood before. The palace of Zenobia has escaped without harm ; its lofty walls and insulated position were its protection. The Long Portico, with its columns, monuments, and inscriptions,
166
THE FALL OF PALMYRA.
remains also untouched by the flames, and unprofaned by any violence from the wanton soldiery. The fire has fed upon the poorer quarters of the city, where the buildings were composed in greater proportion of wood, and spared most of the great thoroughfares, principal avenues, and squares of the capital, which, being constructed in the most solid manner of stone, resisted effectually all progress of the flames ; and though fre quently set on fire for the purpose of their destruction, the fire perished from a want of material, or it consumed but the single edifice where it was kindled.
The silence of death and of ruin rests over this once and but so lately populous city. As I stood upon a high point which overlooked a large extent of it, I could discern no signs of life except here and there a detachment of the Roman guard drag ging forth the bodies of the slaughtered citizens, and bearing them to be burned or buried. This whole people is extinct. In a single day these hundred thousands have found a common
Not one remains to bewail or bury the dead. Where are the anxious crowds, who, when their dwellings have been burned, eagerly rush in as the flames have spent themselves, to sorrow over their smoking altars, and pry with busy search among the hot ashes, if perchance they may yet rescue some lamented treasure, or bear away, at least, the bones of a parent or a child buried beneath the ruins ? They are not here. It is broad day, and the sun shines brightly ; but not a living form is seen lingering about these desolated streets and squares. Birds of prey are already hovering round, and alighting, with out apprehension of disturbance, wherever the banquet invites them ; and soon as the shadows of evening shall fall, the hyena of the desert will be here to gorge himself upon what they have left, having scented afar off upon the tainted breeze the fumes of the rich feast here spread for him. These Roman gravedig- gers from the legion of Bassus are alone upon the ground to contend with them for their prize. O miserable condition of humanity ! Why is it that to man have been given passions which he cannot tame, and which sink him below the brute? Why is it that a few ambitious are permitted by the Great Ruler, in the selfish pursuit of their own aggrandizement, to scatter in ruin, desolation, and death whole kingdoms, — mak ing misery and destruction the steps by which they mount up to their seats of pride ! O gentle doctrine of Christ ! — doctrine of love and of peace, when shall it be that I and all mankind
grave.
THE FALL OF PALMYRA. 167
shall know thy truth, and the world smile with a new happi ness under thy life-giving reign !
Fausta, as she has wandered with us through this wilderness of woe, has uttered scarce a word. This appalling and afflicting sight of her beloved Palmyra — her pride and hope, in whose glory her very life was wrapped up — so soon become a black ened heap of ruins ; its power departed ; its busy multitudes dead, and their dwellings empty or consumed, — has deprived her of all but tears. She has only wept. The sensibility which she feared was dead, she finds endued with life enough, — with too much for either her peace or safety.
As soon as it became known in the neighboring districts that the army of Aurelian was withdrawn, and that the troops left in the camp and upon the walls were no longer commis sioned to destroy, they who had succeeded in effecting their escape, or who had early retreated from the scene of danger, began to venture back. These were accompanied by great numbers of the country people, who now poured in either to witness with their own eyes the great horror of the times, or to seek for the bodies of children or friends, who, dwelling in the city for the purposes of trade or labor, or as soldiers, had fallen in the common ruin. For many days might the streets and walls and ruins be seen covered with crowds of men and women who, weeping, sought among the piles of the yet unburied and decaying dead, dear relatives or friends or lovers, for whom they hoped to perform the last offices of unfailing affection, — a hope that was, perhaps, in scarce a single instance fulfilled. And how could any but those in whom love had swallowed up reason, once imagine that where the dead were heaped fathoms deep, mangled by every shocking mode of death, and now defaced yet more by the processes of corruption, they could identify the forms which they last saw beautiful in all the bloom of health ? But love is love ; it feels, but cannot reason.
Cerronius Bassus, the lieutenant of Aurelian, has with a humane violence laid hold upon this curious and gazing multi tude, and changed them all into buriers of the dead they came to seek and bewail. To save the country from pestilence, him self and his soldiers, he hastens the necessary work of inter ment. The plains are trenched, and into them the bodies of the citizens are indiscriminately thrown. There now lie in narrow space the multitudes of Palmyra.
168
THE FALL OF PALMYRA.
The mangled bodies of Antiochus, Herennianus, and Timo- laus have been found among the slain.
We go no longer to the city, but remain at our solitary tower, — now, however, populous as the city itself. We con verse of the past and the future, but most of my speedy depar ture for Rome.
It is the purpose of Gracchus to continue for a season yet in the quiet retreat where he now is. He then will return to the capital, and become one of those to lay again the foundations of another prosperity.
