UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 AT LOS ANGELES
 
 v0 2 . /Jt'JsU* 
 
 *7 
 /o 
 
 &JCf&^
 
 ZENOBIA
 
 All dramatic and other rights strictly reserved, 
 a public performance having been held in accord- 
 ance with the requirements of the Act. 
 
 By the Same Author 
 
 THE IMMORTALS, ETC.. . Price 3/6 net. 
 AN ODE TO THE SUN, ETC. 2/6 
 AT STRATFORD FESTIVAL . i|- 
 ANOTHER SHEAF 2/6
 
 ENOBIA 
 
 A DRAMA 
 
 IN FOUR ACTS 
 
 BY 
 
 R. WARWICK BOND 
 
 LONDON 
 
 ELKIN MATHEWS 
 
 VIGO STREET W 
 
 1899
 
 'H 0i/<ris ov rairfivbv ^/xas faov oi)5' dyewts txpive, rbv avOpuirov, d\\\ 
 wj elt fj.eyd\i]v rivd irav^yvptv, els rbv ftiov Kal et's rbv ffvfivavra ntxruov 
 tirdyowra, Oeards nvas r(av 8\uv aiWJj taofdvovs Kal ^iXortjuoTciTouj 
 v&vs &fM\ov tp<ara fi>t<f>vfffi> i]fjLuv rats \j/vxciis vavrbs del roO 
 , Kal ws ir/)ds iifJ-as Sainoviurtpov. 
 
 Longin. de Sublim. xxxv. 
 
 Nature chose not us, her brood of Man, to be creatures base and 
 ignoble : rather she ushered us into life and her vast rondure as into 
 some high festival, where we might witness and be stirred to emulate 
 her mighty scale ; implanting in our breasts from the outset an un- 
 conquerable passion for all of great that meets us, for all that seems 
 diviner than ourselves. 
 
 Longinus on the Sublime, sect. 35. 
 
 Art thou a Magistrate ? then be severe : 
 If studious ; copie fair, what time hath blurr'd ; 
 Redeem truth from his jawes : if souldier, 
 Chase brave employments with a naked sword 
 
 Throughout the world. Fool not : for all may have, 
 If they dare try, a glorious life, or grave. 
 
 GEORGE HERBERT, The Temple (1633).
 
 PTl 
 
 6003 
 
 PREFATORY NOTE 
 
 THE drama here offered to the public retouched work of 
 1895-6, and the fulfilment, however meagre, of a dream of 
 much earlier years is founded chiefly on the brilliant nar- 
 rative of Gibbon's tenth and eleventh chapters ; though I 
 have spared no pains in examining the original sources, 
 and have embodied from them a few touches not found 
 in the modern historian. His account is mainly based 
 on the Greek of Zonaras and Zosimus in the Byzantine 
 History, and the Latin of Trebellius Pollio and Vopiscus 
 in the Augustan ; of whom Zosimus is the most picturesque, 
 and Vopiscus perhaps the most reliable, writer. 
 
 Of previous dramatic attempts to deal with the story, we 
 have to regret the loss of a Zenobia^ mentioned in Hens- 
 lowe's Diary as performed once at the Rose Theatre on 
 March 9, 1591-2. Next comes a prose tragedy of the 
 French classical school, Zenobie, by the Abbe" d'Aubignac, 
 published at Paris, 1647 : a somewhat frigid piece, 
 whose scene is laid wholly in Zenobia's chamber. Lon- 
 ginus is not in the cast; but Zabas and Timagene, 
 Zenobia's generals, are rivals for her love, and die in her 
 defence. The circumstances of her suicide at the close 
 seem reminiscent of Antony and Cleopatra. A Portuguese 
 version, printed at Lisbon about 1785 (Tragicomedia in- 
 titulada Zenobia no Oriente) again omits Longinus; and 
 
 5
 
 PREFATORY NOTE 
 
 hazards a grave departure from history in the assassination 
 of Aurelian in mid-triumph by his general Decius, who 
 defends himself in a speech to the Romans, is declared 
 Emperor, and invites Zenobia to share his throne. 
 Murphy's play of the same title (Zenobia, London, 1768), 
 which was performed at Drury Lane, and for which Garrick 
 wrote an epilogue, does not deal with Palmyra at all, but 
 with a war between Rome and Armenia : and, similarly, 
 Adolf Wilbrandt's Der Meister von Palmyra (Stuttgart, 
 1870), though it introduces Longinus, is no transcript of 
 the thrilling series of events recorded by Gibbon, but a 
 purely mystical and imaginary creation, in which Zenobia 
 only appears at the end as a young girl, the latest love of 
 the worn-out hero Apelles. 
 
 Besides these, Zenobia's story is borrowed by Chaucer, 
 in his Monkes Tale, from Boccacio's De Mulieribus Claris, 
 cap. xcviii. ; and forms the fourteenth in the Second 
 Volume of Paynter's Palace of Pleasure. It is also the 
 subject of a romance by W. Ware (New York, 1838, 8vo), 
 which was re-issued under the title of The Last Days and 
 Fall of Palmyra, in Messrs. Cassell's Red Library. The 
 book is largely occupied with the conflict in thoughtful 
 minds of that age between Paganism and Christianity, a 
 conflict which finds no echo in these pages ; but those who 
 care to make the comparison between my play and the 
 novel will see that I have borrowed, here an incident, and 
 there some suggestion for the minor characters, from the 
 latter. 
 
 The following brief summary of the historical facts will 
 enable the reader to judge how far I have modified them to 
 suit my dramatic purpose. A few notes are appended at the 
 end, for the benefit of those who care for original author- 
 ities and fuller detail. 
 
 6 
 
 i
 
 PREFATORY NOTE 
 
 The defeat and capture near Edessa, A.D. 260, of the 
 Roman Emperor Valerian by Sapor, King of Persia, was 
 followed by a period of anarchy, during which the Roman 
 provinces were harassed by incursions of the Goths and 
 other barbarians, and various individuals in different parts 
 of the Empire asserted their independence. The only 
 attempt to avenge the Roman defeat was made by Odena- 
 thus, a wealthy citizen of Palmyra, who gathered a force 
 among the Syrian towns, and chased Sapor back to 
 Ctesiphon, on the east of the Euphrates. The supineness 
 of Valerian's successor, Gallienus, was glad to recognise 
 Odenathus' achievement by the title of Augustus, with 
 authority over the East; and on his death in 267 his 
 widow, Zenobia, succeeded to his power, and gradually 
 extended her dominions by conquest or intrigue, till they 
 stretched from Egypt to Armenia, and from Bithynia to 
 the Euphrates. Gallienus died in 268 ; and his successor 
 Claudius, though resenting Zenobia's independence, was 
 too much occupied with the German tribes to take active 
 measures against her. He was succeeded in 270 by 
 Aurelian, the son of a Sirmian peasant, whom his own 
 character and fortune had raised from the ranks. He re- 
 formed the discipline of the army, defeated the Goths, 
 subdued a rising of the Alemanni on the Danube, and 
 finally turned his arms against Zenobia. By conquest or 
 treachery he mastered successively the towns of Asia 
 Minor, defeated her and her general Zabdas in two battles, 
 near Antioch and Emesa respectively, and at length shut 
 her up behind the impregnable fortifications of her capital 
 in the Palmyrene oasis. His demand for surrender was 
 met by a defiant reply, written, it is said, by the Greek 
 philosopher Longinus, who visiting Syria perhaps on family 
 affairs his mother was an Emesan had been induced to 
 
 7
 
 PREFATORY NOTE 
 
 act as the queen's tutor in Greek letters, and now occupied 
 a position of high responsibility as her political adviser. 
 But the return of Probus, who had been detached to con- 
 quer Egypt, enabled Aurelian to press the siege with greater 
 vigour ; and Zenobia, despairing of relief, effected her 
 escape through the Roman lines, and rode on a fleet 
 dromedary across the desert to the Euphrates, in the hope 
 of rousing Persian succours. She was pursued, overtaken 
 just as her boat was pushing off from the river-bank, and 
 brought back prisoner to Aurelian's camp ; her capture 
 being speedily followed by the surrender of the city, A.D. 
 273. The queen at first maintained her defiant attitude ; 
 but yielding at last to fears inspired by the clamours of the 
 soldiery, laid the blame of her resistance on Longinus and 
 other of her counsellors, who were put to death at Emesa. 
 She herself was conveyed to Rome, and compelled to walk, 
 laden with jewels, in front of Aurelian's triumphal car. 
 Her pride thus humbled, she was treated thereafter with 
 clemency. Aurelian presented her with a handsome villa 
 at Tibur, where she resided peaceably until her death. 
 
 Aurelian had hardly crossed into Europe on his home- 
 ward march, when news of a revolt of the Palmyrenes had 
 induced him to return and inflict a terrible chastisement. 
 Old men, women and children were included in the indis- 
 criminate massacre, and the splendid buildings and temples 
 of the city levelled with the ground. It was never rebuilt. 1 
 Its magnificent remains were discovered in 1691, and are 
 illustrated and described in the fine folio volume which 
 records the results of the visit of Messrs. Wood and 
 Dawkins in 1751. The latest record of Syrian exploration 
 is the interesting Palmyra and Zenobia of Dr. William 
 Wright (Nelson & Sons, 1895), whose long sojourn in the 
 East may excuse him for forgetting that the claims of 
 
 8
 
 PREFATORY NOTE 
 
 Zenobia's tutor, Longinus, to be the author of the famous 
 treatise On the Sublime are questioned by modern scholar- 
 ship. One cannot but share Mr. Lang's regret that the two 
 can hardly be so identified; his tribute to the uncertain 
 author of the treatise is most applicable to Aurelian's victim, 
 " who carried the soul of a poet, the heart of a hero, under 
 the gown of a professor. He was one of those whom 
 books cannot debilitate, nor a life of study incapacitate for 
 the study of life." * 
 
 LONDON, September 30, 1898. 
 
 1 Introduction to Mr. H. L. Havell's translation of Longinus on the 
 Sublime, p. xxxi. The arguments about the authorship are summarized 
 by Mr. Lang on pp. xvi.-xix. Opinion inclines to regard the author 
 as a contemporary of Plutarch, in the first century A.D.
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS 
 
 LONGINUS, a Greek Philosopher, on a visit to Syria. 
 ZABDAS, General of the armies of Palmyra. 
 SELEUCUS, Cousin to Zenobia, and Pretender to the throne of 
 Palmyra. 
 
 G BRIO \Hisfreedmen and confidants. 
 
 VABALATHUS, Son of Zenobia. 
 
 PAUL OF SAMOSATA, Patriarch of Antioch. 
 
 CLITUS, an Etnesan citizen of rank, cousin of Longinus. 
 
 PARMENIO, a Palmy rene Senator. 
 
 MlLO, a Goth, slave to Longinus. 
 
 ZACCH^EUS, a Jewish Merchant. 
 
 AURELIAN, Emperor of Rome. 
 
 MARCELLUS, a noble Roman on a secret mission from Aurelian. 
 
 PROBUS, one of Aureliaris Generals. 
 
 Lucius ^,\ RomanAmbassadors . 
 PETRONIUS, J 
 
 AN ARAB SHEIKH. 
 
 ZENOBIA, Queen of Palmyra and the East, -widow of Odenathus. 
 
 DlONE, daughter of Clitus and friend of Zenobia. 
 
 MYRRHA (or ZILLAH), a Hebrew slave, daughter of Zacchaus. 
 
 ASTERIE, FLAVIA, ANTONIA, CLELIA, and other Ladies of 
 Zenobids Court, Palmy rene Girls, Senators, Soldiers, 
 Traders and Citizens of Palmyra, Roman Officers and 
 Soldiers, Attendants, etc. 
 
 n
 
 SYNOPSIS OF SCENES 
 
 ACT I. Scene. Glade in a Forest near Emesa. 
 
 ACT II. Scene I. The Great Square of Palmyra. 
 II. Hall in Zenobia's Palace. 
 
 ACT III. Scene I. Cabinet in Zenobia's Apartments. 
 II. The Walls of Palmyra. 
 
 III. A Rocky Ravine on the edge of the 
 
 Oasis. 
 
 IV. The Desert near Corsote, on the 
 
 Euphrates. 
 
 ACT IV. Scene I. Hall in Zenobia's Palace. 
 
 II. TABLEAU. The Great Square of 
 Palmyra. 
 
 The action takes place in Syria, in the years 272-273 A.D. 
 A year elapses between Acts I. and II., and six months between 
 Acts-tH. 
 
 12
 
 ACT I 
 
 SCENE. Glade in a forest near Emesa in Syria, disclosing 
 a distant landscape, through which the Orontes wanders ; 
 the view crowned by the snowy summits of the Lebanon 
 range. A noise of horns is heard. Enter CLITUS and 
 LONGINUS : the former, considerably the elder, in short 
 hunting-dress ; the latter, a man of some forty-five years, 
 in a loose robe. Both carry hunting-spears. 
 
 CLITUS. This is the place. If the game break this way 
 We cannot fail to see her, and at her best. 
 Zenobia shines a-hunting : 'tis the next 
 To that grim sport she loves even better war. 
 Sure you remember this ? why, as a boy, 
 You knew these woods by heart. 
 
 LONGINUS. (Shaking his head.} Ay, but the mist 
 Of thirty years makes an uncertainty 
 Of what the boy loved best. 
 
 CLIT. And now you'll spare 
 
 A dozen meagre days ! Go you shall not ! 
 Scarce have you shaken off the desert dust 
 That soiled you, posting here from Antioch 
 A fortnight since, and now to horse again ? 
 
 LONG. Tis use of time that makes it long or short. 
 We have not idled. 
 
 CLIT. Argument for stay ! 
 
 These musty deeds and ancient testaments, 
 The buried world whose dust your coming stirred, ( J ) 
 Cheat us of common courtesies. 
 
 13
 
 ACT I. SCENE I 
 
 LONG. No, no ! 
 
 Your hospitable warmth will make us churls 
 When Athens welcomes you. But you'ld not guess 
 What nursery of impatient neophytes 
 Chafes at Longinus' absence, nor my fears 
 Lest others pay that toll of austere hours, 
 Which knowledge asks, to pleasure. I must go ! 
 
 CLIT. Out on it, schoolmaster ! the Athenian youth 
 Will ne'er be lost for a month's holiday. 
 Forget not, ay, and make not them forget, 
 You were young once. And, to be serious, 
 Cousin, 'twere well your gravity cast eyes 
 On something whiter than a manuscript. 
 Emesa and Palmyra boast their fair. 
 Good chance if, following in his father's steps, 
 Longinus' choice should find in Syria 
 The pearl which Athens yielded not. 
 
 LONG. You jest ! 
 
 CLIT. Not a whit ! You are not urchin-proof. But stay, 
 And prove it false. 
 
