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Zenobia

W >> William Ware >> Zenobia




Along the street which I had thus entered I slowly sauntered, observing
the people who thronged it, and the shops with their varieties which lined
it. I could easily gather from the conversation which now and then fell
upon my ear--sometimes as I mingled with those who were observing a fine
piece of sculpture or a new picture exposed for sale, or examining the
articles which some hawker with much vociferation thrust upon the
attention of those who were passing along, or waiting at a fountain, while
slaves in attendance served round in vessels of glass, water cooled with
snow and flavored with the juice of fruits peculiar to the East--that the
arrival of the ambassadors had caused a great excitement among the people,
and had turned all thoughts into one channel. Frequently were they
gathered together in groups, around some of the larger trees, or at the
corners of the streets, or at the entrance of some conspicuous shop, to
listen to the news which one had to tell, or to arguments upon the
all-engrossing theme with which another sought to bring over those who
would listen, to one or another side of the great question. But I must
confess that--save in a very few instances--the question was no question
at all, and had but one side. Those whom I heard, and who were listened
to by any numbers, and with any patience, were zealous patriots,
inveighing bitterly against the ambition and tyranny of Rome, and
prognosticating national degradation, and ruin, and slavery, if once the
policy of concession to her demands was adopted.

'Palmyra,' they said, 'with Zenobia and Longinus at her head, the deserts
around her, and Persia to back her, might fearlessly stand against Rome
and the world. Empire began in the East: it had only wandered for a while
to the West--losing its way. The East was its native seat, and there it
would return. Why should not Palmyra be what Assyria and Persia once were?
What kingdom of the world, and what age, could ever boast a general like
Zabdas, a minister like Longinus, a queen like the great Zenobia?' At such
flights, the air would resound with the plaudits of the listening crowd,
who would then disperse and pursue their affairs, or presently gather
around some new declaimer.

I was greatly moved on several of these occasions, to make a few
statements in reply to some of the orators, and which might possibly have
let a little light upon minds willing to know the truth; but I doubted
whether even the proverbially good-natured and courteous Palmyrenes might
not take umbrage at it. As I turned from one of these little knots of
politicians, I encountered Otho, a nobleman of Palmyra and one of the
Queen's council. 'I was just asking myself,' said I, saluting him,
'whether the temper of your people, even and forbearing as it is, would
allow a Roman in their own city to harangue them, who should not so much
advocate a side, as aim to impart truth.'

'Genuine Palmyrenes,' he answered, 'would listen with patience and
civility. But, in a crowded street, one can never answer for his audience.
You see here not only Palmyrenes, but strangers from all parts of the
East--people from our conquered provinces and dependences, who feel
politically with the Palmyrene, but yet have not the manners of the
Palmyrene. There is an Armenian, there a Saracen, there an Arab, there a
Cappadocian, there a Jew, and there an Egyptian--politically perhaps with
us, but otherwise a part of us not more than the Ethiopian or Scythian.
The Senate of Palmyra would hear all you might say--or the Queen's
council--but not the street, I fear. Nay, one of these idle boys, but
whose patriotism is ever boiling over, might in his zeal and his ignorance
do that which should bring disgrace upon our good city. I should rather
pray you to forbear. But if you will extend your walk to the Portico which
I have just left, you will there find a more select crowd than jostles us
where we stand, and perhaps ears ready to hear you. All that you may say
to divert the heart of the nation from this mad enterprise, I shall be
most grateful for. But any words which you may speak, or which a present
god might utter, would avail no more against the reigning frenzy, than
would a palm leaf against a whirlwind of the desert.'

As he uttered these words, with a voice somewhat elevated, several had
gathered about us, listening with eagerness to what the noble and
respected Otho had to say. They heard him attentively, shook their heads,
and turned away--some saying: 'He is a good man, but timid.' Others
scrupled not to impute to him a 'Roman leaning.' When he had ended,
seeing that a number had pressed around, he hastily wished me a happy day,
and moved down the street I bent my way toward the Portico, ruminating the
while upon the fates of empire.