" Nature," he says, " has given to our city a position and resources which, it seems to me, no power of man can deprive her of, nor prevent their always creating and sustaining, upon this same spot, a large population. Circumstances like the present may oppress and overwhelm for a time, but time again will revive, and rebuild, and embellish. I will not for one sit down in inactivity or useless grief, but if Aurelian does not hinder, shall apply the remainder of my days to the restoration of Palmyra. In Calpurnius and Fausta I shall look to find my lieutenants, prompt to execute the commissions intrusted to them by their commander. "
"We shall fall behind," said Calpurnius, "I warrant you, in no quality of affection or zeal in the great task. "
" Fausta," continued Gracchus, " has as yet no heart but for the dead and the lost. But, Lucius, when you shall have been not long in Rome, you will hear that she lives then but among the living, and runs before me and Calpurnius in every labor that promises advantage to Palmyra. "
" It may be so," replied Fausta, " but I have no faith that it will. We have witnessed the death of our country ; we have attended the funeral obsequies. I have no belief in any rising again from the dead. "
" Give not way, my child," said Gracchus, " to grief and despair. These are among the worst enemies of man. They are the true doubters and deniers of the gods and their provi dence who want a spirit of trust and hope. Hope and con fidence are the best religion, and the truest worship. I, who do not believe in the existence of the gods, am therefore to be commended for my religion more than many of the stanchest defenders of Pagan, Christian, or Jewish superstitions, who too often, it seems to me, feel and act as if the world were aban doned of all divine care, and its affairs and events the sport
THE FALL OP PALMYRA. 169
of a blind chance. What is best for man and the condition of the world must be most agreeable to the gods, — to the Creator and the possessor of the world, — be they one or many. Can we doubt which is best for the remaining inhabitants of Palmyra, and the provinces around which are dependent upon her trade, — to leave her in her ruin finally and utterly to perish, or apply every energy to her restoration ? Is it better that the sands of the desert should within a few years heap themselves over these remaining walls and dwellings, or that we who survive should cleanse, and repair, and rebuild, in the confident hope, before we in our turn are called to disappear, to behold our beloved city again thronged with its thousands of busy and laborious inhabitants? Carthage is again populous as in the days of Hamilcar. You, Fausta, may live to see Palmyra what she was in the days of Zenobia. " "
" The gods grant it may be so !
exclaimed Fausta, and a bright smile at the vision her father had raised up before her illuminated her features. She looked for a moment as if the
reality had been suddenly revealed to her, and had stood forth in all its glory.
"I do not despair," continued Gracchus, "of the Romans themselves doing something toward the restoration of that which they have wantonly and foolishly destroyed. "
" But they cannot give life to the dead ; and therefore it is but little they can do at best," said Fausta. " They may indeed rebuild the Temple of the Sun, but they cannot give us back the godlike form of Longinus, and kindle within it that intellect that shed light over the world ; they may raise again the walls of the citizen's humble dwelling, but they cannot reanimate the bodies of the slaughtered multitudes, and call them out from their trenches to people again the silent streets. "
"They cannot, indeed," rejoined Gracchus; "they cannot do everything ; they may not do anything. But I think they will, and that the emperor himself, when reason returns, will himself set the example. And from you, Lucius, when once more in Rome, shall I look for substantial aid in disposing favor ably the mind both of Aurelian and the senate. "
" I can never be more happily employed," I replied, " than in serving either you or Palmyra. You will have a powerful advocate also in Zenobia. "
"Yes," said Gracchus, "if her life be spared, which must for some time be still quite uncertain. After gracing the!
170 THE FALL OF PALMYRA.
triumph of Aurelian, she, like Longinus, may be offered as a new largess to the still hungering legions. "
"Nay, there, I think, Gracchus, you do Aurelian hardly justice. Although he has bound himself by no oath, yet vir tually is he sworn to spare Zenobia ; and his least word is true as his sword. "
Thus have we passed the last days and hours of my resi dence here. I should in vain attempt, my Curtius, to tell you how strongly I am bound to this place, to this kingdom and city, and above all, to those who survive this destruction. No Palmyrene can lament with more sincerity than I the whirl wind of desolation that has passed over them, obliterating almost their place and name ; nor from any one do there ascend more fervent prayers that prosperity may yet return, and these widespread ruins again rise and glow in their ancient beauty. Rome has by former acts of unparalleled barbarism covered her name with reproach ; but by none has she so drenched it in guilt as by this wanton annihilation — for so do I regard it — of one of the fairest cities and kingdoms of the earth. The day of Aurelian's triumph may be a day of triumph to him, but to Rome it will be a day of never-forgotten infamy.
A Roman Triumph.
I trust that you have safely received the letter which, as we entered the Tiber, I was fortunate enough to place on board a vessel bound directly to Berytus. In that I have told you of my journey and voyage, and have said many other things of more consequence still, both to you, Gracchus, and myself.
I now write to you from my own dwelling upon the Caelian, where I have been these many days that have intervened since the date of my former letter. If you have waited impatiently to hear from me again, I hope now I shall atone for what may seem a too long delay, by telling you of those concerning whom you wish chiefly to hear and know, — Zenobia and Julia.