 LONG. (Half annoyed.} This merry vein in Greece 
 Would furnish a week's laughter. One whose bark 
 Has long found rest in thought's still anchorage, 
 Lightly yields half his time, two-thirds of his goods, 
 And all his liberty, to the first fair face 
 Met on a holiday ! Sure the filching years 
 Bring compensating wisdom, that can read 
 The flattering legend in a woman's eyes, 
 And not become her plaything. But you jest ! 
 Let him who looks for wedded happiness 
 Marry in youth, like thee. 
 
 CLIT. Be it as you will : 
 
 Yet you may stay awhile. (Aside.} This bachelor vein
 
 ACT I. SCENE I 
 
 Will ruin us yet ! 'Tis in the family. 
 Never a man of 'em but kicked and plunged 
 At the bare mention oft. Why, I myself 
 (Aloud.) A welcome reinforcement ! 
 
 (Enter DIONE, in hunting dress and carrying spear.) 
 
 Try your hand 
 Upon this obstinacy. Make him stay. 
 
 DIONE. Why ! must we spend a rivalry of tongues 
 To keep him, coming once to Syria 
 Once in a life ! a jot beyond the space 
 A musty business craves ? What ! talk of going 
 Almost before he has dined and slept, before 
 His weary dromedary has drunk her fill 
 Or slipped her saddle-bags ? He tires of us ! 
 We are simple, tedious folk ! 
 
 LONG. What our worst foe 
 
 Could never credit, we may safely urge 
 Against ourselves. 
 
 Di. (Curtseying.) Compliment cannot save 
 
 The unheard-of solecism of such haste. 
 I have it ! 'Tis some demure Athenian's eyes, 
 Grown sore with crying ere this, poor little soul ! 
 He must relieve her suffering. 
 
 LONG. Your fair self 
 
 Might keep me chained in Syria till I wore 
 Years and a gown more lightly, but I owe 
 Duty in Athens. 
 
 Di. Oh, these staid young men ! 
 
 Whose only thought is study, who deplore 
 Their master's absence, actively resent 
 The injury of unlooked-for holidays ! 
 I think I will not visit Athens yet ! 
 Why didst not bring us an Athenian youth ? 
 
 15
 
 ACT I. SCENE I 
 
 We would have shewn him as a specimen 
 
 Of rarest note, one strangely overlooked 
 
 By Pliny : you poke it gently with a pole, 
 
 Or turn it loose unto some pretty face ; 
 
 That makes it scuttle quickest. 
 
 CLIT. Saucy girl ! 
 
 Ne'er heed her, Cassius. (Horns in the distance.} 
 Dio. Hark ! they're found again ! 
 
 Come, father ! 
 
 CLIT. Come along, Cassius ! (Exeunt CLI. and Di., 
 shouting. LONG, makes some steps to follow them, then 
 stops, humorously contemplating the spear he carries} 
 LONG. Of small use 
 
 To one who scarce could handle it, and perhaps 
 
 Would not if he could ! One wretched brute the more 
 
 In the list of the day's victims, one more head 
 
 To glare in impotent ferocity 
 
 Over the feasting hall so poor a prize 
 
 Mocks the expense of effort. (Leans his spear against a 
 tree-trunk, and seating himself at the foot, takes out a 
 manuscript.} Where was I ? Ah ! 
 
 (Begins reading, but very soon his attention wanders} 
 
 Not " urchin-proof " ? What folly ! And I must needs 
 
 Loiter in Syria till some mincing jade, 
 
 Some poppet with a pair of pouting lips, 
 
 Or stalwart champion of this rebel-queen's 
 
 The Amazon in chief assuage my pains, 
 
 Reward a six months' dangling at her skirts 
 
 By robbing life henceforth of peace, kind thoughts, 
 
 Perchance fair fame ! What else is to expect 
 
 From marriage now ? and how to learn again 
 
 The pretty tricks easy at twenty-five ? (A pause. ) 
 
 Once, I remember, on an evening 
 
 16
 
 ACT I. SCENE I 
 
 That drowned Cithgeron's peaks in rosy light, 
 
 I met old Sophron's daughter coming down 
 
 The thyme-slopes of Hymettus, on her cheek 
 
 The flush of happy girlhood, in her hair 
 
 Rich store of glowing violets, herself 
 
 The violet of Athens, gentle, pure, 
 
 Sweet and clear-hearted as Ilissus' stream. 
 
 And o'er me, noting her fresh grace, sweet thoughts 
 
 Swept like a breeze of spring. Within a week 
 
 Was Sophron offering tears and sacrifice 
 
 To heedless gods for fair Alcmena's life ! 
 
 She died. Again, long after, at a feast, 
 
 Amid the flow of wine and witty talk, 
 
 Across the roses and the marble gleamed 
 
 The arresting magic of a rounded arm, 
 
 Uplifted to imprison a wilful tress 
 
 Strayed from the netted glory of a head 
 
 That turned, and met my gaze with lucent eyes 
 
 Deep as the blue Aegean ; and all my life 
 
 Leapt into passion for her womanhood ! 
 
 It passed : she wedded with Callimachus, 
 
 And pleases now nor me, herself, nor him. 
 
 But now to love, now, in the mellowing year 
 
 Ay ! doubtless I am grown the fitting mate 
 
 For birth, or beauty's drowned intelligence, 
 
 Whose emptiness conceives she condescends 
 
 Upon a bookman ; whose dull vanity 
 
 Deems him her dupe that stays to study her 
 
 Heedless of twistings ; whose poor stunted heart 
 
 Bows to the mask of things, and knows it not ! 
 
 Heaven help a man from such ! What dreaming's this ? 
 
 A short month's truancy to play such tricks 
 
 Upon a sober brain ! Ay, I must home ! 
 
 Z. 17 B
 
 ACT I. SCENE I 
 
 No more of it ! (Resumes reading, and becomes absorbed. 
 Enters hastifyZvfio*\ A, asple ndid brunette, whose beauty 
 her thirty-five years of life have been quite unable to im- 
 pair. She, too, is in hunting dress, and carries a spear.} 
 ZEN. Did you see him ? 
 LONG. ( Without looking up.) Eh ? 
 ZEN. (Pausing, but still looking of R.) The boar, man ! 
 
 did you see him ? 
 He must have passed close here. 
 
 LONG. (Not interested.) Indeed. 
 
 ZEN. The glade 
 
 Is barred that end : he'll back this way, depend on't ! 
 LONG. ( With much calm.) I trust not. 
 ZEN. We shall have him ! Keep sharp look-out ! 
 
 (Dashes o/R. LONG, continues his reading. After a short 
 
 interval re-enter ZEN., breathless!) 
 ZEN. We have missed him somehow ! 
 LONG. (Continuing his reading!) Ah! 
 ZEN. (Seating herself on a stump.) The tiresome beast ! 
 LONG. (As before.) Very. 
 
 ZEN. (Observing him attentively for the first time aside.) 
 Some foreigner ! He knows me not. 
 (Aloud.) Why, sir, you are reading ! 
 
 LONG. (Looking up, mildly.) Madam, that is so ; 
 
 I often do it. 
 
 ZEN. (Pointing to his spear.) Yet you came to hunt. 
 LONG. Did I ? Ah, to be sure I must have done. 
 I am reading now. (Resumes MS.) ZEN. (Amused.) May I 
 know what you read ? (Crosses and looks over his shoulder.) 
 Greek ! why, 'tis Plato, is it not ? 
 
 LONG. Quite right. 
 
 I am fond of Plato. 
 
 ZEN. And which dialogue ? 
 
 18
 
 ACT I. SCENE I 
 
 LONG. (More interested. ) 'Tis the Titruzus, where he depre- 
 cates Ambition. 
 
 ZEN. Ah ! what does he say on that ? 
 
 (Crosses and re-seats herself?) 
 
 LONG. He hasn't much opinion of it indeed 
 Regards it as a toil, entangling men 
 Who might have risen to greatness. 
 
 ZEN. Might have risen ! 
 
 The unambitious could not. 
 
 LONG. He would have 
 
 His ruler such as least desires to rule ; 
 A lover of the shade, that must be forced 
 Into the chair of power, and disdains 
 To push and clamour for it. 
 
 ZEN. And do you hold 
 
 The teaching valid ? 
 
 LONG. Surely. 
 
 ZEN. To what end 
 
 Should excellence hide itself? 'Twould deaden all 
 That lifts us from the brute inaugurate 
 Chaos' recovered empire, leaving earth 
 A saddened waste of palsied impulses. 
 Such wisdom would have thrown to idleness 
 Parrhasius' brush, the tool of Pheidias ; 
 Ne'er had the canvas burned or marble breathed 
 Art could have found no utterance ! then in deed 
 Had darkness veiled the lamp of Homer's orbs, 
 A silence sealed the fount of Sophocles, 
 And left the music of the world unsung. 
 Then had our gorgeous Temple of the Sun, 
 Where entering now, the lowliest Palmyrene 
 Feels on his brow some breath of majesty,
 
 ACT I. SCENE I 
 
 Slept in Ariston's soul, a formless dream ! 
 Nay, Earth herself, this glorious theatre, 
 Forest and soaring peak and sounding sea, 
 Sending its jubilant universal shout 
 Into His ears who made it, ne'er had risen 
 Perfection from the abyss. 
 
 LONG. (Regarding her critically.} Yes, you plead well ! 
 But 'tis not Art he speaks of, though even there 
 His thought divined a sophistry mere shows, 
 Shadows distorting truth ! He speaks of life, 
 Mourning in all the votaries of power 
 The blight of nobler thoughts. 
 
 ZEN. A nemesis 
 
 Of power ill-got ! But all power is not so. 
 Think what the world owes to this potent spur, 
 This sovereign scorn of common victories, 
 This glow of the heart, this fire in the brain, this star 
 That beacons forth on lonely pilgrimage, 
 Cheer of dull days, lamp of the toilsome nights, 
 Bright wreath of an imperial desire 
 That, woven about long years of drudgery, 
 Transfigures them to glory ! Not from those 
 Meshed in the silken fetters of content, 
 From cunning self-belittlers, or sleek souls 
 That quake for cavil of an envious tongue, 
 Comes the great thought that thunders at men's hearts 
 The glorious act, parent of thousand acts 
 That roll a trumpet-note about the world 
 The life that leaves a darkness and a cry, 
 Telling that on Earth's bitter coast, where all 
 That's fair and noble withers, there has shone 
 The very gleam of godhead. 
 
 LONG. Deity 
 
 20
 
 ACT I. SCENE I 
 
 Shines of itself, without the smoky glare 
 Lent by ambition's torch ; that but o'erclouds 
 The milder radiance. 
 
 ZEN. (Impatiently.} 'Tis lucky, sir, 
 Zenobia hears you not. 
 
 LONG. Zenobia 
 
 Is never like to hear me. Kings and queens 
 Set such high rate upon philosophy, 
 They keep it locked from use. 
 
 ZEN. (Passionately.} What chemic skill 
 
 Can make assay of hearts ? Surely her sway 
 Is not all selfish ? In our Persian wars, 
 When Rome lay helpless, Odenathus rose, 
 Gathered the desert-horsemen round himself, 
 Chased the invader back to Ctesiphon, 
 And reigned henceforward undisputed king 
 Over the realm he rescued. Was not this 
 The fair, inevitable consequence 
 Of that brave action ? Hence Zenobia's power ! 
 And, did you know Palmyra, you would call 
 Her people happy, prosperous you would see 
 How from their loyal pride nobility 
 Wells up as from a fountain, making them 
 A race of heroes, great in art and arms. 
 Such surely is the rule that Plato loved, 
 Even though engrossed by one ! 
 
 LONG. It may be so : 
 
 I know not. Is it unselfishness or pride 
 That decks her son in the purple, ( 2 ) and invites 
 The emperor's vengeance for prerogatives 
 Thus openly invaded ? 
 
 ZEN. (Aside.} 'Tis too much ! 
 
 (Aloud} Who are you, sir, that thus presume to judge 
 
 21
 
 ACT I. SCENE I 
 
 Palmyra's policy ? Why is she not 
 
 Worthy to rival Rome, whose arm can school 
 
 Rome's conqueror ? Makes not Sapor even now 
 
 His footstool of a captive emperor,( 3 ) 
 
 While Italy's craven Senate smiles or sleeps, 
 
 Or smarts, save for Zenobia, unavenged ? 
 
 Let Romans grudge the sway they could not keep ; 
 
 The breastplate of the empire is its peer ! 
 
 LONG. In Gallienus' time, or Claudius', ay ! 
 To-day the sceptre feels a mightier grasp. 
 Aurelian will never share his power 
 Even with Zenobia, as your fiery queen 
 Will learn perchance too late. 
 
 ZEN. ( With a burst of anger.} Now by the gods 
 Schooling awaits Aurelian's pride, not hers ! 
 
 And you, sir Oracle (She checks herself, and gazes fixedly 
 
 at LONGINUS.) 
 
 (Aside.) Why should I be wroth ? 
 He speaks of what he knows, Rome and her power : 
 Palmyra he knows not, and cannot guess 
 The measure of that ignorance. 
 
 (Horns again in the distance. She rises.) 
 
 (Aloud.) Meanwhile 
 You will allow us, sir, to dine and sleep 
 Much as before, I trust. I am rested now, 
 And must rejoin her highness. Fare you well, 
 Unless we meet at Court. 
 
 LONG. (Also rising.) Madam, farewell ! ( With re- 
 covered dignity she goes slowly out.) 
 And to a comely disputant ! What fire 
 Shone in her words, her looks ! This Syrian queen 
 May plead excuse for pride, if she herself 
 Outshine her women. What if 'twere herself? 
 
 22
 
 ACT I. SCENE I 
 
 Zenobia ! that imperiousness the touch 
 Half scornful, as of one unused to plead ! 
 Dullard, not to have guessed ! Yet, if I had, 
 What sugared phrase of courtesy could instil 
 The lesson that must storm a royal ear 
 Or drop unheeded ? Better as it is, 
 Save for some touch of bitterness, perchance, 
 That ever arms the hearer 'gainst itself. 
 Am I grown sour ? Almost she made me feel 
 Thersites, snarling at an excellence 
 Beyond himself ! Well, I spoke truth, no more : 
 The event concerns me not. To-morrow, then, 
 For Antioch, and so to Greece ! I have strayed 
 Too far afield, and stayed too long ! These eyes 
 Are cloister-weak, and dazzle in the sun : 
 They must to shade again : they have their task, 
 One that lies wide enough of queens and courts, 
 And statecraft, though 'tis tortuous too, like that : 
 Work like the mole's, that patient engineer, 
 Who labours in the dark with none to heed, 
 Ignorant of his own futility, 
 Still pushing on his winding weariness 
 Untired, until the winter, hardening down, 
 Numbs him ; and all his idle tunnelling, 
 His empty, unintelligible maze, 
 Lies darkling ; and at length some whistling hind 
 With idly-curious implement lays bare 
 The painful labyrinth, and stares, and laughs, 
 And stamps it out indifferent. 
 