I soon reached that magnificent structure, with its endless lines of
columns. More than the usual crowd of talkers, idlers, strangers, buyers
and sellers, thronged its ample pavements. One portion of it seems to be
appropriated, at least abandoned, to those who have aught that is rare and
beautiful to dispose of. Before one column stands a Jew with antiquities
raked from the ruins of Babylon or Thebes--displaying their coins, their
mutilated statuary, or half legible inscriptions. At another, you see a
Greek with some masterpiece of Zeuxis--nobody less--which he swears is
genuine, and to his oaths adds a parchment containing its history, with
names of men in Athens, Antioch and Alexandria, who attest it all. At the
foot of another, sits a dealer in manuscripts, remarkable either as being
the complete works of distinguished authors, or for the perfection of the
art of the copyist, or for their great antiquity. Here were Manetho and
Sanchoniathon to be had perfect and complete! Not far from these stood
others, who offered sculptures, ancient and modern--vases of every
beautiful form, from those of Egypt and Etruria, to the freshly-wrought
ones of our own Demetrius--and jewelry of the most rare and costly kinds.
There is scarce an article of taste, or valuable of any sort whatever, but
may be found here, brought from all parts of the world. In Persian,
Indian, and Chinese rarities--which in Rome are rarities indeed--I have
dealt largely, and shall return with much to show you.

When, with some toil, I had won a passage through this busy mart, I
mingled with a different crowd. I passed from buyers and sellers among
those who were, like myself, brought there merely for the purpose of
seeing others, of passing the time, and observing the beautiful effects of
this interminable Portico, with its moving and changing crowds robed in a
thousand varieties of the richest costume. It was indeed a spectacle of
beauty, such as I never had seen before nor elsewhere. I chose out point
after point, and stood a silent and rapt observer of the scene. Of the
view from one of these points, I have purchased a painting, done with
exquisite skill, which I shall send to you, and which will set before you
almost the living reality.

To this part of the Portico those resort who wish to hear the opinions of
the day upon subjects of politics or literature, or philosophy, or to
disseminate their own. He who cherishes a darling theory upon any branch
of knowledge, and would promulgate it, let him come here, and he will find
hearers at least. As I walked along, I was attracted by a voice declaiming
with much earnestness to a crowd of hearers, and who seemed as I drew near
to listen with attention, some being seated upon low blocks of marble
arranged among the columns of the Portico for this purpose, others leaning
against the columns themselves, and others standing on the outside of the
circle. The philosopher--for such I perceived him at once to be--was
evidently a Greek. He was arrayed in a fashionable garb, with a robe much
like our toga thrown over his shoulders, and which he made great use of
in his gesticulations. A heavy chain of gold was wound around his neck,
and then crossing several times his breast, hung down in
artificially-arranged festoons. A general air of effeminacy produced in
the hearer at once a state of mind not very favorably disposed to receive
his opinions. The first words I caught were these: 'In this manner,' said
he, 'did that wonderful genius interpret the universe. 'Tis not credible
that any but children and slaves should judge differently. Was there once
nothing? Then were there nothing now. But there is something now, We see
it. The world is. Then it has always been. It is an eternal Being. It is
infinite. Ha! can you escape me now? Say, can there be two infinites? Then
where are your gods? The fabled creator or creators--be they many or
one--of the universe? Vanished, I fancy, at the touch of my intellectual
wand, into thin air. Congratulate yourselves upon your freedom. The
Egyptians had gods, and you know what they were. The Greeks had gods, and
you know what they were. Those nations grovelled and writhed under their
partly childish, partly terrific, and partly disgusting superstitions.
Happy that the reality of divine natures can, so easily as I have now done
it, be disproved! The superincumbent gloom is dispersed. Light has broken
through. And so too, touching the immortality of the soul. Immortality of
the soul! Did any one of you ever see a soul? I should like to have that
question answered:'--he swung defyingly his robe and paused--'did any one
ever see a soul! Yes, and that it was immortal, too! You see a body, and
therefore you believe in it. You see that it is mortal and therefore you
believe in its mortality. You do not see the soul--therefore you believe
in one? Is that your reasoning? How plain the argument is! When the god or
gods--suppose their being--shall send down and impart to me the astounding
fact that I am not one, as I seem, but two--am not mortal, as I seem, but
immortal--do not melt into dust at death, but rise in spirit--then will I
believe such things, not otherwise. Have we knowledge of any other
existences--elemental existences--than corporeal atoms? None. These
constitute the human being. Death is their separation, and that separation
means the end of the being they once did constitute. But it may all be
summed up in a word. When you can see and touch your own soul, as you do
see and touch your body, believe in it. Deny and reject this principle,
and the world will continue to suffer from its belief in gorgons, demons,
spectres, gods, and monsters; in Tartarean regions and torments of damned
spirits. Adopt it, and life flows undisturbed by visionary fears, and
death comes as a long and welcome sleep, upon which no terrors and no
dreams intrude.'