But first let me say that I have found Portia in health, and as happy as she could be after her bitter disappointment in Calpurnius. This has proved a misfortune, less only than the loss of our father himself. That a Piso should live, and be other than a Roman ; that he should live and bear arms against his country, — this has been to her one of those inexplicable mysteries in the providence of the gods that has tasked her
THE FALL OF PALMYRA.
171
piety to the utmost. In vain has she scrutinized her life to discover what fault has drawn down upon her and her house this heavy retribution. Yet her grief is lightened by what I have told her of the conduct of Calpurnius at Antioch and Emesa. At such times, when I have related the events of those great days, and the part which my brother took, the pride of the Roman has yielded to that of the mother, and she has not been able to conceal her satisfaction. "Ah," she would say,
"mybraveboy! " "Thatwaslikehim! "
das himself was not greater ! " " What might he not be, were he but in Rome! "
Portia is never weary with inquiring into everything relat ing to yourself and Gracchus. My letters, many and minute as they have been, so far from satisfying her, serve only as themes for new and endless conversations, in which, as well as I am able, I set before her my whole life while in Palmyra, and every event, from the conversation at the table or in the por ticoes, to the fall of the city and the death of Longinus. So great is her desire to know all concerning the " hero Fausta," and so unsatisfying is the all that I can say, that I shall not wonder if, after the ceremony of the triumph, she should her self propose a journey to Palmyra, to see you once more with her own eyes, and once more fold you in her arms. You will rejoice to be told that she bewails, even with tears, the ruin of the city, and the cruel massacre of its inhabitants. She con demns the emperor in language as strong as you and I should use. The slaughter of Sandarion and his troops she will by no
I have found Curtius and Lucilia also in health. They are at their villa upon the Tiber. The first to greet me there were Laco and Caelia. Their gratitude was affecting and oppressive. Indeed, there is no duty so hard as to receive with grace the thanks of those whom you have obliged. Curtius is for once satisfied that I have performed with fidelity the part of a cor respondent. He even wonders at my diligence. The advan tage is, I believe for the first time, fairly on my side, — though you can yourself bear testimony, having heard all his epistles, how many he wrote, and with what vividness and exactness he made Rome to pass before us. I think he will not be prevented
"I warrant Zab-
means allow to be a sufficient justification of the act. And of her opinion are all the chief citizens of Rome.
from writing to you by anything I can say. He drops in every day, Lucilia sometimes with him, and never leaves us till he
172 THE FALL OF PALMYRA.
has exhausted his prepared questions concerning you and the great events which have taken place, — there remaining innu merable points to a man of his exact turn of mind, about which he must insist upon fuller and more careful information. I think he will draw up a history of the war. I hope he will ; no one could do it better.
Aurelian, you will have heard, upon leaving Palmyra, in stead of continuing on the route which he set out, toward Emesa and Antioch, turned aside to Egypt, in order to put down, by one of his sudden movements, the Egyptian merchant Firmus, who, with a genius for war greater than for traffic, had placed himself at the head of the people, and proclaimed their inde pendence of Rome. As the friend and ally of Zenobia — although he could render her, during the siege, no assistance — I must pity his misfortunes and his end. News has just reached us that his armies have been defeated, he himself taken and put to death, and his new-made kingdom reduced again to the con dition of a Roman province. We now every hour look to hear of the arrival of the emperor and his armies.
Although there has been observed some secrecy concerning the progress and places of residence of Zenobia, yet we learn with a good degree of certainty that she is now at Brundusium, awaiting the further orders of Aurelian, having gone overland from Byzantium to Apollonia, and there crossing the Adriatic. I have not been much disturbed by the reports which have pre vailed, because I thought I knew too much of the queen to think them well grounded. Yet I confess I have suffered some what, when, upon resorting to the Capitol or the baths, I have found the principal topic to be the death of Zenobia, — accord ing to some, of grief, on her way from Antioch to Byzantium ; or, as others had it, of hunger, she having resolutely refused all nourishment. I have given no credit to the rumor ; yet as all stories of this kind are a mixture of truth and error, so in this case I can conceive easily that it has some foundation in reality, and I am led to believe from it that the sufferings of the queen have been great. How, indeed, could they be otherwise? A feebler spirit than Zenobia's, and a feebler frame, would necessarily have been destroyed. With what impatience do I wait the hour that shall see her in Rome !
already relieved of all anxiety as to her treatment by Aurelian ; no fear need be entertained for her safety. Desirous as far as may be to atone for the rash severity of his orders in Syria, he
I am happily
THE FALL OF PALMYRA. 173
will distinguish with every possible mark of honor the queen, her family, and such other of the inhabitants of Palmyra as have been reserved to grace his triumph.