 (Re-enter ZENOBIA, CLITUS, and DIONE, together with VABA- 
 LATHUS, ZABDAS, SELEUCUS, GLABRIO, BISHOP OF 
 ANTIOCH, and other courtiers, huntsmen, etc.) 
 VAB. 'Twas my spear ! 
 
 23
 
 ACT I. SCENE I 
 
 The brute is mine, let him deny it who dare ! 
 I smote him fairly, as one day I'll smite 
 Rome and her peasant emperor. 
 
 SELEU. (Sneeringly aside to GLAB.) Kingly spoke ! 
 Verily, Glabrio, our unkind thoughts 
 Have slandered our fair cousin : that last touch 
 Was the right Odenathus ! 
 
 GLAB. (Aside in same tone.) I confess 
 A kind of braggart likeness ! 
 
 ZEN. (To VABALATHUS.) Gentle son, 
 Your valour is not questioned : 'tis assumed 
 In Odenathus' race ; and 'tis more wise 
 For power to make no promise till it grasp 
 The instrument of performance, nay, to make 
 Action the heir of its resolve, not words ; 
 So, keeping silence till the action's ripe, 
 No enemy forestalls our purposes ; 
 And, if ill-fortune beggar our intent, 
 No creditor insults our bankruptcy, 
 Being unknown. We have had sport enough 
 To-day : now, home ! To-morrow to Palmyra ! 
 And to you, fair one (to Di.), we'll be mendicant 
 For company thither. You are no stranger here. (Hand- 
 ing DIONE to her ladies.) 
 Clitus, we have your leave ? 
 
 (Cur., who has been conferring with LONG., now comes for- 
 ward with him.) 
 
 CLIT. Your highness heaps 
 
 Our house with such an ever-growing debt, 
 As service comes too short of ; so I yield 
 Dione, though methinks the headstrong girl 
 Were better plague her father still at home. 
 
 24
 
 ACT I. SCENE I 
 
 But here is weightier offering, one whose fame 
 (Presenting LONG.) Is loud already in your highness' ears, 
 Cassius Longinus.( 4 ) 
 
 ZEN. (Recognising him.} Our philosopher ! 
 Indeed we are no strangers. 
 
 LONG. (With a low reverence.} But unless 
 Your highness can be generous, I must wish 
 We had remained so. 
 
 ZEN. Nay, sir, no excuse ! 
 
 Your speech at least was honest ; and a queen 
 Must often purchase truth at such a rate, 
 As makes her prize the gift of it ! Welcome, sir ! 
 Your name is apt upon our Syrian tongues 
 As that of Plato's self, though hitherto 
 Athens, a niggard of her opulence, 
 Hath spared you not to visit Syria. 
 
 LONG. A lack of opportunity, not will. 
 
 ZEN. Being here, we keep you, sir. Philosophy 
 Never condemns unheard ; and our poor East, 
 Barbarous long, and neighbour to the night, 
 Hath in four centuries of Europe's rule 
 Taken the tinge of dawn, the touch of art. 
 Our progress ended, we are now for home. 
 Our palace at Palmyra holds perchance 
 Some statue, or a gem, or manuscript 
 Worth even Longinus' notice. 
 
 LONG. Else 'twere strange ! 
 
 Palmyra is the story of the world. 
 Even Rome confesses there a grace that sends 
 Her dignity of centuries to school, 
 And makes her in her famous seven-hilled seat 
 Some Scythian metropolis. 
 
 ZEN. (Smiling.} Why now 
 
 2 5
 
 ACT I. SCENE I 
 
 How idle seem our momentary qualms 
 
 At your Athenian severity, 
 
 Your snarling Cynic candour, hearing thus 
 
 The Cyrenaic honey, the smooth tongue 
 
 Of Aristippus, flowing from that mouth 
 
 On whose least word attentive Athens hangs ! 
 
 But you must school us further. 
 
 LONG. I am ashamed 
 
 Of so ungracious answer, but each hour 
 Rebukes my truancy, each moment calls 
 Loudly to Greece. 
 
 ZEN. Come, I must change your plans. 
 
 (ZEN. and LONG, retire up.} 
 
 CLIT. (To SELEUCUS.) Tut, sir, what matter for a girl's 
 
 sharp speech ? 
 
 They will be ever uttering such light coin, 
 Unstamped, unminted. 
 
 SEL. Ay, and a man's repute 
 
 Is the mere target of their tattling tongues, 
 If he forget to unbonnet, or omit 
 Some silly phrase, or dare indifference 
 To a smirched and painted face ! 
 
 CLIT. Pooh ! and what then ? 
 
 Character lies not in their estimate. 
 
 Di. Why, what's the tale about Seleucus now ? 
 
 ASTERIE. His lordship's name is ever in our mouths. 
 
 FLAVIA. We seldom speak of any other theme. 
 
 ANTONIA. The Court without that subject would be dull 
 As a Sarmatian winter. Heaven forbid 
 He should forsake us. 
 
 CLELIA. Hush ! don't speak of it ! 
 
 Our cynosure, our model ! on whose lips 
 We hang, indoors ; whose litter, in the street, 
 
 26
 
 ACT I. SCENE I 
 
 Is our pursuit ; whose every gesture teems 
 With hints of grace for us ! 
 
 ASTERIE. Why, but for that 
 
 We seldom stir abroad, except perchance 
 For shoe or fan whose shape or shade he affects : 
 We dress by his direction. 
 
 FLAVIA. That is why 
 
 Yellow and green are worn now. 
 
 CLITUS. How many more ? 
 
 Rescue, my lord of Antioch ! 
 
 BISHOP OF ANTIOCH. (Advancing to the group?) Pardon me, 
 Ladies, Seleucus is not understood ; 
 His honesty's his foe. 
 
 SEL. (Bitterly.} Ay, call a priest 
 When women have the colic ! 'Tis well known 
 The bishop has the sweetest devotees 
 Among his flock at Antioch. (Turns angrily away.} 
 
 BP. OF ANT. Abroad 
 
 Seleucus must be plain ; but in his house 
 He is politeness' pink, the school of form ; 
 He stabbed a slave of his the other day 
 Only for sneezing when he spoke. The rogue 
 Was dense enough to die, and never thanked 
 Seleucus for his lesson ! Flavia, 
 When do you visit Antioch? (Retires with FLA.) 
 
 DIONE. (To ZABDAS, who is watching ZEN. and LONG.) 
 
 My lord, 
 Zabdas ! 
 
 ZAB. (Aside.} Another of these subtle Greeks ! 
 We shall be all philosophers anon, 
 Scholiasts, sophists ! 'twill be a defect 
 To speak what may be merely understood : 
 A man must tease and twist and turn his phrase 
 
 27
 
 ACT I. SCENE I 
 
 As 'twere a whipster's top. 
 
 Di. (Louder.} Good day, my lord ! 
 
 ZAB. (Still unheeding.} Plague on the dainty trick of it ! 
 
 I think 
 
 If Plato's ghost should whisper her, she'ld change 
 Sceptre for staff, and toss her crown away. 
 Since words became the only currency, 
 Plain soldier goes for naught ! 
 
 Di. (Mortified.} Well, I must choose 
 
 Some other time. 
 
 ZAB. (Starting.} Pardon me ! I forget ! 
 
 Di. Where is your greeting for a three years' friend 
 Not seen for twice three months ? 
 
 ZAB. Pardon, again. 
 
 I was lost in nothing ! How goes time with you ? 
 
 Di. Why, when at home a lady dreams of court ; 
 At court, perchance of home. 
 
 ZAB. (Absently.} You travel with us ? 
 
 Di. (Impatiently.} What can it signify? When may 
 
 we look 
 
 For your Zenobiad ? You will turn poet, sure ! 
 But, follow that theme farewell our general ! 
 
 ZAB. (Coldly.} I read no riddles, and for poetry 
 I have some native incapacity 
 That guarantees my soldiership. 
 
 ZEN. (Coming down with LONG.) Too keen ! 
 Nor have we any remedy but yourself. 
 Come, you remain with us. Our manifold cares 
 Make Plato strange of late : your kindly aid 
 Shall make us friends again, and you can learn 
 Our Syriac. 
 
 LONG. Nay, nay ! it cannot be ; 
 Though the refusal's a discourtesy 
 
 28
 
 ACT I. SCENE I 
 
 That irks me sorely. 
 
 (Enter MILO with a letter.) 
 
 Milo ! have you news ? 
 Madam, his face seems urgent : with your leave. 
 
 (Reads letter apart, ZENOBIA seating herself on a fallen 
 tree-trunk.) 
 
 ZAB. Tis ever thus with these philosophers ! 
 They cannot eat, nor pass the time of day, 
 Hardly so much as nod, but some affair 
 Levies a tax on such frivolities, 
 And with a scant " Pardon, dear sir ! " they stand, 
 Lips pursed, brows bent, Deliberation's self, 
 Stroking a length of untrimmed beard, while we 
 Plain folk who do the business of the world 
 May kick our heels and whistle ! 
 
 ZEN. To a tune 
 
 Not over charitable ! Have you heard 
 Of Sapor stirring, Egypt in revolt, 
 Or Pontus, that you cannot spare our guest 
 Time for a letter ? Are we back at school, 
 To have our hours so numbered ? 
 
 LONG. (To ZENOBIA.) I have news 
 
 Of gravest import, news that touch yourself : 
 So please you for the matter's sake to excuse 
 Familiar phrase, read, madam. 
 
 ZEN. What you hold 
 
 Important, shall command our scrutiny. 
 
 (Reads.) " Phronto of Athens ( 5 ) to his nephew Diony- 
 sius Cassius Longinus sends greeting. You had barely 
 been gone a week when there sailed into the Piraeus five 
 hundred vessels of the barbarians. Our walls being in 
 ruins, they captured the city almost without resistance, and 
 the seat of the Muses was in the hands of the Goths ! The 
 
 29
 
 ACT I. SCENE I 
 
 opportunity was not to be lost. Forthwith they ransacked 
 the libraries and rummaged every corner for books, and 
 piling them all in the middle of the agora, were about to 
 set them alight when some wiseacre suggested that, without 
 books, we might betake ourselves to arms. Picture your 
 aged and corpulent relative exercising as a hoplite ! But 
 we cannot be too thankful for this old idiot ; and I have 
 vowed three talents to Athena, on your account. The 
 precious manuscripts were spared ; and by diligent search 
 I have recovered ours. Indeed, our library seems some- 
 what fuller than before, but I shall lodge no complaint 
 about this. A week later Dexippus with some peasants 
 burnt and sunk many of their ships ; moreover, the 
 Emperor, who is of an incredible celerity, was rumoured 
 to be moving; so they drew off into Thrace. But all 
 lectures have ceased, and nothing but drill is going forward. 
 You cannot protect us, and would certainly be captured by 
 the Goths, for the ^gean swarms with them. Stay with 
 the excellent Clitus, and commend me to him. Your 
 treatises are safe, except some leaves of your last answer to 
 Plotinus, which Lyce, the cook, had got hold of for her 
 pastry and quince preserves. The cheesecakes, however, 
 are not seriously the worse. 
 
 "Cleodamus, the Emperor's engineer, sent hither by the 
 Gulf, reports that Aurelian, when he has subdued the 
 Goths, purposes marching into Asia with all his force his 
 object as yet unknown. A man, I hear, who will do all 
 things for himself ! see, judge, speak, act for himself ! and 
 Emperor too ! Was ever one so insensible of the good gifts 
 of Providence ? But there is disturbance also at Rome. 
 
 "The gods preserve your health and appetite. Don't 
 forget to have Milo soundly flogged at proper intervals. 
 Farewell ! " 
 
 30
 
 ACT I. SCENE I 
 
 (Returning letter to LONGINUS.) 
 A heavy freight for such a bark ! This news 
 Will lend our Council-board a gravity 
 
 Would make your uncle yawn. (Aside.) Rumour of Goths 
 Passed in Ancyra, but I marked it not. 
 An eastern expedition, and no word 
 To us ! He is secret, then, as well as swift. 
 And yet, what matters it ? Zenobia, 
 Who sways the East from Nile to Caucasus, 
 Need never blench, even though decrepit Rome, 
 Awaking from her sleep of twenty years, 
 Snarl like an old and toothless lioness 
 Who, from that cave, so dreaded once, beholds 
 Upland and plain, her ancient territory, 
 Ranged with free foot by all the forest tribes ; 
 And glares, and loathes her impotence ; till at last, 
 Pinched by dire famine, she essays with pain 
 Some feeble sally, by her agile foes 
 Eluded easily, and anon limps home, 
 Hunger and wrath unsatisfied, to die ! 
 (Aloud.) Zabdas, thine ear ! Is Sapor or ourself 
 The threatened mark ? 
 
 ZAB. Palmyra, madam ! yet 
 
 The tale may be invented to amuse 
 Seditious Italy ; for hardly yet 
 Is he firm-seated in the imperial chair. 
 Trouble at home, the ravage of the Goths, 
 And on the north the brooding thunder-cloud 
 Of Germany, ever threatening to pour 
 War in a torrent down the Alpine sides : 
 These should suffice ! 
 
 ZEN. Ay, ay ! 
 
 ZAB. And these suppressed, 
 
 3 1
 
 ACT I. SCENE I 
 
 His fainting arms o'erleap the Bosphorus 
 
 To meet on Asian fields your unbreathed hosts, 
 
 Your bows, your steel-clad horse : in the last resort 
 
 Palmyra, with her bursting granaries, 
 
 Bristling with engines, walled impregnably, 
 
 Set in a smiling paradise that yields 
 
 Its fruits and waters freely to her sons, 
 
 But, past the verdurous circle of her palms, 
 
 Encompassed by a mighty solitude, 
 
 A waste of whirling sand and whitening bones. 
 
 What need we fear ? 
 
 ZEN. Truly 'tis idle. (Flourish without.') Hark ! 
 
 (Enter ATTENDANT.) 
 
 ATTEND. Lucius Agrippa and Petronius, 
 Ambassadors from the emperor, request 
 Audience. 
 
 ZEN. Conduct them hither. (Exit ATTENDT.) Now 
 
 will our doubts 
 Be satisfied. 
 
 (Re-enter ATTENDT. with AGRIPPA and PETRONIUS.) 
 
 AGRIP. Zenobia, we are charged 
 With Augustus' greeting. Till the Goths receive 
 Due chastisement, the East must still lament 
 The imperial neglect ; but he demands, 
 Making no question of your willingness, 
 Your contribution of ten thousand troops 
 To meet him at the Haemus. Hearing, too, 
 Of a seditious bishop, Paul, who fills( 6 ) 
 The office of ducbnary, he desires 
 You would refuse him further countenance, 
 Tendering the general weal, in Italy 
 As here. 
 
 (A pause. Then ZEN. speaks in a quiet , musing voice.} 
 32
 
 ACT I. SCENE I 
 
 ZEN. Good Lucius, does the Emperor 
 Read much ? 
 
 AGRIP. (Surprised.} I know not, madam. 
 