Such was the doctrine, and such nearly the language of the follower of
Epicurus. You will easily judge how far he misrepresented the opinions of
that philosopher. As I turned away from this mischievous dealer in
Cimmerian darkness, I inquired of one who stood near me who this great
man might be.

'What,' said he, in reply, 'do you not know Critias the Epicurean? You
must be a stranger in Palmyra. Do you not see, by the quality of his
audience, that he leads away with him all the fine spirits of the city?
Observe how the greater number of these who hang upon his lips resemble,
in their dress and air, the philosopher.'

'I see it is so. It seems as if all the profligates and young rakes of
Palmyra--of the nobler sort--were assembled here to receive some new
lessons in the art of self-destruction.'

'Many a philosopher of old would, I believe,' he rejoined, 'have prayed
that his system might perish with himself, could he have looked forward
into futurity, and known how it would be interpreted and set forth by his
followers. The temperate and virtuous Epicurus little thought that his
name and doctrine would in after times be the rallying point for the
licentious and dissolute. His philosophy was crude enough, and mischievous
I grant in its principles and tendencies. But it was promulgated, I am
sure, with honest intentions, and he himself was not aware of its extreme
liability to misapprehension and perversion. How would his ears tingle at
what we have now heard!'

'And would after all deserve it,' I replied. 'For he, it seems to me, is
too ignorant of human nature, to venture upon the office of teacher of
mankind, who believes that the reality of a superintending providence can
be denied with safety to the world. A glance at history, and the slightest
penetration into human character, would have shown him, that atheism, in
any of its forms, is incompatible with the existence of a social state.'

'What you say is very true,' replied the Palmyrene; 'I defend only the
intentions and personal character of Epicurus, not his real fitness for
his office. This Critias, were it not for the odiousness of any
interference with men's opinions, I should like to see driven from our
city back to his native Athens, Listen now as he lays down the method of a
happy life. See how these young idlers drink in the nectarean stream. But
enough. I leave them in their own stye. Farewell! Pray invite the
philosopher to visit you at Rome, We can spare him.'

Saying this, he turned upon his heel and went his way. I also passed on.
Continuing my walk up the Portico, I perceived at a little distance
another dark mass of persons, apparently listening with profound attention
to one who was addressing them. Hoping to hear some one discoursing upon
the condition of the country and its prospects, I joined the circle. But I
was disappointed. The orator was a follower of Plato, and a teacher of his
philosophy. His aim seemed to be to darken the minds of his hearers by
unintelligible refinements, at least such I thought the effect must be. He
clothed his thoughts--if thoughts there really were any--in such a
many-colored cloud of poetic diction, that the mind, while it was
undoubtedly excited, received not a single clear idea, but was left in a
pleasing, half-bewildered state, with visions of beautiful divine truth
floating before it, which it in vain attempted to arrest, and convert to
reality. All was obscure, shadowy, impalpable. Yet was he heard with every
testimony of reverence, on the part of his audience. They evidently
thought him original and profound, in proportion as he was
incomprehensible. I could not help calling to mind the remark of the
Palmyrene who had just parted from me. It is difficult to believe that
Plato himself labored to be obscure, though some affirm it. I would
rather believe that his great mind, always searching after truth at the
greatest heights and lowest depths, often but partially seized it, being
defeated by its very vastness; yet, ambitious to reveal it to mankind, he
hesitated not to exhibit it in the form and with the completeness he best
could. It was necessary, therefore, that what he but half knew himself,
should be imperfectly and darkly stated, and dimly comprehended by others.
For this reason, his writings are obscure--obscure, not because of truths
for their vastness beyond the reach of our minds, but because they abound
in conceptions but half formed--in inconsequential reasonings--in logic
overlaid and buried beneath a poetic phraseology. They will always be
obscure, in spite of the labors of the commentators; or, a commentary can
make them plain only by substituting the sense of the critic for the
no-sense of the original. But Plato did not aim at darkness. And could his
spirit have listened to the jargon which I had just heard proclaimed as
Platonism, consisting of common-place thoughts, laboriously tortured and
involved, till their true semblance was lost, and instead of them a wordy
mist--glowing indeed oftentimes with rainbow colors--was presented to the
mind of the hearer for him to feed upon, he would at the moment have as
heartily despised, as he had formerly gloried in, the name and office of
philosopher.