For this august ceremony the preparations are already making. It is the sole topic of conversation, and the single object toward which seem to be bent the whole genius and industry of the capital. It is intended to surpass in magnifi cence all that has been done by former emperors or generals. The materials for it are collecting from every part of the empire, and the remotest regions of Asia and Africa. Every day there arrive cargoes either of wild beasts, or of prisoners destined to the amphitheater. Illustrious captives also from Asia, Germany, and Gaul, among whom are Tetricus and his son. The Tiber is crowded with vessels bringing in the treasures drawn from Palmyra, — her silver and gold, her statuary and works of art, and every object of curiosity and taste that was susceptible of transportation across the desert and the ocean.
It is now certain that the queen has advanced as far as Tusculum, where with Julia, Livia, Faustula, and Vabalathus, she will remain — at a villa of Aurelian's, it is said — till the day of triumph. Separation seems the more painful as they approach nearer. Although knowing that they would be scrupulously prohibited from all intercourse with any beyond the precincts of the villa itself, I have not been restrained from going again and again to Tusculum, and passing through it and around it in the hope to obtain were it but a distant glimpse of persons to whom I am bound more closely than to any others on earth. But it has been all in vain. I shall not see them till I behold them a part of the triumphal procession of their conqueror.
Aurelian has arrived ; the long-expected day has come and is gone. His triumph has been celebrated, and with a magnifi cence and a pomp greater than the traditionary glories of those of Pompey, Trajan, Titus, or even the secular games of Philip.
I have seen Zenobia !
The sun of Italy never poured a flood of more golden light upon the great capital and its surrounding plains than on the day of Aurelian's triumph. The airs of Palmyra were never more soft. The whole city was early abroad ; and added to our over grown population, there were the inhabitants of all the neigh boring towns and cities, and strangers from all parts of the
174 THE PALL OF PALMYRA.
empire, so that it was with difficulty and labor only, and no little danger too, that the spectacle could be seen. I obtained a position opposite the Capitol, from which I could observe the whole of this proud display of the power and greatness of Rome.
A long train of elephants opened the show, their huge sides and limbs hung with cloth of gold and scarlet, some having upon their backs military towers or other fanciful structures, which were filled with the natives of Asia or Africa, all arrayed in the richest costumes of their countries. These were followed by wild animals, and those remarkable for their beauty, from every part of the world, either led, as in the case of lions, tigers, leopards, by those who from long management of them pos sessed the same power over them as the groom over his horse, or else drawn along upon low platforms, upon which they were made to perform a thousand antic tricks for the amusement of the gaping and wondering crowds.
Then came not many fewer than two thousand gladiators in pairs, all arranged in such a manner as to display to the greatest advantage their well-knit joints, and projecting and swollen muscles. Of these a great number have already perished on the arena of the Flavian, and in the sea fights in Domitian's theater. Next, upon gilded wagons, and arrayed so as to produce the most dazzling effect, came the spoils of the wars of Aurelian, — treasures of art, rich cloths and embroideries, utensils of gold and silver, pictures, statues, and works in brass, from the cities of Gaul, from Asia, and from Egypt. Conspicuous here over all were the rich and gorgeous contents of the palace of Zenobia. The huge wains groaned under the weight of vessels of gold and silver, of ivory, and the most precious woods of India. The jeweled wine cups, vases, and golden statuary of Demetrius attracted the gaze and excited the admiration of every beholder. Immediately after these came a crowd of youths richly habited in the costumes of a thousand different tribes, bearing in their hands, upon cushions of silk, crowns of gold and precious stones, the offerings of the cities and kingdoms of all the world, as it were, to the power and fame of Aurelian. Following these, came the ambassadors of all nations, sumptu ously arrayed in the habits of their respective countries. Then an innumerable train of captives, showing plainly, in their downcast eyes, in their fixed and melancholy gaze, that hope had taken its departure from their breasts. Among these were many women from the shores of the Danube, taken in arms
one only that you wish to hear ?
THE FALL OF PALMYRA. 175
fighting for their country, of enormous stature, and clothed in the warlike costume of their tribes.
But why do I detain you with these things, when it is of
I cannot tell you with what impatience I waited for that part of the procession to approach
where were Zenobia and Julia. I thought its line would stretch on forever. And it was the ninth hour before the alternate shouts and deep silence of the multitudes announced that the conqueror was drawing near the Capitol. As the first shout arose, I turned toward the quarter whence it came, and beheld, not Aurelian as I expected, but the Gallic emperor Tet- ricus — yet slave of his army and of Victoria — accompanied by the prince his son, and followed by other illustrious captives from Gaul. All eyes were turned with pity upon him, and with indignation too that Aurelian should thus treat a Roman, and once a senator. But sympathy for him was instantly lost in a stronger feeling of the same kind for Zenobia, who came immediately after. You can imagine, Fausta, better than I can describe them, my sensations, when I saw our beloved friend — her whom I had seen treated never otherwise than as a sov ereign queen and with all the imposing pomp of the Persian ceremonial — now on foot, and exposed to the rude gaze of the Roman populace, — toiling beneath the rays of a hot sun, and the weight of jewels such as, both for richness and beauty, were never before seen in Rome, and of chains of gold, which first passing around her neck and arms, were then borne up by at tendant slaves. I could have wept to see her so — yes, and did. My impulse was to break through the crowd and support her almost fainting form ; but I well knew that my life would answer for the rashness on the spot. I could only, therefore, like the rest, wonder and gaze. And never did she seem to me, not even in the midst of her own court, to blaze forth with such transcendent beauty, yet touched with grief. Her look was not that of dejection, of one who was broken and crushed by misfortune ; there was no blush of shame. It was rather one of profound, heartbreaking melancholy. Her full eyes looked as if privacy only was wanted for them to overflow with floods of tears ; but they fell not. Her gaze was fixed on va cancy, or else cast toward the ground. She seemed like one unobservant of all around her, and buried in thoughts to which all else were strangers, and had nothing in common with. They were in Palmyra, and with her slaughtered multitudes.