 ZEN. (Same quiet tone.} His affairs 
 
 With Goths, and Germans, and Italian priests 
 Leave him, we fear, scant leisure for those arts 
 Which cheat our day : he has not heard, perhaps, 
 A certain fable that we call to mind, 
 In ysop or Demetrius how once 
 A wood-cutter in mortal fear of the lion 
 Contrived, on some pretence of friendliness, 
 To draw his teeth and cut his claws ; that done, 
 Cudgelled him at his pleasure. 
 
 AGRIP. Gracious queen ! 
 
 This is no answer. 
 
 ZEN. ( With a bitter laugh} Truly 'tis a tale 
 Incredible, wild, not worth your master's ear. 
 (Sternly} Carry this answer to Aurelian. 
 
 (The scene gradually darkens, the sky becoming overcast} 
 Since Sapor chased Rome's armies oversea, 
 Palmyra has forgotten to expect 
 An emperor's visit ; unneeded, while she stands 
 To front his enemy. How good Bishop Paul 
 Can trouble Italy is not made clear ; 
 Therefore he keeps his office. As for troops, 
 Asia is threatened by the tide of Goths 
 No less than Europe ; Sapor on the east 
 Asks vigilance ; and we may have to meet 
 Foes yet more dangerous. (Rising} Tell the emperor 
 Zenobia loves her warriors too well 
 To spill their blood upon a chance request ; 
 Say that she needs not yet its outpouring 
 Upon the slopes of Hsemus ; when she does, 
 
 z- 33 c
 
 ACT I. SCENE I 
 
 She'll send no petty quota, but with all 
 The Orient's gathered valour march herself 
 To share their perils and their victories. 
 Before that, not a man ! 
 
 (Resumes her seat amid murmurs of applause from the 
 Palmyrenes: then seeing the Ambassadors stand in silent 
 amazement, she adds.) 
 
 You are answered, sirs. 
 
 AGRIP. (Rousing himself.) And may the gods forefend 
 
 the consequence, 
 
 Most fatal else ! Zenobia can foresee 
 The effect of this ? 
 
 ZEN. (Proudly.) There's none she needs to fear ! 
 
 AGRIP. Then, since our task's so speedily discharged 
 
 ZEN. Nay, Lucius ! Lucius ! the cold courtesy 
 We must deem fitting for your master's pride, 
 Extends not to his messenger. Leave us not 
 In angry haste : but let some gentler hours 
 Redeem our forced ungraciousness. 
 
 AGRIP. A charge 
 
 Most strict forbids. 
 
 BOTH AMB. We humbly take our leave. 
 
 (They salute her, and exeunt. As they go out, SELEUCUS 
 calls GLABRIO aside and whispers him.) 
 
 SEL. (Aside to GLABRIO.) Follow the legates quickly; 
 
 say there's yet 
 
 A further message : bid them not depart 
 Till they have seen myself. 
 
 [Exit GLABRIO.] 
 
 ZEN. (To ZABDAS.) Have I done well? 
 
 ZAB. Most like your royal self, and therefore well. 
 
 ZEN. (To SELEUCUS.) Seleucus? 
 
 SEL. Why ! your highness burned for war, 
 
 And now you have it 
 
 34
 
 ACT I. SCENE I 
 
 ZEN. (To LONGINUS.) And you, our newest friend? 
 
 LONG. Madam, I must not blame, I dare not praise. 
 Danger is not yet imminent ; when it nears 
 
 ZEN. We shall know how to meet it ! Meantime, sir, 
 Almost we might command ; but, since our writ 
 Runs not as yet across the Hellespont, 
 We will entreat your company to beguile 
 Our desert-march. Once in our capital, 
 Be master of your leisure, and to ours 
 Ever most welcome. 
 
 LONG. (Slowly and gravely.} Can your highness grant 
 That in all days to come, whate'er may chance, 
 I shall be free to speak as fearlessly, 
 And you will heed as closely, as to-day ? 
 
 ZEN. (After a pause.') Yes, I will promise that. 
 
 LONG. Then I will come. 
 
 (He kneels and kisses her hand.) 
 The great gods shelter you ! 
 
 ZEN. (Passionately -face and arm uplifted to the darkened 
 
 sky.) They will ! They do ! 
 (A long low roll of thunder is heard as the CURTAIN falls.) 
 
 END OF ACT I. 
 
 35
 
 ACT II 
 
 [A year has passed.] 
 
 SCENE i. PALMYRA. The great square. Tfie Portico of 
 the Temple of the Sun, of Corinthian order, is vist'Me 
 on the right. On the steps leading up to it are ranged 
 a body of Priests of the Sun, facing the sunrise. A 
 band of youths and maidens kneel upon the lower steps. 
 Other buildings visible, of white marble richly decorated 
 with columns and carving, standing among palm-trees. 
 The stage is occupied by Palmyrene traders setting up 
 trestle booths, who arrest their ivork while the Priests 
 sing the 
 
 MORNING HYMN 
 
 King ! whose throne is boundless sky, 
 
 Traveller of eternity ! 
 
 Power ! whose animating heat 
 
 Bids life's every pulse to beat ; 
 
 Moving 'mid the burning throng, 
 
 Prince of Light and fount of Song, 
 
 Be our vows to thee addressed, 
 
 Purest, strongest, loveliest ! 
 
 Ageless Lamp, whose daily birth 
 Age on age hath gladdened earth, 
 Whose wide kiss hath newly pressed 
 Dome and wave and mountain-crest 
 Spare to youth its crown of flowers, 
 Gild those unreturning hours ! 
 Youthful feet may lightly stray : 
 Strong Path-keeper ! guard their way. 
 36
 
 ACT II. SCENE I 
 
 King ! that travellest on high, 
 All lies open to thine eye : 
 Shed thy day in darkened heart, 
 Medicine all its hidden smart. 
 In thy hand lies every gift ; 
 To thy beam our prayer we lift : 
 Shower upon us all thy best, 
 Purest, strongest, loveliest ! 
 
 (The Priests retire into the Temple, and the traders resume 
 their work.} 
 
 IST TRAD. (A fruitseller, lazily arranging booth.} Good 
 day, Demetrius. 
 
 ZND TRAD. (Ditto, similarly, but energetically, employed 
 to his boy.} Now, Ganio, stir about ! (Carelessly to IST 
 TRAD.) Ah! good day, good day! (To boy.} Run the 
 awning up to shelter those peaches. 
 
 IST TRAD. Well now, if you ask me, a touch of sun'ld 
 be a real kindness to that lot. (In a loud aside to another 
 trader.} Hie, Ctesipho ! there's a man will be in the Senate 
 before he's fifty ; or else the cemetery. Look you there ! 
 Flesh and blood'll never stand it. (Contemplates DEM'S 
 activity with arms akimbo.} 
 
 3RD TRAD. Where's Chremes ? Isn't the commission 
 back from Aphaca ? (") 
 
 4TH TRAD. Back last night. 
 
 3RD TRAD. How fared the offering ? 
 
 4TH TRAD. Ill enough : robes and cups floated, instead 
 of sinking. They stayed a week over time, making sacri- 
 fice to Venus; but 'twas no use. Something must have 
 angered the goddess. 
 
 IST TRAD. Well, we must kiss Glauce and Lycbris the 
 harder ! That's the complaint I make against fellows like 
 
 37 
 
 430370
 
 ACT II. SCENE I 
 
 Demetrius : they shirk these duties. So selfish ! I'd have 
 this sort of thing made penal. 
 
 (Enter various Citizens : traders retire to their several 
 booths. Enter CLITUS and PARMENIO, a Senator, meeting,") 
 
 FARM. What! Clitus? old friend Clitus ! What 
 brings you here ? 
 
 CLIT. What moves old men to marry ? what is't draws 
 The pensioned soldier to the barrack-house, 
 The merchant to his late-forsaken desk, 
 But sickness of their own society ? 
 My girl flaunts it at Court, so I am come 
 To Court to see her ; which I have not yet, 
 Being but newly come. 
 
 FARM. All's well with her : 
 
 As pretty a shrew as ever ! and of late 
 Her train receives addition, one from Rome 
 Here on some trading venture, or, some say, 
 A mission from the emperor I know not ; 
 But his eyes follow your daughter. 
 
 CLIT. How is he called ? 
 
 FARM. Marcellus. 
 
 CLIT. He is like to lose his pains. 
 
 Romans are poison to a girl who holds 
 Zenobia and Palmyra the sole themes 
 Of admiration : and Dione's mark 
 Lies nearer. Twixt ourselves, she is set, or was, 
 On Zabdas. 
 
 FARM. Zabdas ! he thinks not of her : 
 But, 'twixt ourselves again, adores the queen 
 With something more than subject loyalty. 
 
 CUT. So ? We shall see, we shall see ! What of my 
 
 kinsman ? 
 
 How suits his gravity with Court ? 
 
 38
 
 ACT II. SCENE I 
 
 FARM. Longinus ? 
 
 Why, this recluse who came, methinks, to read 
 Homer and Plato in her garden-house, 
 Speaks with a potent voice that shakes the realm, 
 And holds such charge of state that Zabdas swears 
 A gown's the only wear in politics, 
 Swords are become too cheap. 
 
 CLIT. I hear as much. 
 
 FARM. Nay, more 'tis yet a whisper, but men think 
 The Athenian destined to a happiness 
 She has denied to kings ! 
 
 CLIT. (Musingly.} 'Tis possible. 
 
 'Tis said her husband had her loyalty, 
 Never her heart she gave him heirs, not children ! 
 Passion is yet to come. 
 
 PARM. Certain I am 
 
 His word outweighs all others' : without him 
 Our bellicose senators pant for war in vain. 
 As yet he favours peace ; but therein stands 
 Alone, except for Gabryas, myself, 
 And some half-dozen. 
 
 CLIT. And Aurelian ? 
 
 FARM. That is our puzzle nothing sure of late : 
 Men's talk reports him somewhere in the East ; 
 But 'tis a point of wisdom to neglect 
 Those flying rumours which the Arab horse, 
 Authors in part of news they long to hear, 
 Gather along the desert-verge, or glean 
 In Antioch or Edessa : and hardly yet 
 Can Rome be pacified. We need not stir. 
 
 CLIT. You are too secure. Men say the emperor's hand 
 Dogs his design at heel, and makes it one 
 With the act it fathers. The obscure delays 
 
 39
 
 ACT II. SCENE I 
 
 Of such are full of threats. Aurelian's taste 
 
 For intrigue was shown at Milan.( 8 ) But Seleucus? 
 
 FARM. Why, he is turned the prince's courtier, 
 And vents no more the vinegar that soured 
 Zenobia's sweeter temper. The last news 
 Is his new honours : he is given command 
 Next Zabdas' self. 
 
 CUT. And Zabdas jealous ? 
 
 FARM. No ! 
 
 I think 'tis Zabdas' doing, who intends 
 Some counterpoise to the increasing weight 
 Longinus carries : there's the latest mark 
 Of Zabdas' jealousy. 
 
 CLIT. Zabdas is more like 
 
 To prove Seleucus' instrument than he 
 The tool of Zabdas. Two months since I heard 
 He has an Alexandrian following 
 Too mighty in a subject. Since that time 
 'Tis strange I have no letters. 
 
 FARM. And more strange 
 
 That the report Zenobia's vigilance 
 Takes of the province monthly is delayed. 
 But see Dione ! and my business calls. 
 Your servant, fair one ! 
 
 (Exit after saluting DIONE who enters.} 
 
 Di. Father ! 
 
 CUT. (Embracing her.) Why, my girl, 
 
 Emesa grew too dull, so I took horse, 
 And find you well, a trifle peaked and pale. 
 This life is not too wearying, too gay ? 
 
 Di. Oh no, dear father. 
 
 CUT. You wore fresher looks 
 
 A year ago. 
 
 40
 
 ACT II. SCENE I 
 
 Di. Why, I was younger then 
 
 By a whole year. 
 
 CLIT. (Caressing her.) That is profoundly true. 
 The hard anxieties that come with age 
 Have doubtless filched the colour from thy cheek, 
 As they have partly robbed me of the joy 
 Of thy once-frequent letters. But I came not 
 To chide. Say, how is Myrrha ? Has she found 
 Her father in Palmyra ? 
 
 Di. I hear not so ; 
 
 Though she still speaks of Alexandrian days 
 And of Jerusalem, and weeps at whiles, 
 Yet she'll forget. 
 
 CLIT. Forget ? Ay, ay, the mode ! 
 
 What should a father do but be forgotten ? 
 
 Di. Now you are cross ! but I'll not have you cross. 
 Know, sir, your daughter is admired ! they've shipped 
 Hither from Rome a walking post, whose talk 
 Tramps like a senatorial decree, 
 Measured and ponderous, pausing now and then 
 To catch the gust of its own gravity. 
 Antiquity's epitome ! who coughs 
 Distinctly Decian, smiles as Cato might, 
 Catonian humour never reached a laugh ! 
 And wears his toga with a clumsiness 
 Recalling Cincinnatus and the plough. 
 See him stroke his chin, or blow his nose, you catch 
 A fine old flavour of the Sabine war ! 
 He eats his dinner like a marble god 
 Laid on the cushions at a festival, 
 But with less appetite. 'Tis maddening ! 
 The creature's one long creak, and cries aloud 
 For a crow's feather and a little oil.
 
 ACT II. SCENE I 
 
 I helped him to some Indian pepper once : 
 He sneezed five minutes 'twas a week at least 
 Ere he regained the Roman. 
 
 CLIT. Saucy girl ! 
 
 And shameful slander ! this same quiet bears 
 A rate above the scented insolence 
 Of fifty fashion-mongers. But he's noble, 
 And high in favour with the emperor. 
 
 Di. Sure, sir, you jest : Marcellus ne'er drew sword 
 Nor filled an office. 'Tis on merchandise 
 Or tribute-pickings that he thrives, a thing 
 Of figures, ledgers, money-bags, himself 
 A cipher. See for yourself. Yonder he comes 
 In conference with Seleucus. Do but mark 
 His cowed, obsequious air. We'll not be seen. 
 
 (Draws CLIT away to back and exeunt as enter SELEU. 
 with MARCELLUS, who seat themselves R. c. and converse in 
 low tones.) 
 
 SEL. That, sir, is the position. As you know (looks 
 
 cautiously round) 
 
 I am wholly with the emperor, though as yet 
 I must not so appear. Without a war 
 Zenobia sits unshaken, and bequeaths 
 To Vabalathus all the usurped East ; 
 Beside whose vice his mother's tyranny 
 Will show like Saturn's rule. Destroy them both, 
 That method's always safe and reabsorb 
 In the Empire's bosom her lost provinces, 
 Placed 'neath the single rule of one we trust. 
 He is not far to seek. 
 
 MARC. Yourself, of course ? 
 
 SEL. ( With a shrug.) Aurelian knows my service. Fur- 
 ther proof 
 
 42
 
 ACT II. SCENE I 
 
 Awaits him with the war. Let him not waste 
 His strength on Egypt : when Palmyra yields, 
 Egypt will follow. 
 