I waited not to learn the results at which this great master of wisdom
would arrive, but quickly turned away, and advanced still farther toward
the upper termination of the Portico. The numbers of those who frequented
this vast pile diminished sensibly at this part of it. Nevertheless, many
were still like myself wandering listlessly around. Quite at the extremity
of the building I observed however a larger collection than I had noticed
before; and, as it appeared to me, deeply absorbed by what they heard. I
cared not to make one of them, having had enough of philosophy for the
day. But as I stood not far from them, idly watching the labors of the
workmen who were carrying up the column of Aurelian--noting how one laid
the stone which another brought, and how another bore along and up the
dizzy ladders the mortar which others tempered, and how the larger masses
of marble were raised to their places by machines worked by elephants, and
how all went on in exact order--while I stood thus, the voice of the
speaker frequently fell upon my ear, and at last, by its peculiarity, and
especially by the unwonted 4 earnestness of the tone, drew me away to a
position nearer the listening crowd. By the words which I now distinctly
caught, I discovered that it was a Christian who was speaking. I joined
the outer circle of hearers, but the preacher--for so the Christians term
those who declare their doctrines in public--was concealed from me by a
column. I could hear him distinctly, and I could see the faces, with their
expressions, of those whom he addressed. The greater part manifested the
deepest interest and sympathy with him who addressed them, but upon the
countenances of some sat scorn and contempt--ridicule, doubt, and
disbelief. As the voice fell upon my ear, in this my nearer position, I
was startled. 'Surely,' I said, 'I have heard it before, and yet as surely
I never before heard a Christian preach.' The thought of Probus flashed
across my mind; and suddenly changing my place--and by passing round the
assembly, coming in front of the preacher--I at once recognised the pale
and melancholy features of the afflicted Christian. I was surprised and
delighted. He had convinced me, at the few interviews I had had with him,
that he was no common man, and I had determined to obtain from him, if I
should ever meet him again, all necessary knowledge of the Christian
institutions and doctrine. Although I had learned much, in the mean time,
from both Julia and the Hermit, still there was much left which I felt I
could obtain, probably in a more exact mariner, from Probus. I was
rejoiced to see him. He was evidently drawing to the close of his address.
The words which I first caught, were nearly these:

'Thus have I declared to you, Palmyrenes, Romans, and whoever are here?
how Christianity seeks the happiness of man, by securing his virtue. Its
object is your greater well-being through the truths it publishes and
enforces. It comes to your understandings, not to darken and confound them
by words without meaning, but to shed light upon them by a revelation of
those few sublime doctrines of which I have now discoursed to you. Has the
Greek, the Roman, or the Persian philosophy, furnished your minds with
truths like these? Has life a great object, or death an issue of certainty
and joy, under either of those systems of faith? Systems of faith! I blush
to term them so. I am a Roman, the son of a priest of the temple of
Jupiter. Shall I reveal to you the greater and the lesser mysteries of
that worship? I see by most expressive signs that it cannot be needful.
Why then, if ye yourselves know and despise the popular worship, why will
you not consider the claims of Jesus of Nazareth?'

'I despise it not,' cried a voice from the throng, 'I honor it.'