176 THE FALL OP PALMYRA.
Yet though she wept not, others did ; and one could see all along, wherever she moved, the Roman hardness yielding to pity, and melting down before the all-subduing presence of this wonderful woman. The most touching phrases of compassion fell constantly upon my ear. And ever and anon, as in the road there would happen some rough or damp place, the kind souls would throw down upon it whatever of their garments they could quickest divest themselves of, that those feet, little used to such encounters, might receive no harm. And, as when other parts of the procession were passing by, shouts of tri umph and vulgar joy frequently arose from the motley crowds, yet when Zenobia appeared, a deathlike silence prevailed, or it was interrupted only by exclamations of admiration or pity, or of indignation at Aurelian for so using her. But this hap pened not long ; for when the emperor's pride had been suffi ciently gratified, and just there where he came over against the steps of the Capitol, he himself, crowned as he was with the diadem of universal empire, descended from his chariot, and unlocking the chains of gold that bound the limbs of the queen, led and placed her in her own chariot — that char iot in which she had hoped herself to enter Rome in triumph — between Julia and Livia. Upon this, the air was rent with the grateful acclamations of the countless multitudes. The queen's countenance brightened for a moment as if with the expressive sentiment, " The gods bless you ! " and was then buried in the folds of her robe. And when, after the lapse of many minutes, it was again raised and turned toward the people, every one might see that tears burning hot had coursed her cheeks, and relieved a heart which else might well have burst with its restrained emotion. Soon as the chariot which held her had disappeared upon the other side of the Capitol, I extricated myself from the crowd, and returned home. It was not till the shades of evening had fallen that the last of the procession had passed the front of the Capitol, and the emperor reposed within the walls of his palace.
THE ART OF COMPOSITION. 177
THE ART OF COMPOSITION. By LONGINUS.
[Dionysius Cassius Longikus, the foremost rhetorician, critic, and philo sophic expositor of his age, pronounced by some the best critic of all antiquity, was born probably in Syria, a. d. 213. He studied under Origen at Alexandria, and settled as teacher of oratory and composition at Athens, gaining immense reputation not only for learning, as a " walking library," but for taste and in sight. He became in his latter years tutor to Zenobia's children at Palmyra, and her chief political counselor ; and on her overthrow by Aurelian, was exe
cuted for treason. ]
But since the sentiments and the language of compositions are generally best explained by the light they throw upon one another, let us in the next place consider what it is that re mains to be said concerning the "Diction. " And here, that a judicious choice of proper and magnificent terms has wonderful effects in winning upon and entertaining an audience, cannot, I think, be denied. For it is from hence that the greatest writers derive with indefatigable care the grandeur, the beauty, the solemnity, the weight, the strength, and the energy of their expressions. This clothes a composition in the most beautiful dress, makes it shine like a picture in all the gayety of color, and, in a word, it animates our thoughts and inspires them with a kind of vocal life. But it is needless to dwell upon these particulars before persons of so much taste and experience. Fine words are indeed the peculiar light in which our thoughts must shine. But then it is by no means proper that they should everywhere swell and look big. For dressing up a trifling subject in grand, exalted expressions makes the same ridiculous appearance as the enormous mask of a trage dian would do upon the diminutive face of an infant.
. . . In this verse of "Anacreon," the terms are vulgar, yet there is a
. . . [The beginning of this Section is lost. ]
simplicity in it which pleases, because it is natural : Nor shall this Thracian vex me more !
And for this reason, that celebrated expression of Theo- pompus seems to me the most significant of any I ever met with, though Cecilius has found something to blame in it:
VOL. VII. — 12
178 THE ART OF COMPOSITION.
" Philip " (says he) " was used to swallow affronts, in compli ance with the exigencies of his affairs. "
Vulgar terms are sometimes much more significant than the most ornamental could possibly be. They are easily under stood, because borrowed from common life ; and what is most familiar to us, soonest engages our belief. Therefore, when a person, to promote his ambitious designs, bears ill-treatment and reproaches not only with patience, but a seeming pleasure, to say that he swallows affronts is as happy and expressive a phrase as could possibly be invented. The following passage from " Herodotus " in my opinion comes very near it. " Cle- omenes," (says he) "being seized with madness, with a little knife that he had, cut his flesh into small pieces, till, having entirely mangled his body, he expired. " And again, "Pythes remaining still in the ship, fought courageously, till he was hacked in pieces. " These expressions approach near to the vulgar, but are far from having vulgar significations.