 MARC. He shall know as much. 
 
 But how to requite your courtesies 
 
 SEL. (Effusively.} A trifle ! 
 
 One so discreet and brave might count on me. 
 (Scans him narrowly.} Nothing to what I would do ! Tell 
 
 me now, 
 
 'Twixt friend and friend, how is your emperor loved 
 In turbulent Rome ? we hear but little of him : 
 A festive spirit, eh ? a merry soul, 
 That loves a wench and his Falernian?( 9 ) 
 
 MARC. (Reserved tone.} I hear of no excess. 
 
 SEL. (Deprecatory air.} Of course not, no ! 
 
 But genial and popular, a friend 
 Of the common soldier ? 
 
 MARC. (Drily.} He keeps discipline. 
 
 SEL. Oh, doubtless ; a great general ! something rough 
 And harsh at times, perhaps. I call to mind 
 That gamesome legionary he crucified, ( 1() ) 
 Gathering the stubborn branches of an oak 
 So that, their bonds released, they wrenched away 
 Each its own ghastly portion horrible ! 
 Such acts breed disaffection, do they not ? 
 
 MARC. I noticed none in this case. 
 
 SEL. Loyally spoke ! 
 
 But come, this is private we are friends ! no doubt 
 He is severe to a fault : witness the Jews, 
 Branded and flogged and mulcted heavily 
 After the late revolt. ( n ) This truculent mood, 
 Though it allay the state's disorders, leaves 
 Its festering scars. " Hand-to-Sword " is not loved ( 18 ) 
 Save in the army ? 
 
 43
 
 ACT II. SCENE I 
 
 MARC. (Losing patience?) Sir, I cannot tell. 
 
 SEL. Well, well a strong physician, which Rome needs. 
 No more revolts, I take it ? holds his own ? 
 What do you make his utmost strength ? 
 
 MARC. (Curtly.) Enough 
 
 To govern with : not more. 
 
 SEL. But with what force 
 
 Will he assail Palmyra ? 
 
 MARC. There you ask 
 
 What's past my knowledge. 
 
 SEL. (Rising.) Well, sir, fortunate days ! 
 
 (Lower tone) And should you find convenient means to 
 
 send 
 
 In private tidings of your emperor's health, 
 With what security he bears himself, 
 
 And so forth, I shall serve you. (Aside) A close knave, 
 Not to be sifted ! (Aloud) Hither comes the queen : 
 I must not tarry with you. (Exit SEL. R.) 
 
 MARC. What a price 
 
 Of quaking doubt, and hesitating stealth 
 Is paid by such a villain ! How far short 
 Does treachery's harvest fall of recompense 
 For the free footstep and the dreadless brow, 
 The careless liberty of unfeigned speech, 
 The inalienable music of the heart, 
 Which traitors needs must forfeit ! Surely here 
 (nterZEX., LONG., and train R. c.) 
 An honest service might find happy meed, 
 Even in a losing quarrel. I must make 
 One effort yet. 
 
 (Rises and approaches ZENOBIA.) 
 
 Madam, let gratitude 
 
 For queenly favour and fair welcome given, 
 
 44
 
 ACT II. SCENE I 
 
 Plead my excuse for importunity. 
 
 I would be serviceable. Though I bear 
 
 No mandate or commission, yet I know 
 
 The emperor's mind herein. Be well assured 
 
 Nor Gallienus reigns, nor Claudius, 
 
 But one whose resolution dwarfs them both. 
 
 ZEN. (Impatiently) Tis but the former tale ! your 
 
 fears, my lord, 
 Are quite unshared by us. 
 
 LONG. Nay, madam, hear. 
 
 MARC. You do not know the Emperor ! one not apt 
 To note each trifle, but, his anger roused, 
 Implacable ! Lady, these eyes have seen 
 Death riding on the blast of the simoom 
 That heaves your deserts in a weltering sea 
 Of fiery billows, summoning the might 
 Of giant pillars to patrol the waste 
 And mix its sands with heaven : even so 
 Awakes Aurelian's wrath ! and as beneath 
 The whirlwind's fury sinks the caravan, 
 The heavy-laden camels, toiling slaves, 
 The trader with his riches and his hopes, 
 All overwhelmed ! far off in Persian marts 
 The merchants meet and talk of them, and pile 
 Rich gems and silken stuffs of Samarcand, 
 Waiting their coming ; but they come no more ! 
 Even so Palmyra must be blotted out, 
 Tossed like a leaf upon the hurricane, 
 'Whelmed 'neath the weight of Rome ! Beseech you, pause. 
 
 ZEN. Your desert simile may be vigorous : 
 Tis far from apt. Palmyra has a strength 
 Undreamed in Italy ; native, and allied, 
 In Persia while the countless masts that swing 
 
 45
 
 ACT II. SCENE I 
 
 In Alexandrian harbours, sent to sea, 
 Will threaten Rome with famine. 
 
 MARC. Italy 
 
 Is not devoid of shipwrights : there are yards 
 At Ostia, at Ravenna 
 
 ZEN. (Interrupting.) Sir, you mean 
 A kindness, doubtless ; but the theme is dull : 
 Nay, it offends. Who can feel gratitude 
 Amid the smart and tingling of a blow, 
 Even when medicinal ? Let the counsellor 
 Beware such lack of judgment in himself 
 As underrates the friend he thinks to guide, 
 And makes advice an insult. Plead no more. 
 (Exeunt ZEN. and train L.) 
 
 MARC. (Approaching LONG, who is following.) Spare 
 me one word, my lord. 
 
 LONG. (Curtly.) Well, sir? 
 
 MARC. I know 
 
 Your influence. You are said to favour peace : 
 Can you secure it ? will her stubbornness 
 Be pushed to the point of war, your vote withheld ? 
 
 LONG. (After a pause.) I think it will not. 
 
 MARC. Can you pledge yourself 
 
 To win her to the Emperor's fair demands ? 
 
 LONG. No, meddling Roman, I will give no pledge ! 
 What ! seal my promise to a blank of terms 
 Proffered by an unchartered busybody ? 
 'Twould well beseem Zenobia's minister ! 
 Make such a motion to some needy slave 
 With a keen nose for a bribe, who thinks it cheap 
 To pawn his honour for some broken meats ; 
 But not to me ! So, to your fortune ! (Exit LONG.) 
 
 MARC. ( With a shrug.) Ay ! 
 
 46
 
 ACT II. SCENE I 
 
 This over-subtle sense of honesty 
 
 Is still the rock that splits your man of mind, 
 
 Dealing with men of action : he'll not spend 
 
 Five minutes' courtesy on an opposite, 
 
 But straight his honour's tarnished ! What now ? Pshaw ! 
 
 (Retires up and seats himself at back, as enter MILO, 
 noisily, seating himself at a table near front, where he is 
 served with wine, surrounded by a small circle?) 
 
 2ND TRAD. What, Milo ! you begin early. 
 
 MILO. Late rather, considering the excellence of the 
 occupation. A cup with you ! 
 
 2ND TRAD. At this time of day ? 
 
 MILO. Why, your morning liquor has a peculiar virtue 
 by contrast with previous lack. 
 
 3RD TRAD. A virtue still more apparent to him who 
 drinks but once a day. 
 
 MILO. Drink once a day ! Wouldn't that be trying to 
 make a summer out of one swallow ? ahem ! 
 
 IST GIRL. Never a draught without its excuse. 
 
 MILO. Possibly ; but the excuse comes not by the 
 draught. Good liquor is of a modest effect, causing a man 
 to flush and stammer, and otherwise be wanting ; till 
 wisdom comes to the rescue, and shows the virtue behind 
 these drawbacks. 
 
 IST GIRL. Wisdom come to brazen modesty ! are they 
 not sisters, and always together ? 
 
 MILO. Doubtless; my own person is a witness. But 
 wisdom is the bodyguard, and orders modesty to the rear 
 on the least show of danger. 
 
 2ND GIRL. So then, we are to believe you modest be- 
 cause you have the wisdom to conceal it ! You learned 
 not that philosophy of Longinus. 
 
 47
 
 ACT II. SCENE I 
 
 MILO. (Carelessly.} No, 'tis my own. But when I am 
 as famous as Longinus, I will be as modest. I shall then 
 be able to afford it. For, look you, the world is grown 
 too courtly to disagree with one that thinks naught of him- 
 self; and if a man have an obstinate liking for the lower end 
 of the table and the scraps of the feast, few will want the 
 politeness to leave him them. 
 
 IST TRAD. How know you that ? 
 
 MILO. Why, as the cat knew the live lobsters unwhole- 
 some for her by trying. I was once the perfect instance 
 of what is humorously called the brightest ornament of 
 youth. I blushed continually especially at girls. I had 
 an uncommonly poor time of it. Indeed, the habit of 
 turning a vivid purple might have been fatal under a 
 jealous emperor. 
 
 IST GIRL. You're not nearly so bad now. 
 
 MILO. No, my dear. I grew gradually reconciled to 
 my own impropriety ; and as the heaviest afflictions become 
 light if borne with patience, I came to tolerate even the 
 girls. By a determined effort I attained, at once, cheek and 
 happiness. My present spirits are quite good, and I am 
 not now considered unduly shy. (Catching and kissing her.} 
 
 IST GIRL. (Breaking away.} Not oppressively ! 
 
 MILO. Depend upon it, the man who preaches modesty 
 was never modest. Myrrha, I vow ! 
 
 (Before this point MYRRHA has entered and made pur- 
 chases, which she has collected in one place.} 
 
 2ND GIRL. At her work, as you should be. 
 
 MILO. Each to his own vocation. Mine runs more in 
 the way of a general criticism and superintendence. 
 
 (Rising and waving the rest loftily away, salutes MVRRHA 
 with ceremonious patronage.} Morning, my dear ! How 
 may I serve you ? Send me to the world's end. Com- 
 
 48
 
 ACT II. SCENE I 
 
 mission me with one of Hercules' labours. Hast found 
 that father of thine yet? 
 
 MYR. (In a low voice turning away.) Not yet, not 
 yet ; he has not found me yet. 
 
 MILO. Well, what I say is, they'll be but sour fruit in 
 the autumn, that take the spring of their days so cloudily. 
 (Seeing her in fears.) Now, blister my blundering tongue ! 
 Little one ! little one ! 'twas only jest. 
 
 MYR. You mean kindly, Milo, but cannot feel my grief. 
 Your home is everywhere and nowhere. We Hebrews part 
 not so lightly with our country and our birthright. 
 
 MILO. Now, methinks there is much to be said for a 
 comfortable servility ; and surely a score of homes are 
 better than one. For my part I find Athens, or Palmyra, 
 much warmer than the parts beyond the Euxine, where, in 
 the time of a vigorous emperor, the Goths are invited, I may 
 say pressed, to remain. Now the Jews, your countrymen, 
 who travel more than do the Goths, being obstinately pre- 
 judiced in favour of their own land, carry with them to every 
 place a wilful blindness to its blessings. But perhaps you 
 were in error to make choice of your present occupation. 
 (Seeing tears again threatening.) Nay, nay come, tell 
 me, how fell it? 
 
 MYR. We dwelt at Jerusalem ; but when the Persian 
 began to trouble the East, my father moved to Alexandria, 
 and thence to Rome, leaving me with friends in Egypt. 
 His trade prospered, and he was ever about to send for me 
 into Italy, when, four years ago, came Zabdas' invasion. 
 All the world knows how easy a conquest he made of the 
 shiftless Alexandrians. I was brought captive into Syria, 
 and purchased by Clitus, whose daughter I serve. But 
 how should you understand, who have no father, or none 
 that you remember ? 
 
 z. 49 D
 
 ACT II. SCENE I 
 
 MILO. Not remember my father? it would be most diffi- 
 cult to forget him ! A large and powerful man, Myrrha ; 
 there was not always the friendliest feeling between us. Still 
 I always treated him with respect ; he insisted on it. My 
 mother I don't seem to recollect ; he was very muscular, and 
 she must have died quite early. When I was eighteen, Cniva 
 led the Goths ( 13 ) southwards. My father, after enjoying 
 himself thoroughly, perished very gloriously near Philippo- 
 polis ; and I, notwithstanding much valour, was carried 
 prisoner to Byzantium, and bought by Longinus for well, 
 I will not name that insulting total of obols and drachmas ; 
 thou could'st never believe it ! And so I commenced 
 philosopher at Athens. Longinus is a good man, but of 
 few ideas rather narrow; no balance, no lightness of 
 touch. It asks great parts in a man to rise above his pro- 
 fession. But the life is much more polished. 
 
 MVR. (Laughing.) Idle rogue ! will your philosophy 
 condescend to carry these trifles for me to the steward, and 
 say I'll come anon ? 
 
 MILO. (Staggered.) A charmed of course. (Pro- 
 ceeds slowly to pick up small articles.} 
 
 MYR. (Briskly.) Ah, you'd better kneel, I think, and 
 let me load you like an elephant. 
 
 MILO. Ye-es. 
 
 (Kneels elaborately, while MYR. piles packages on him. He 
 then rises with affected difficulty and staggers towards L.) 
 
 MYR. A week's sleep at least for Hercules after that ! 
 
 (Turns away and resumes her marketing. MILO suddenly 
 making a long arm, collars small boy jeering at him, and 
 piles on him the heavier articles, reserving two of the minutest 
 for himself?) 
 
 MILO. A brave lad ! So ! (Pointing off L.) Forward. 
 (Exeunt MILO and BOY in procession, the former marking 
 time on the latter 's person.) 
 5
 
 ACT II. SCENE I 
 
 (Re-enter SEL., with VAB., GLAB., FELIX and ATTENDANTS.) 
 
 VAB. My lord Seleucus, tell me how to waste 
 The time 'twixt this and dinner. Tis too hot 
 For the lance, and I am perfect. Cards and dice 
 Cannot be played all day ; and I grow tired 
 Of torturing the idiot-slave you sent 
 To amuse me ; the dull brute has lost his sight, 
 And cannot see the coming thong or prick 
 That made him dance. 
 
 SEL. You should have kept his eyes : 
 
 Their terror is the essence of that sport. 
 But are you ready 'gainst the games ? Your mules 
 Will have competitors, though skill like yours 
 Leaves rivalry behind. 
 
 VAB. Yes, I can drive. 
 
 They'll not lose, save by trick. 
 
 SEL. Who'll venture that ? 
 
 Trust me, the rascals know their place. Your sport 
 Must not be spoiled by clowns. 
 
 VAB. (Perceiving MYR. twitches SEL.'S arm.) Look 
 
 do you note 
 Yon girl among the booths ? 
 
 SEL. (Critically.} Ay, she may claim 
 
 A kind of beauty, which your taste commends 
 To more than native worth. 
 
 VAB. I like her well. 
 
 SEL. Why not convey her to your lodging then ? 
 I'll prophesy her willing ; but, if not, 
 You have your men. 
 
 VAB. Yes ; but a scene in the square 
 
 My straight-laced mother ? 
 