'In every nation,' continued the preacher, 'and among all worshippers, are
there those whom God will accept The sincere offering of the heart will
never be refused. Socrates, toiling and dying in the cause of
truth--though that truth, in the light of the Gospel, were error--is
beloved of God. But if God has in these latter days announced new truth,
if he has sent a special messenger to teach it, or if it be asserted by
persons of intelligence and apparent honesty that he has, ought not every
sincere lover of truth and of God, or the gods, to inquire diligently
whether it be so or not? Socrates would have done so. Search, men of
Palmyra, into the certainty of these things. These many years has the word
of Christ been preached in your streets, yet how few followers can as yet
be counted of him who came to bless you! Sleep no longer. Close not the
ear against the parent voice of the Gospel Fear not that the religion of
Jesus comes to reign over aught but your hearts. It asks no dominion over
your temporal affairs. It cares not for thrones, nor the sword, nor
princely revenues, nor seats of honor. It would serve you, not rule over
you. And the ministers of Christ are your servants in spiritual things,
seeking not yours, but you.'

'Paul! Paul of Antioch!' shouted several voices at once.

'I defend not Paul of Antioch,' cried Probus, no ways disconcerted.
'Judge Christianity, I pray you, not by me, nor by Paul, but by itself.
Because a fool lectures upon the philosophy of Plato, you do not therefore
condemn Plato for a fool. Because a disciple of Zeno lives luxuriously,
you do not for that take up a judgment against the philosopher himself.
Paul of Samosata, not in his doctrine, but in his life, is an alien, a
foreigner, an adversary, and no friend or servant of Jesus. Listen,
citizens of Palmyra, while I read to you what the founder of Christianity
himself says touching this matter!' and he drew from beneath his robe a
small parchment roll, and turning to the part he sought, read in a loud
voice words of Jesus such as these: 'He that is greatest among you shall
be your servant. Whosoever shall exalt himself shall be abased, and he
that shall humble himself shall be exalted.' 'This is the doctrine of
Christ. According to Jesus, "he among his disciples is greatest, who
performs for others the most essential service."' He then turned to
another part of the book, and read a long, and as it struck me beautiful
passage, in which the author of Christianity was represented as stooping
and washing the feet of his disciples, to enforce in a more lively way his
doctrine of humility and philanthropy. When he had finished it, a deep
silence had fallen upon those who listened. It was broken by the voice of
Probus once more saying in low and sorrowful tones: 'I confess--with grief
and shame I confess--that pride, and arrogance, and the lust of power, are
already among the ministers of Jesus. They are sundering themselves from
their master, and thrusting a sword into the life of his Gospel. And if
this faith of Christ should ever--as a prophetic eye sees it so sure to
do--fill the throne of the world, and sit in Cæsar's place, may the God
who gave it appear for it, that it perish not through the encumbering
weight of earthly glory. Through tribulation and persecution it has held
on its way without swerving. Prosperity begins already to weaken and
defile----'

What more Probus would have added, I know not; for at this point an
unusual disturbance arose in the streets. Trumpets sent forth their long
peal, and a troop of out-riders, as accompanying some great personage,
rode rapidly along, followed by the crowd of idle lookers-on. And
immediately a chariot appeared, with a single individual seated in it, who
seemed to take great pleasure in his own state. No sooner had the pageant
arrived over against that part of the Portico where we stood, than one and
another of Probus's hearers exclaimed:

'Ha! Paul! Paul of Antioch! Behold a Christian servant!' And the whole
throng turned away in confusion to watch the spectacle.

'An unhappy commentary upon the doctrine,' said a Palmyrene to me, as he
turned sneeringly away.

'What say you to this?' asked another, of Probus himself, as he descended
from his rostrum, and stood gazing with the rest, but with a burning cheek
and downcast eye.

'I say,' he replied, 'what I have said before, that yonder bishop, however
christianized his head may be is a misbeliever in his heart. He is a true
anti-Christ.'

'I am disposed to trust you,' rejoined the other. 'I have heard you not
without emotion. We have had among us many who have declared the doctrine
of Christ. But I have heeded them not, It is different with me now. I am
desirous to know what this doctrine of Christ is. I have been impressed by
what you recited from the writings of Jesus. How, Christian, shall I apply
myself, and where, to learn more than I know now?'

'If thou wilt learn of so humble a teacher as I am,--who yet know somewhat
of what Christianity really is--come and hear me at the place of Christian
worship in the street that runs behind the great Persian Inn. There, this
evening when the sun is down, shall I preach again the truth in Christ.'

'I shall not fail to be there,' said the other, and moved away.

'Nor shall I, Probus,' said I, heartily saluting him.

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