As to a proper number of Metaphors, Cecilius has gone into their opinion, who have settled it at two or three at most, in expressing the same object. But in this also let Demos thenes be observed as our model and guide ; and by him we shall find that the proper time to apply them is when the passions are so much worked up as to hurry on like a torrent, and unavoidably carry along with them a whole crowd of meta phors. " Those prostituted souls, those cringing traitors, those furies of the commonwealth, who have combined to wound and mangle their country, who have drunk up its liberty in healths, to Philip once and since to Alexander, measuring their happiness by their belly and their lust. As for these generous principles of honor and that maxim never to endure a master, which to our brave forefathers were the high ambition of life and the standard of felicity, — these they have quite subverted. " Here, by means of this multitude of Tropes, the orator bursts out upon the traitors in the warmest indignation. It is, how ever, the precept of Aristotle and Theophrastus that bold Metaphors ought to be introduced with some small allevia
tIions ; such as, if it may be so expressed, and as it were, and if may speak with so much boldness. For this excuse, say they, very much palliates the hardness of the figures.
Such a rule hath a general use, and therefore I admit it ; yet still I maintain what I advanced before in regard to
THE ART OF COMPOSITION. 179
Figures : that bold Metaphors, and those, too, in good plenty, are very seasonable in a noble composition, where they are always mitigated and softened by the vehement Pathetic and generous Sublime dispersed through the whole. For as it is the nature of the Pathetic and Sublime to run rapidly along and carry all before them, so they require the figures they are worked up in to be strong and forcible, and do not so much as give leisure to a hearer to cavil at their number, because they immediately strike his imagination and inflame him with all the warmth and fire of the speaker.
But let us for once admit the possibility of a faultless and consummate writer ; and then will it not be worth while to consider at large that important question, Whether, in poetry or prose, what is truly grand in the midst of some faults be not preferable to that which has nothing extraordinary in its best parts, correct, however, throughout and faultless? And further, Whether the excellence of fine writing consists in the number of its beauties or in the grandeur of its strokes ? For these points, being peculiar to the Sublime, demand an illus tration.
I readily allow that writers of a lofty and towering genius are by no means pure and correct, since whatever is neat and accurate throughout must be exceedingly liable to flatness. In the Sublime, as in great affluence of fortune, some minuter articles will unavoidably escape observation. But it is almost impossible for a low and groveling genius to be guilty of error, since he never endangers himself by soaring on high, or aiming at eminence, but still goes on in the same uniform secure track, whilst its very height and grandeur exposes the Sublime to sud den falls. Nor am I ignorant indeed of another thing, which will no doubt be urged, that in passing our judgment upon the works of an author, we always muster his imperfections, so that the remembrance of his faults sticks indelibly fast in the mind, whereas that of his excellencies is quickly worn out. For my part, I have taken notice of no inconsiderable number of faults in Homer, and some other of the greatest authors, and cannot by any means be blind or partial to them ; however, I judge them not to be voluntary faults, so much as accidental slips incurred through inadvertence ; such as, when the mind is intent upon things of a higher nature, will creep insensibly into
compositions.
And for this reason I give it as my real opinion,
180 THE ART OF COMPOSITION.
that the great and noble flights, though they cannot everywhere boast an equality of perfection, yet ought to carry off the prize, by the sole merit of their own intrinsic grandeur.
Apollonius, author of the "Argonautics," was a writer with out blemish ; and no one ever succeeded better in Pastoral than Theocritus, excepting some pieces where he has quitted his own province. But yet, would you choose to be Apollonius or Theocritus rather than Homer? Is the poet Eratosthenes, whose " Erigone " is a complete and delicate performance, and not chargeable with one fault, to be esteemed a superior poet to Archilochus, who flies off into many and brave irregularities, a godlike spirit bearing him forward in the noblest career, such spirit as will not bend to rule, or easily brook control ? In " Lyrics," would you sooner be Bacchylides than Pindar, or Io the Chian than the great Sophocles ? Bacchylides and Io have written smoothly, delicately, and correctly, they have left nothing without the nicest decoration ; but in Pindar and Sophocles, who carry fire along with them through the violence of their motion, that very fire is many times unseasonably quenched, and then they drop most unfortunately down. But yet no one, I am certain, who has the least discernment, will scruple to prefer the single " CEdipus " of Sophocles before all that Io ever composed.