 SEL. Well ! decoy the bird. 
 
 Then you can cage and muffle it, so that none
 
 ACT II. SCENE I 
 
 Shall hear its voice outside the prison-bars. 
 
 VAB. True! (To FELIX) Felix, go to yon girl, and 
 
 feign some tale 
 
 A messenger in waiting, or command 
 Of her own mistress make her follow you, 
 And, once at home, detain her. Now then, mark ! 
 
 (FELIX approaches and confers with MYR., who starts, 
 glances towards VAB., anid makes a gesture of vehement dis- 
 sent.) 
 
 She will not, cannot, eh ? the pretty shrew ! 
 I like them not too tame. We must try the other ; 
 And trust to luck for quiet (To Attendants} Some of you, 
 Go help him carry the vixen to my lodging, 
 And see you let her scream not. Come, my lord. 
 
 (Exeunt VAB., SEL., and train, except GLAB., FELIX and 
 two others, who approach MYR., to arrest her. With a cry, 
 she runs up to MARCELLUS, at back.) 
 
 MYR. Save me, my lord ! I am Dione's maid. 
 
 MARC. (Coming down.) Speak, child ; what threatens 
 you ? (To GLAB.) Whose men ? 
 
 GLAB. Seleucus' ; 
 
 Bid to secure this whining chit, for whom 
 The Prince intends a favour she's scarce worth. 
 
 MARC. The Prince ? incredible ! Openly in the square ! 
 Sir, I can make some interest in Palmyra. 
 I will make good your failure to discharge 
 Your master's bidding, if t be his indeed. 
 You must not take her. 
 
 GLAB. (Blustering.) Yet we purpose to, 
 And that without your leave. 
 MARC. (Drawing.) Twill ask for more 
 
 Than swaggering, fellow. (To bystanders.) Friends, you'll 
 not stand by 
 
 52
 
 ACT II. SCENE I 
 
 And see a poor girl haled off thus, whose fault 
 Is only innocence ? Be men : make up ! 
 
 ( Confronts GLAB, and his party. The crowd make way 
 
 for MYR., who runs off.} 
 GLAB. Now, you rogue, come ! 
 
 (They set upon him together. MARC, defends himself, aided 
 by one or two Palmyrenes. At length he wounds FELIX in 
 the face, who leans for support on GLAB.) 
 
 FEL. That cut shall cost you dear ! 
 
 Your name ? 
 
 MARC. 'Twill outweigh thine in any land 
 
 Within the Roman pale. I am called Marcellus. 
 
 GLAB. (Shouting.) A Roman spy ! a Roman ! down 
 
 with Romans ! 
 
 (Makes at him again. Enter to his call several other 
 Palmyrenes, who set upon and disarm MARC. During the 
 struggle enter ZABDAS with guards.) 
 
 ZAB. Hold ! on your lives ! what means this rioting 
 In the very eye and earshot of the Queen ? 
 Forbear, I say ! by I sis, are ye Goths, 
 That cannot dine or breakfast unless first 
 They pacify their murderous appetite 
 With slaughter of a man or two ? Forbear ! 
 Whom have you prisoner ? Marcellus ? What ! 
 Unhand him, sirs; he is her highness' friend. 
 Now, if there be one cooler head among you, 
 Master alike of breath and choler, speak ! 
 How fell this quarrel? 
 
 GLAB. Sir, this bravo chose 
 
 To oppose himself to me in the performance 
 Of orders from the Prince, and stirring up 
 Some idle rascals to espouse his cause, 
 Wounded my fellow here, and had the best, 
 
 53
 
 ACT II. SCENE I 
 
 Till we were reinforced by timely help, 
 And he o'erpowered. 
 
 ZAB. I seem to know your face. 
 
 Are you not of Seleucus' following ? 
 
 GLAB. I serve the Prince and him. 
 
 ZAB. (Muttering.') Who both are served 
 
 The worse, perchance ! (Aloud} Marcellus, tell your tale. 
 
 MARC. He speaks no more than truth, if something less. 
 They were bent to carry off a helpless girl 
 About her market-business, one I knew. 
 She craved my help : I gave it : hence the brawl. 
 
 ZAB. (Aside.) And not the first bred of this cockerel's 
 
 whims ! 
 
 (Aloud.) Justice apart, sir, were you well advised ? 
 'Twas a bold course. 
 
 MARC. Yet one I will maintain : 
 
 And if Zenobia countenance such an act, 
 The Prince's or another's, I have known 
 Some Persian tyrant, not Palmyra's queen. 
 
 ZAB. The event will show us. Hold yourself prepared 
 With what excuse you can. All men depart ! 
 Disperse them ! (To the Guards. T/ie square empties. 
 JZnter L. DIOTSE attended.} 
 
 Di. I am bidden to enquire 
 
 The meaning of this uproar, risen almost 
 In the palace-precincts. Is Zenobia safe ? 
 May she adventure yet into the streets ? 
 
 ZAB. Ay, ay ! a simple matter. Some fair slave 
 Was threatened with such countenance by the Prince 
 As she desired not ; and Marcellus drew 
 To save her. 
 
 Di. (Coldly.) Doubtless 'twas a righteous act, 
 As are Marcellus' always. Yet the queen 
 
 54
 
 ACT II. SCENE I 
 
 Will feel her son's affront Your privilege, sir, 
 Must needs be somewhat stretched to make it good : 
 And Roman interference at this time 
 Is little popular. 
 
 MARC. (With heat.} Is there no right 
 But that of politics ? Must their sheltering cloak 
 Be spread to cover every rank offence, 
 And rape and bloody violence lift their heads 
 In impudent aggression, while we cry 
 This is a Roman, this a Palmyrene, 
 This man is royal, that man but a slave, 
 Or this a Christian, that idolatrous ; 
 Making our party-shouts and shibboleths 
 Guilty of sins that shriek in the face of heaven ? 
 I am too vehement, but my sword was drawn 
 For justice, and for you. 
 
 Di. (Contemptuous surprise} For me, my lord? 
 I am ill-served by brawling. As I can, 
 I'll be your orator. (To ZAB.) The case will need 
 Your advocacy, Zabdas. 
 
 ZAB. You shall command me. 
 
 Di. (Ignoring MARCELLUS.) Come, then ; and, as we 
 
 go, render account 
 
 For all your recent rudeness. Two whole hours 
 I waited for you yesterday 
 
 (Exeunt L. ZAB. and Di. with train, laughing and 
 talking.) 
 
 MARC. (Looking after them} So hard? 
 No thought for the girl ? even though she knew her not, 
 Surely the touch of common womanhood 
 Might be my advocate. This insolence > 
 
 That finds its warrant in such little fault, 
 Is it the mask of weakness and of fears, 
 
 55
 
 ACT II. SCENE I 
 
 Or taint of some innate vulgarity, 
 
 Or the mere issue of an empty brain 
 
 In flattered beauty ? Is it that women know 
 
 Their praise too potent an intoxicant, 
 
 And lest they make men drunk with happiness 
 
 Mix, ere they send that fire along the veins, 
 
 The qualifying ice, the bitter drop, 
 
 Leaving the doubt whether they praise or no ? 
 
 Or is their treasury of smiles and scorn 
 
 Scattered in wantonness, with no more care 
 
 Than moves the untamed heart of the wind, that now 
 
 Lays mighty flail of tempest on the woods, 
 
 Darkening the air with leaf and bough, anon 
 
 Carpets the forest-floor with noiseless gold, 
 
 Loosed by a touch as tender as a babe's ? 
 
 Why should a man regard this woman's heart, 
 
 This pathless garden of a thousand sweets, 
 
 Whose bloom enchants, whose briars entangle him, 
 
 Choking his manhood, killing kindliness, 
 
 And fostering in herself the cruel snake 
 
 That feeds on torture, to no richer end 
 
 Than a week's jest and brief comparison 
 
 With those whose smile was ruin to a world ? 
 
 Happy, ay, happy ! he that could neglect 
 
 This pitiless angel, this bright cruelty ; 
 
 And follow steadfast on a fixed path, 
 
 Lonelier perchance, but still a home of peace, 
 
 Not soured, not burthened with his own contempt. 
 
 Yet no man can ! 
 
 (Enter R. AGRIPPA and others, Ambassadors from Rome. 
 On perceiving MARC., they salute him with deepest respect.} 
 
 So soon ! Is all prepared ? 
 I looked not for this suddenness. 
 
 56
 
 ACT II. SCENE I 
 
 AGRIP. Sir, we left 
 
 The legions chafing at Byzantium 
 As frets an unbreathed horse against the curb. 
 All waits but on yourself. 
 
 MARC. What news from Egypt ? 
 
 For here I share Palmyra's ignorance. 
 Seleucus keeps his promise, and detains 
 All posts for the last month, though he dreams not 
 Of any expedition. 
 
 AGRIP. Long ere this 
 
 Probus is landed with o'erwhelming force, ( u ) 
 Able to master Egypt. Full report 
 Awaits my lord at Antioch. 
 
 MARC. (Pondering.} News will reach 
 Seleucus, too ! but 'twill confirm him ours. 
 He must be used, not trusted. Let me see 
 Your missive. (Taking roll from AGRIP., peruses and 
 
 returns it.} So, 'tis well. Your errand done, 
 Meet me beyond the Emesan gate. Your way 
 Lies yonder. (Exeiint AGRIP. and train after profoundly 
 
 saluting MARC.) 
 Falls the fated bolt at last ! 
 Must I play executioner to myself? 
 Forego my vision of a sweet unforced, 
 And tread the hope of uncommanded smiles 
 In the dust even with Palmyra ? Pride like hers 
 Cannot but hate her country's conqueror. 
 All hangs upon Longinus ; but when he feels 
 The suck and sweep of the current underneath 
 Setting in flood toward war, can he stand firm? 
 And war ends all ! How would that spirit of hers 
 Have shone in Rome ! What envious gods are you 
 Who bind our brows with triumph, and snatch away 
 
 57
 
 ACT II. SCENE II 
 
 The very rose of the garland ; whose strong hands 
 Fashion us famous, fortunate, and withhold 
 What trebles all, the quick-breathed, murmuring clasp 
 And yielded sweets of the one woman we love ! 
 Not all things to one man ! Fortune you grant : 
 Be it so I follow fortune ! Let love go ! 
 (Exit R.) 
 
 THE SCENE CLOSES. 
 
 SCENE II. Hall in ZENOBIA'S Palace, richly decorated and 
 furnished ; the whole carefully shaded from the midday 
 blaze, which is visible through one of the pillared openings 
 overlooking the square. Light aivnings swung overhead 
 from pillar to pillar. ZENOBIA reclining with her 
 ladies. Attendants fanning her. 
 
 ZEN. When we are anxious, no event so small 
 But it assumes a pregnancy, and speaks 
 Of things beyond itself. Asterie, 
 When was't we heard from Rome ? 
 
 AST. Madam, 'tis months 
 
 Since tidings came from thence : I think 'twas when 
 Aurelian returned from Germany. 
 
 ZEN. And nothing since ! Yet in the interval 
 He must have acted much. From Egypt, too, 
 No news ! Methinks the world has fallen asleep ! 
 Or is the slumber ours ? (A pause then impatiently} Go, 
 
 Flavia, 
 
 See if Dione be returned. (Exit FLAVIA.) And you, 
 Anton ia, fetch me Plato from the shelf, 
 And try to find Longinus ; we must calm (exit ANTONIA) 
 This restless fever with an Attic draught, 
 The sovereign prescription. Till they come, 
 One of you sing. 
 
 58
 
 ACT II. SCENE II 
 
 SONG (by one of the Queen's Ladies} 
 
 Where is the flower 
 Gathered but yestermorn ? 
 Oh, sweet it was, all dew-besprent, 
 
 With colours richly blent ! 
 Its fire and fragrance seemed a scorn 
 Of sorrow and lament ! 
 
 Could it not last one hour ? 
 
 Where is the love 
 Vowed in the summer-tide ? 
 We forged no link of brittle clay ; 
 
 'Twas steel to bind alway ! 
 Ah, thou that canst not stint, yet hide 
 Thy tears, and cease to pray 
 
 Where prayers no pity move. 
 
 ZEN. (Sadly.} Ay, there's no treasury 
 
 Time will not rifle. What strong prayer shall bind 
 The shifting gale of passion, and make it breathe 
 In dulcet murmurs o'er one garden-ground ? 
 And Fame, the eternal vagrant, will he house 
 With us for ever ? Court him as we may, 
 Anon he shakes his restless plumes and leaves 
 A fading memory our sad comforter. 
 
 (Re-enter FLAVIA with DIONE and ZABDAS.) 
 Returns my general victor from these wars 
 Waged in Palmyra's streets ? Briefly, your news. 
 
 ZAB. Madam, I find no weightier cause than this : 
 The prince was fain to amuse his leisure hour, 
 Snatched from imperial cares (coughs), with a fair slave 
 Who shunned the (coughs] privilege, and found support 
 Among the market folk : Marcellus drew 
 Upon the prince's men, who raised a cry 
 
 59
 
 ACT II. SCENE II 
 
 And brought a hornet's nest of Palmyrenes 
 About his ears. Being near, I rescued him 
 While yet alive, and cleared the market-place. 
 
 ZEN. Who was this girl ? Dione, did you hear ? 
 
 Di. Madam, I did not ask. 
 
 ZEN. (Displeased.} And yet methinks 
 
 She might have claimed your interest. One of you (to 
 
 Attendants) 
 Find out her name. 
 
 FLAVIA. I heard it as I came : 
 
 Myrrha. 
 
 ZEN. (To Di.) Your own attendant? 
 
 Di. (Confused.} That is so : 
 
 But I guessed not 
 
 ZEN. ( With quiet decision} She changes mistresses 
 To-day : she will be safer, now, with me, 
 Who set a rate on servants. One of mine 
 Shall compensate you. Bid Marcellus wait (to an Atten- 
 dant} 
 
 One hour from now. (Aside} This Roman must be schooled . 
 Vabalathus carries our authority 
 Even where he most degrades it 
 
 (Re-enter ANTONIA with LONGINUS.) 
 
 Aptly come 
 To soothe a ruffled spirit. Give us leave. 
 
 (Exeunt all but ZEN. and LONG.) 
 
 LONG. I hope your highness' trouble is not such 
 As Plato cannot lighten ? 
 
 ZEN. (Pacing the hall restlessly.} Why, my friend, 
 I am vexed beyond my wont. The prince's youth 
 Cannot excuse his license. I did wrong 
 In granting him his dignities, a step 
 Whose revocation now would seem to dread 
 
 60
 
 ACT II. SCENE II 
 
 Rome, and impair Palmyra's loyalty. 
 
 But let us read. Where were we ? {Resumes her seat. ) 
 
 LONG. The Timczus. 
 
 ZEN. Do you remember you were reading that 
 A year ago, in the forest ? 
 
 LONG. Was it that ? 
 
 ZEN. Ay, and we held some talk upon it, too. 
 I told you I could justify my power 
 By the happiness of my people. Was that true ? 
 