If the beauties of writers are to be estimated by their number, and not by their quality or grandeur, then Hyperides will prove far superior to Demosthenes. He has more harmony and a finer cadence, he has a greater number of beauties, and those in a degree almost next to excellent. He resembles a champion who, professing himself master of the five exercises, in each of them severally must yield the superiority to others, but in all together stands alone and unrivaled. For Hyperides has in every point, except the structure of his words, imitated all the virtues of Demosthenes, and has abundantly added the graces and beauties of Lysias. When his subject demands simplicity, his style is exquisitely smooth ; nor does he utter everything with one emphatical air of vehemence, like Demos thenes. His thoughts are always just and proper, tempered with most delicious sweetness and the softest harmony of words. His turns of wit are inexpressibly fine. He raises a laugh with the greatest art, and is prodigiously dexterous at irony or sneer. His strokes of raillery are far from ungenteel ; by no means
THE AKT OF COMPOSITION. 181
far-fetched, like those of the depraved imitators of Attic neatness, but apposite and proper. How skillful at evading an argument ! With what humor does he ridicule, and with what dexterity does he sting in the midst of a smile ! In a word, there are inimitable graces in all he says. Never did any one more artfully excite compassion ; never was any one more diffuse in narration ; never any more dexterous at quit ting and resuming his subject with such easy address, and such pliant activity. This plainly appears in his little poetical fables of " Latona " ; and besides, he has composed a funeral oration with such pomp and ornament as I believe never will or can be equaled.
Demosthenes, on the other side, has been unsuccessful in representing the humors and characters of men ; he was a stranger to diffusive eloquence ; awkward in his address ; void of all pomp and show in his language ; and, in a word, for the most part deficient in all the qualities ascribed to Hyperides. Where his subject compels him to be merry or facetious, he makes people laugh, but it is at himself. And the more he en deavors at raillery, the more distant he is from it. Had he ever attempted an oration for a Phryne or an Athenogenes, he would in such attempts have only served as a foil to Hyperides.
Yet, after all, in my opinion, the numerous beauties of Hyperides are far from having any inherent greatness. They show the sedateness and sobriety of the author's genius, but have not force enough to enliven or to warm an audience. No one that reads him is ever sensible of extraordinary emotion. Whereas Demosthenes, adding to a continued vein of grandeur and to magnificence of diction (the greatest qualifications requi site in an orator), such lively strokes of passion, such copious ness of words, such address, and such rapidity of speech ; and, what is his masterpiece, such force and vehemence, as the greatest writers besides durst never aspire to : being, I say, abundantly furnished with all these divine (it would be sin to call them human) abilities, he excels all before him in the beauties which are really his own ; and, to atone for deficiencies in those he has not, overthrows all opponents with the irresist ible force and the glittering blaze of his lightning. For it is much easier to behold with steadfast and undazzled eyes the flashing lightning, than those ardent strokes of the Pathetic, which come so thick, one upon another, in his orations.
182 THE ART OF COMPOSITION.
The parallel between Plato and his opponents must be drawn in a different light. For Lysias not only falls short of him in the excellence, but in the number of his beauties. And what is more, he not only falls short of him in the number of his beauties, but exceeds him vastly in the number of his faults.
What, then, can we suppose that those godlike writers had in view, who labored so much in raising their compositions to the highest pitch of the Sublime, and looked down with con tempt upon accuracy and correctness? Amongst others, let this reason be accepted. Nature never designed man to be a groveling and ungenerous animal, but brought him into life, and placed him in the world, as in a crowded theater, not to be an idle spectator, but, spurred on by an eager thirst of excel ling, ardently to contend in the pursuit of glory. For this purpose she implanted in his soul an invincible love of grandeur, and a constant emulation of whatever seems to approach nearer to divinity than himself. Hence it is that the whole universe is not sufficient for the extensive reach and piercing specula tion of the human understanding. It passes the bounds of the material world, and launches forth at pleasure into endless space. Let any one take an exact survey of a life which, in its every scene, is conspicuous on account of excellence, grandeur, and beauty, and he will soon discern for what noble ends we were born. Thus the impulse of nature inclines us to admire, not a little, clear, transparent rivulet that ministers to our necessities, but the Nile, the Ister, the Rhine, or still much more, the Ocean. We are never surprised at the sight of a small fire that burns clear and blazes out on our own private hearth, but view with amaze the celestial fires, though they are often obscured by vapors and eclipses. Nor do we reckon any thing in nature more wonderful than the boiling furnaces of . /Etna, which cast up stones, and sometimes whole rocks, from their laboring abyss, and pour out whole rivers of liquid and unmingled flame. And from hence we may infer that what ever is useful and necessary to man lies level to his abilities, and is easily acquired ; but whatever exceeds the common size is always great and always amazing.
With regard, therefore, to those sublime writers whose flight, however exalted, never fails of its use and advantage, we must add another consideration. Those other inferior beauties show their authors to be men, but the Sublime makes
THE ART OF COMPOSITION. 183
near approaches to the height of God. What is correct and faultless comes off barely without censure, but the grand and lofty command admiration. What can I add further? One exalted and sublime sentiment in those noble authors makes ample amends for all their defects. And what is more re markable, were the errors of Homer, Demosthenes, Plato, and the rest of the most celebrated authors to be culled carefully out and thrown together, they would not bear the least pro portion to those infinite, those inimitable excellencies which are so conspicuous in these heroes of antiquity. And for this reason has every age and every generation, unmoved by partiality and unbiased by envy, awarded the laurels to these great masters, which flourish still green and unfading on their brows, and will flourish,
As long as streams in silver marges rove,
Or Spring with annual green renews the grove.
(— Fenton. )
A certain writer objects here that an ill-wrought Colossus cannot be set upon the level with a little faultless statue ; for instance, the little soldier of Polyclitus ; but the answer to this is very obvious. In the works of art we have regard to exact proportion ; in those of nature to grandeur and mag nificence. Now speech is a gift bestowed upon us by nature. As, therefore, resemblance and proportion to the originals is required in statues, so in the noble faculty of discourse there should be something extraordinary, something more than humanly great. . . .
. . . [The beginning of this section on Hyperbole is lost. ] As this Hyperbole, for instance, is exceedingly bad, " If you carry not your brains in the soles of your feet and tread upon them. " One consideration, therefore, must always be attended to, " How far the thought can properly be carried. " For over shooting the mark often spoils an Hyperbole ; and whatever is overstretched loses its tone and immediately relaxes; nay, sometimes produces an effect contrary to that for which it was intended. Thus Isocrates, childishly desirous of saying nothing without enlargement, has fallen into a shameful puerility. The end and design of his " Panegyric " is to prove that the Athenians had done greater service to the united body of Greece than the Lacedaemonians ; and this is his beginning : " The virtue and
184 THE ART OF COMPOSITION.
efficacy of eloquence is so great as to be able to render great things contemptible, to dress up trifling subjects in pomp and show, to clothe what is old and obsolete in a new dress, and put off new occurrences in an air of antiquity. " And will it not be immediately demanded, Is this what you are going to practice with regard to the affairs of the Athenians and Lace daemonians? For this ill-timed encomium of eloquence is an inadvertent admonition to the audience not to listen or give credit to what he says.
Those Hyperboles, in short, are the best (as I have before observed of Figures) which have neither the appearance nor air of Hyperboles. And this never fails to be the state of those which in the heat of a passion flow out in the midst of some grand circumstance. Thus Thucydides has dexterously applied one to his countrymen that perished in Sicily. "The Syra- cusans," says he, " came down upon them and made a slaughter chiefly of those who were in the river. The water was im mediately discolored with blood. But the stream polluted with mud and gore deterred them not from drinking it greedily, nor many of them from fighting desperately for a draught of it. " A circumstance so uncommon and affecting gives those expres sions of drinking mud and gore and fighting desperately for it an air of probability.
Hyperboles literally are impossibilities, and therefore can only then be reasonable or productive of sublimity where the circumstances may be stretched beyond their proper size, that they may appear without fail important and great.
Herodotus has used a like Hyperbole concerning those war riors who fell at Thermopylae : " In this place they defended themselves with the weapons that were left, and with their hands and teeth, till they were buried under the arrows of bar barians. " Is it possible, you will say, for men to defend them selves with their teeth against the fury and violence of armed assailants? Is it possible that men could be buried under arrows? Notwithstanding all this, there is a seeming prob ability in it. For the circumstance does not appear to have been fitted to the Hyperbole, but the Hyperbole seems to be the necessary production of the circumstance. For applying these strong Figures only where the heat of action or impetuosity of passion demands them (a point I shall never cease to insist upon) very much softens and mitigates the boldness of too daring expressions. So in comedy circumstances wholly absurd
THE VIGIL OF VENDS. 185
and incredible pass off very well, because they answer their end and raise a laugh. As in this passage : " He was owner of a piece of ground not so large as a Lacedaemonian letter. " For laughter is a passion arising from some inward pleasure.
But Hyperboles equally serve two purposes ; they enlarge and they lessen. Stretching anything beyond its natural size is the property of both. And the Diasyrm (the other species of the Hyperbole) increases the lowness of anything, or renders trifles more trifling.
THE VIGIL OF VENUS. (Translated by Thomas Stanley. )
[Author unknown ; date perhaps about third or fourth century a. d. ]
Love he to-morrow, who loved never ; To-morrow, who hath loved, persever.
The spring appears, in which the earth Receives a new harmonious birth ; When all things mutual love unites ; When birds perform their nuptial rites ; And fruitful by her watery lover,
Each grove its tresses doth recover.
Love's Queen to-morrow, in the shade, Which by these verdant trees is made, Their sprouting tops in wreaths shall bind, And myrtles into arbors wind ;
To-morrow, raised on a high throne, Dione shall her laws make known.
Love he to-morrow, who loved never; To-morrow, who hath loved, persever.
Then the round ocean's foaming flood Immingled with celestial blood, THongst the blue purple of the main, And horses whom two feet sustain, Rising Dione did beget
With fruitful waters dropping wet.
THE VIGIL OF VENUS.