 LONG. I yield it, madam. 
 
 ZEN. You acknowledge then, 
 
 Ambition has its use ? 
 
 LONG. Ay ! could you wear 
 
 The world's sole garland, it were happier : 
 But when that wreath binds other brows forgive 
 A thought that wrongs your wisdom ! its desire 
 May prove a people's curse. 
 
 ZEN. (Displeased^ Still the old drift, 
 
 Though well you know we like it not. 
 
 LONG. I speak 
 
 After my thought, lacking the happiness 
 To think what may be- welcome. 
 
 ZEN. (Haughtily.') 'Tis a want 
 
 Some would not pardon easily. 
 (LONG, makes a deprecatory movement?) Nay, nay, 
 We know your honesty, and value it. 
 Be sure we shall not venture any step 
 Without your counsel. (To Attendant who 
 
 appears L.) I will come ! I will come ! 
 
 We must postpone our Plato. But of yourself 
 I had a thing to ask. It has seemed to me 
 You are scarce yourself of late : removed by a hair 
 Or is it my fancy ? from the franker talk 
 
 61
 
 ACT II. SCENE II 
 
 And ease of but a year since. Is aught wrong 
 That I may remedy ? thou'rt happy here ? 
 
 LONG. (Embarrassed.) The favour of Zenobia is a 
 
 prize 
 
 For which a God might leave his throne in bliss 
 And reckon him no loser. 
 
 ZEN. Compliment ! 
 
 LONG. It is an art I practise not. 
 
 ZEN. Then must 
 
 Thy wisdom be at fault to spend such praise 
 On one who knows her faultiness, and debt 
 To help like thine. It was my fancy then ? 
 
 LONG. No more than fancy, madam. 
 
 ZEN. Be it so ! 
 
 And yet I feel you changed. But let it pass. 
 We count on you for supper. Zabdas comes, 
 Otho, Seleucus, others : but all's dull 
 Without Longinus. You will fail us not ? 
 
 LONG. My hours, my life itself, are dedicate 
 To your sole service. 
 
 ZEN. Good ! till then farewell. 
 
 (ZEN. gives him her hand to fa'ss, and goes out slowly L. 
 with a musing smile. IXDNG. remains silent^ gazing fixedly 
 after her for some seconds^ then impatiently] 
 
 LONG. Why does she haunt me thus ? Am I a boy 
 To take the moon for mistress ? Twenty years 
 Of this grave habit and a grizzled beard 
 Should amply warrant me. What is this spell 
 That sets my words in stammering disarray, 
 And leaves me dreaming like a lovesick lad, 
 Picturing gait and glance, the imperial wave 
 Of her hand, that perfect poise of her proud head 
 Turned in surprise or anger, that rare smile 
 
 62
 
 ACT II. SCENE II 
 
 Whose witchery might make the Paphian queen 
 Forswear the art of charming ? Is this love ? 
 And was that dreadful armoury of pain, 
 Of scorching self-reproach and passionate tears, 
 And quivering hope and aching dull despairs, 
 Reserved till now ? Thou great o'erseeing Power, 
 Wreak, if I have deserved it, all thy wrath, 
 And yet not thus ! scourge me with hatred, lust, 
 Make me a traitor stain with cruelty ; 
 But spare my soul the searing of this iron, 
 Punish me not with love ! (A long pause.} 
 
 Why am I here ? 
 
 Long since the seas are safe, the Goths repressed : 
 And Athens from cool halls and studious groves 
 Calls fruitlessly to one who, lingering on 
 To pleasure a fair woman, feels himself 
 Sucked by the vortex of her great affairs 
 Out of his walk, divorced from peace, the mark 
 Of petty spites ! for Zabdas grows alert, 
 And, lest my voice be heard, redoubles his 
 For war, for madness ! Is it then so mad ? 
 So hopeless ? Grant her but victorious, 
 She were the pearl of sovereigns, fitter far 
 Than this rough savage, this Aurelian, 
 To shape wide channels for the world's great stream. 
 And less will not content her. Dreaming fool ! 
 Aurelian is the mightier. Back to Greece 
 And quiet days ! the door stands open yet. 
 Back ! ere the fateful meshes of this coil 
 Involve thee wholly, or thy sanity 
 Yield to o'ermastering impulse. 
 
 {Through the window from across the square float the 
 voices of the Priests of the Sun, singing the Noontide Hymn. 
 He approaches the window and listens.} 
 
 63
 
 ACT II. SCENE II 
 
 NOONTIDE HYMN. 
 Fervent Lord ! whose onward march 
 Knows no pause in heaven's great arch, 
 Let our manhood's effort vie 
 With thy tireless energy : 
 Toiling spade or artist strain, 
 Fevered market, statesman's brain, 
 Soldier's, sailor's, flag unfurled, 
 Poet-vein that warms the world. 
 
 Tend the sowing, shield the spring, 
 Mellow to the harvesting ; 
 Purify from sordid stain ; 
 Sift and purge it, chaff from grain. 
 While we ply the labour planned, 
 Droops our heart and fails our hand : 
 Strengthen us, unwearying One ! 
 Light us till our task be done. 
 
 LONG. (Still at the window.} Well do ye pray, for is 
 
 not light the need 
 
 Of all who walk this darkened world ? O Thou, 
 By whatsoever name Thou would'st be called, 
 Power inscrutable, inviolate, 
 Whom knowing not, man worships, in this heart 
 Put strength, put patience : grant me too Thy light ! 
 (Re-enter ZENOBIA hurriedly.) 
 
 ZEN. My need is instant ! I have mighty news ! 
 Aurelian's envoys bring me curt demand 
 For fine and tribute. Further he insists 
 That Vabalathus forthwith be deprived 
 Of his new rank, unauthorised by himself, 
 Sole fountain of imperial dignities ! 
 Thus in his modest missive, whose requests 
 
 64
 
 ACT II. SCENE II 
 
 Refused, the penalty's immediate war ! 
 What shall I do ? 
 
 LONG. (With face averted.} Your highness knows my 
 thought. 
 
 ZEN. I know in you discretion ; I know not, 
 Or have not known you, pusillanimous ! 
 
 LONG. (As before.} I'll bear the name of coward, to avert 
 What I foresee. 
 
 ZEN. ( Vehemently.} What can your eyes foresee 
 Worse than the sequel of these claims ? Suppose 
 This heavy sum wrung from my Palmyrenes, 
 The Caesar whom my royal hands endued 
 Degraded, ignominiously unfrocked, 
 Like a whipped schoolboy will his jealousy 
 Be satisfied ? not till this crown I wear 
 Be trampled in the dust beneath his feet, 
 And heavy chastisement efface the stain 
 From the imperial scutcheon. Be assured, 
 This is not all. 
 
 LONG. Defiance will but fan 
 
 The emperor's fury. 
 
 ZEN. Let it flare itself 
 
 To ashes, if we win. 
 
 LONG. (Facing her.} But can you win ? 
 
 ZEN. War, my lord, is a hazard : yet 'tis one 
 Where skill and courage many a time outweigh 
 Malignant fortune. 
 
 LONG. He is stronger, far ! 
 
 And recent struggles have inured his arms. 
 Yours rust this many a day. 
 
 ZEN. Inflexible ! 
 
 What would you have of me ? 
 
 LONG. (In a hard, constrained voice.} You must submit : 
 
 z. 65 E
 
 ACT II. SCENE II 
 
 Pay what he asks ; degrade the prince you own 
 He has disgraced his office ; and beseech 
 The emperor's pardon. 
 
 ZEN. (Bitterly?) Can Longinus feel 
 An insult ? does he wince beneath the lash 
 Of self-contempt ? or is that temper framed 
 Of metal so insensible that no blow 
 Can mar the wrought mould's smiling fixity, 
 No heat can drive it to one stubborn bulk, 
 Feature and form forgotten ? 
 
 LONG. (Passionately.} Is this just? 
 I would endure a year of cruel pains, 
 Silent, to save your spirit a moment's pang. 
 True, I have borne with insolence till I seem 
 The stock put up in likeness of a man 
 To scare the ploughland's fluttering pilferers, 
 That soon insult their idle terror's cause. 
 'Twas borne for thee ; and must thou join the taunt ? 
 
 ZEN. Then thou dost feel ! (After a pause, in a loiv 
 submissive voice.} It shall be as thou wilt. 
 
 (She seats herself at a table; writes, signs, and seals; 
 IX)NG. watching her closely. Through the windows there 
 rises the murmur of a mighty crowd gathering without.} 
 
 ZEN. (Rising.} Thus do I seal my fate ! Read it, my lord ; 
 Acknowledge that I have not spared myself. 
 No idle document ! it casts away 
 The gathered harvest of some gallant years 
 Wherein a whilom queen Zenobia 
 Reared 'mid the sands a monarchy that shook 
 The rock-built base of the world, making men's brains 
 The home of trumpet-music, and their deeds 
 A tempest-flame whose breath was felt in heaven ! 
 And here her story ends ! Men may have done 
 
 66
 
 ACT II. SCENE II 
 
 As much for women, once : but never yet 
 Did woman offer such a sacrifice 
 Unto I do forget myself! My lord, 
 Go, carry this to the ambassadors : 
 It is your work ; may Heaven prosper it, 
 And give me patience, patience ! 
 
 {Bursts into tears and turns away, leaning against a pillar 
 near the window. LONG., after reading the paper, remains 
 rooted in one place, gazing from it to her. At last, with a 
 strong effort, he makes some steps to leave the chamber. In 
 the stillness the murmurs of the crowd below swell to a shout 
 " Zenobia ! " " Palmyra ! " " Down with the Romans." 
 The paper falls from his hands : he stands irresolute.} 
 
 ZEN. (Sadly to herself.) Leaderless ones ! Why do ye 
 
 call on me ? 
 
 I am no queen ! I have betrayed your trust, 
 Heaped you with shame, and given away your boast 
 Of an unyoked equality with that 
 Was proudest in this world. 
 
 LONG. Madam ! 
 
 ZEN. (Turning.) Still here ! 
 
 Must thou needs stay to gloat o'er my despair ? 
 I thought thee gone. Prithee, now, get thee gone ; 
 And do my bidding while it is to do. 
 Leave me and shame together. 
 
 ( Turns away again. The noise from the square grows 
 louder. LONG., after standing a moment in doubt, seats himself 
 at the table, and writes rapidly with animated countenance. 
 Then rising, he approaches ZEN., holding both documents.} 
 
 LONG. Will the queen 
 
 Vouchsafe a moment's audience ? 
 
 ZEN. The queen ! 
 
 O pitiful imposture ! (Turning} What is here? 
 
 67
 
 ACT II. SCENE II 
 
 LONG. Letters to Rome, awaiting signature. 
 
 ZEN. (Taking and reading.} Is this some jest? are 
 these your words, my lord ? 
 
 LONG. (Handing pen) Only until your hand shall make 
 
 those signs 
 
 That send them down to all eternity, 
 Lifting them into peerless rank, as yours. 
 
 ZEN. (Incredulous} How will you justify this change? 
 
 LONG. As born 
 
 Of clearer vision. Sometimes o'er the waste 
 Of furious waters, where the mariner 
 Hath beat for days in doubt, God's sudden gleam 
 Strikes and shows land. 'Tis such a ray as this 
 Illumes me now. Your people idolize you : 
 This crushing fine is laid in penalty 
 For loyalty to you : they must not bear it. 
 Up with your standard ! strike for victory. 
 If the gods grant, earth shall be happier 
 By such a queen as her o'erwearied eyes 
 Have given up hoping for ! Myself am yours 
 Even to the uttermost consequence that hangs 
 Upon this paper. 
 
 ZEN. (In an ecstasy} Spare me, immortal powers ! 
 Till acts may thank you fitly ! ( Pointing to first paper} 
 
 Give me that : 
 
 First let me crush and trample underfoot 
 This shame which I thought duty ! Now, my lord, 
 Being a queen again, with your consent 
 We may attend to business of state. 
 
 (Takes second paper, seats herself, and signs it. Then 
 
 more quietly, her hand on his.} 
 You give me life ! all recompense is short ; 
 Yet I shall find a method. This great act 
 
 68
 
 ACT II. SCENE II 
 
 Must claim us wholly now. I look to none 
 Sooner than to yourself. 
 
 (The cries still rise from below. Enter ZAB., SEL., 
 and other SENATORS and COURTIERS.) 
 
 My loyal friends, 
 
 Urge me no further : my long doubt is laid ; 
 And here my answer drawn. (To LONG.) Read it, my lord ; 
 Your words are worthiest to speak for me. 
 (She leads LONG, to the window. The applause which greets 
 
 them is silenced by a gesture from LONG., who reads.} ( 15 ) 
 
 LONG. " Zenobia, Queen of Palmyra and the East, to 
 Aurelian, Emperor of Rome. Whereas the Emperor sends 
 us word of fine and tribute, and of other matters, we, 
 having with our Council read his letter, can find no 
 reasonable interpretation thereof. In the regulation of 
 our kingdom, we had not, nor have we, any purpose 
 to consult him : but, since his meaning is obscure to us, 
 we judge it best to meet him in person. We follow 
 on the heels of his ambassadors attended by our armies, 
 the spectacle of whose valour and discipline must needs 
 impress a warrior such as we understand the Emperor 
 to be. Until which meeting we commend him to his own 
 designs." 
 
 ZEN. Such is our answer, citizens ! Is it yours ? 
 I ask your voice ; for peace, or war ? 
 
 {From every quarter of the hall, as from the farthest limits 
 of the square, comes, amid the waving of caps and the flash of 
 drawn swords, the answer, given in one deafening shout.} 
 
 OMNES. For war ! 
 
 (Prolonged enthusiasm, on which the CURTAIN falls.} 
 
 END OF ACT II. 
 
 69
 
 ACT III. SCENE I 
 
 (Six months have passed.) 
 
 Private Cabinet in ZENOBIA'S apartments. Evening. Doors 
 L. and R. Enter R. SELEUCUS and FELIX. 
 
 SEL. Quick, sir, quick ! There is much to do ere mid- 
 night. How did you pass the lines ? 
 
 FEL. Crept through last night before the moon was up, 
 and hid in the angle beneath the bastion, till I could make 
 sure who was on guard. By midday I heard Glabrio's 
 voice : I hailed him, and he let down the ladder. 
 
 SEL. Who saw you ? none but Glabrio's troop ? 
 
 FEL, None, my lord. 
 
 SEL. So ; that is well enough. Now for matters at 
 Alexandria. Two days since, when Probus came, I saw 
 our plans had failed. How went it ? 
 
 FEL. My lord, the luck was against us. All was ready : 
 the city largely with us, and ready to rise on signal half 
 Probus' guards bribed, who would have governed the rest 
 nothing wanting but the single point of his death, and that 
 I could not compass without his secretary, one Coelius a 
 Jew, I think. For fear or scruple he refused the offer and 
 warned Probus, who indeed paid little heed enough, but 
 the scheme was blown upon. I took hiding at once. 
 When he marched from Egypt I accompanied as a camp- 
 follower, crept past the pickets as I said, and so here. 
 
 SEL. (Pondering.) Coelius new to me ; curse the 
 rascal ! he has lost me Egypt ! Was my name mentioned ? 
 
 70
 
 ACT III. SCENE I 
 
 FEL. To him, my lord. No other guarantee would 
 have served. But I know not whether he named you to 
 Probus. Anyway the affair passed quite unnoticed, and 
 the footing between Probus' people and our own remained 
 as before. He can have made little account of Ccelius' tale. 
 
 SEL. Came Ccelius hither with him ? 
 
 FEL. From Egypt, ay ; but since we reached Palmyra, 
 \ he is gone, none knows whither. 
 
 SEL. A Jew he has some scheme of his own. No 
 matter : if he appear later, he can prove nothing without 
 you, and you must lie low till the thing be forgotten. The 
 case is not so bad. Our front is changed, of course. I 
 have written to Aurelian. Half of the western face, more 
 than a mile of wall, is under my command. To-night, 
 during the moonless hours 'twixt nine and twelve, a space 
 about the big bastion and Odenathus" tower will be left 
 unguarded, and before midnight we may expect visitors. 
 Within half an hour he can lodge a hundred men upon the 
 wall, seize the nearest gate and throw it wide to the ad- 
 vance in force, and before daybreak all is in his hands ! 
 He will owe the city to me, and spite of four months' 
 waiting will pay for it handsomely. How are his troops ? 
 
 FEL. Worse off than we : worn out with siege-works 
 and nigh starving, for there's barely a melon or a beggarly 
 date left in the region. Had Probus and his stores come 
 two days later, he would have met them on the homeward 
 march for Rome. 
 
 SEL. The gods be praised he did not ; 'twould have left 
 us helpless. If not our triumph, it must be Aurelian's. I 
 have made excuse for the delay Zabdas' vigilance, Longi- 
 nus' suspicion, and so forth. His anger will be spent on 
 them and on the Queen ; 'tis like to go hard with her ! but 
 we have nothing to fear while you keep hid.
 
 ACT III. SCENE I 
 
 (Enter GUARDS R.) 
 
 CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD. (To SEL.) My lord, I have 
 orders to clear all rooms in this gallery before seven to- 
 night. 
 
 SEL. Whose orders ? 
 
 CAPTAIN. Zabdas'. 
 
 SEL. We will obey, sir. (To FEL.) Come! 
 (Exeunt R. In a few seconds the GUARDS' challenge is heard 
 without.} 
 
 GUARD. ( Without.} Halt there ! The pass-word, lady? 
 
 DIONE. ( Without.) Antioch. 
 
 (Enters R. with GUARD.) 
 You may admit me, soldier. Tis my turn 
 As lady of the chamber. Has the Queen 
 Come forth again ? 
 
 GUARD. Not yet, 'tis barely seven. 
 
 (SOLDIERS retire to entrance R.) 
 
 Di. I am in time to hear their conference 
 These three that sway Palmyra's destinies ! 
 I must be satisfied. There has been talk 
 Of Zabdas sallying with Zenobia 
 And rousing Persian succours desperate chance ! 
 Long before that Palmyra falls ; and then ? 
 The crownless exile lays aside her dreams, 
 And grants her loyal Zabdas' love the prize 
 Its hunger dares not ask : and there an end ! 
 And I shall never see him ; never hear 
 The voice that's all my music : nevermore 
 Be praised or chidden ! Death were better ! Hush ! 
 (Conceals herself behind a curtain on the noise of approaching 
 footsteps.} 
 
 GUARD. (Without.) Halt there, my lord! The pass- 
 word? 
 
 72
 
 ACT III. SCENE I 
 
 LONGINUS. ( Without.} Antioch. 
 
 (LONG, enters with MILO and GUARD R.) 
 I have Zenobia's privilege. Milo here 
 Retires immediately. Leave us alone. (Exit GUARD.) 
 (To MILO.) Quick ! to thy tale ! how long ago was this ? 
 
 MILO. 'Tis but two nights since that I was coming from 
 a friend in the Jews' quarter, where I had been to eat a 
 crust and taste a quarter-cup of wine, for these are hard 
 times, sir, as may easily be seen, for a man's belly ; and 
 mine has lacked of its desired fulness this many a day. 
 
 LONG. Thy stomach matters not : on with thy tale. 
 
 MILO. My lord, I did but change a word or two, and 
 forth again ; for, now-a-days, if one do but pass the time of 
 day, they clap him in ward for a meddling rogue, or off to 
 the ramparts with him to pile stones or hand up pitch, or 
 other such unbeseeming service. 
 
 LONG. (Sternly.} Thy tale ! Thy tale ! 
 
 MILO. Sir, as I came out into the street of Palms, be- 
 fore I turned the corner of the Portico, methought I caught 
 your name. I shrunk behind a pillar, and listened. It was 
 Seleucus in talk with Glabrio. He said that within a week 
 he should be sovereign of Palmyra, and Glabrio captain of 
 the garrison; and further, that Zabdas, and the queen's 
 highness, and Prince Vabalathus, and your lordship's self, 
 would be but a little morsel to the Romans' angry stomach, 
 which, my lord, I could well believe, for 'tis long since 
 there has been any plenty, either with them or us. Then 
 they moved forth into the moonlight, and I saw their faces 
 plainly. I followed awhile, keeping in the shadow of the 
 portico, but could catch no word more. 
 
 LONG. And this was two nights since ! Man ! couldst 
 not speak ? 
 
 MILO. My lord, I had no means to come at you. For 
 
 73
 
 ACT III. SCENE I 
 
 everywhere 'tis "Halt there!" " Back there !" "Pass- 
 word ! " when mayhap a poor man is not aware of any pass- 
 word ; or else " Longinus hath more to do than to attend 
 thee, thou rogue, Milo ! " which indeed, my lord, seemeth 
 commonly to be the case. I would we were again in 
 Athens, where folk have less press of business, and more 
 to eat ! 
 
 LONG. (After a momenfs thought} Dost know where 
 Lord Seleucus is on guard ? 
 
 MILO. I think 'tis by the Emesan gate. 
 
 LONG. To-night 
 
 At nine thou knowest the stairway that leads up 
 To Odenathus' tower ? await me there. 
 
 MILO. I hope, my lord, you mean not to run any- 
 foolish risk upon the wall. 'Tis very dangerous, I hear, 
 especially at night, when a man cannot well see what 
 devilish thing be flying about, and goodly proportions make 
 him only the fairer target. 
 
 LONG. See thou 'be there ! and breathe no syllable ! 
 Silence ! away ! (Exit MILO R.) 
 
 At last it clears ! at last ! 
 Treachery, as I guessed ! how else could fall 
 Such dire succession of untowardness ? 
 Egypt surprised, the convoys all cut off, 
 The Arab succours accident, forsooth ? 
 Ay, if Seleucus be an accident ! 
 They were forewarned of all ; and now, perchance, 
 Wait but the signal of an unbarred gate, 
 Or an unguarded bastion ! How unmask 
 This traitor ? He has won Zenobia's trust, 
 And bandaged Zabdas' eyes. Who will believe 
 The word of this mere slave ? I must have proofs 
 Clear as the day. They may be mine to-night. 
 
 74
 
 ACT III. SCENE I 
 
 What if it be tonight ? Two days are passed 
 Already ! Oh, for some persuasive drench 
 To philtre Zabdas' jealousy ! Grant his help, 
 Within six hours the city were secure. 
 He comes : I must attempt him. 
 
 (Enter ZABDAS, escorted by the GUARD R.) 
 
 ZAB. (To the GUARD.) Draw your men 
 
 Back to the outer chamber. See you let 
 None pass till I come forth again. (Exit GUARD.) My 
 lord! 
 
 (Bows stiffly as he perceives LONG.) 
 
 LONG. Zabdas, this is no time for compliment. 
 I have some urgent news, which 'tis unfit 
 The queen be troubled with. Briefly, 'tis this : 
 There's treachery afoot : suspicion points 
 Its finger at Seleucus. 
 
 ZAB. (Scornfully) News indeed ! 
 Your proofs ? 
 
 LONG. Manifest proof is wanting yet. 
 
 Grant me your help meanwhile. Either remove 
 Seleucus from his present guard, or post 
 Men of your own to watch him. 
 
 ZAB. ( With indifference) Sir, the guards 
 
 Are posted well enough : they cannot shift 
 For every idle rumour. You were best 
 Be heedless of these chatterers, prone to wreak 
 A siege's sufferings and alarms on those 
 Who do command them. 
 
 LONG. ( Vehemently] This security 
 Is ruinous ! suspicion wakes too late 
 Upon a plot in action : it should strike 
 Before the fell design's articulate, 
 Choking it in the cradle. 
 
 75
 
 ACT III. SCENE I 
 
 ZAB. Tut ! forget 
 
 Your lecture-desk, if it be possible. 
 A schoolmaster to mend my soldiering ! 
 Content you with a queen's discipleship : 
 I lack the meekness for it. 
 
 LONG. ( With suppressed indignation.} Is this well ? 
 
 ZAB. Or well or ill, 'tis so ! Bring me your proofs ! 
 If they bear substance and a likelihood 
 Unborn of meddlesomeness and nervous fears, 
 They shall be worth attention. Not till then 
 Will I insult her kinsman at a time 
 When she most needs all friends. 
 
 LONG. (Striding to him) You shall have proof! 
 But if that proof lie in the city's fall, 
 By heaven, my lord, for this blind arrogance 
 You answer to myself ! No more ! the queen ! 
 (Enter ZENOBIA L.) 
 
 ZEN. Both here ! and no soul else ? 
 
 (The three seat themselves at a table.} 
 
 Now, my good lords, 
 
 What remedy have you for these desperate woes 
 That thicken round Palmyra, day by day 
 Pressing us closer ? 
 
 ZAB. By your highness' leave 
 
 There are three courses open. First, to yield ' 
 Exchanging wounds and terrors for disgrace, 
 Harder to bear. Next, to hold out : this fails 
 When our provisions do ; so but defers 
 Surrender, better offered now. The third 
 Shows greater promise : 'tis to sally forth, 
 And cut our passage through the Roman camp 
 Out to the desert reinforce ourselves 
 With the dispersed, unleadered, Arab hordes, 
 
 76
 
 ACT III. SCENE I 
 
 And succours from the Persian, and so fall 
 With better prospect on Aurelian, 
 And drive him beaten homewards. 
 
 ZEN. Like thyself 
 
 Is thy advice, brave Zabdas ! unto whom 
 Action is all, and patience difficult. 
 What says Longinus ? 
 
 LONG. In your highness' self 
 
 Resides the virtue of your Palmyrenes. 
 Remove that influence, they will think no scorn 
 To yield the city. 
 
 ZEN. Surely thou dost wrong 
 
 Unto their loyalty ! I dare avouch 
 There's none so poor in spirit. 
 
 LONG. Amen to that ! 
 
 Yet 'tis a danger. Could your dash be made 
 Privily, with but few, it were unknown, 
 At least for a while. 
 
 ZAB. Madness ! the posts lie thick 
 
 On every side. No smallest company 
 Could hope to elude their vigilance ! 'twould but end 
 In the queen's capture, and precipitate 
 Palmyra's threatened fall. Only in force 
 Could the attempt succeed. 
 
 LONG. And made in force, 
 
 May fail. 
 
 ZEN. Enough, my lords ! I will not go. 
 Shall I desert my people ? 'tis too like 
 Cowardice in myself, to shun the effect 
 Which my own acts invited. 
 
 LONG. Nay, not so ! 
 
 Could we but find some secret sure device 
 To steal you forth, it were a golden chance 
 
 77
 
 ACT III. SCENE I 
 
 Of safety for Palmyra and yourself: 
 
 But such our wisdom finds not. 
 
 ZACCH^US. (Emerging from a secret door in the wall t c., 
 
 disclosing a dark descending passage.) It lies here ! 
 (ZAB. and LONG, start from their seats, drawing sivord.) 
 Be reassured, my lords ! I am a friend. 
 
 ZAB. (Threatening him.) Friend, fellow ! We will be 
 assured of that ! 
 
 ZAC. You see I have no weapon. 
 
 LONG. Dost thou know 
 
 Whose is this presence ? 
 
 ZAC. (Saluting ZEN. respectfully.) Ay ! and reverence it. 
 
 ZAB. Then tell us first, how thou art here ; and next, 
 The why of this intrusion. 
 
 ZAC. That, told first, 
 
 Will lay your fears more quickly. 
 
 ZAB. (Sheathing.) To it, then ! 
 
 ZAC. My errand here is yours the queen's escape : 
 And by the self-same means that brought me hither. 
 (Turning to ZEN.) You have heard, lady, of a secret way ( 16 ) 
 Made in the time of bygone emperors 
 Trajan's or Hadrian's leading from this place 
 Out to the desert ? 
 
 ZEN. Rumours I have heard ; 
 
 But thought the knowledge of it lost long since 
 In the tumultuous ravage of those years 
 When Parthia first, and Persia after her, 
 Troubled these Eastern kingdoms. 
 
 ZAC. 'Twas not lost 
 
 Wholly, though known to few, of whom perchance 
 I am the sole survivor. God be praised 
 I am so ! Gracious queen, this covered way 
 Existed ages before Hadrian, 
 
 78
 
 ACT III. SCENE I 
 
 Who only re-discovered it. Tis said 
 
 That in the golden days of Israel, 
 
 When Solomon built Tadmor 'mid the palms 
 
 Which name it now, this secret pathway served 
 
 His royal ends of safety, government, 
 
 Or dalliance with some fair Syrian girl ; 
 
 Forgotten now but the tradition passed 
 
 From sire to son unbroken. Years ago, 
 
 When the late Odenathus ruled, my trade 
 
 Bringing me to Palmyra, I had mind 
 
 Of this lost secret : I began to search 
 
 Along the desert edge, and found at length 
 
 The stone-work of the entrance, choked with sand 
 
 And overgrown with brushwood but within, 
 
 The passage, all as perfect as 'twas left 
 
 By Hadrian. 
 
 ZEN. Is this possible ? 
 
 ZAC. By this route 
 
 Am I come hither. See it for yourselves. 
 (All rise and examine the descending stair: DIONE moving 
 forward to look and retiring again unobserved.) 
 
 ZAB. (As they re-enter the cabinet.) If this strange tale 
 be truth, we have our wish. 
 
 LONG. (Aside to ZAB.) Caution, my lord ! we know 
 
 too little yet 
 
 What if this be a trap, and at the mouth 
 There wait a company of Roman horse 
 To seize her on her issuing ? (To ZAC.) What pledge 
 Hast thou to offer us ? How may we know 
 This is no plot, hatched in Aurelian's tent ? 
 
 ZAC. Had he my knowledge, should he not be here ? 
 Your town had fallen ere this. Here is my pledge ! 
 
 79
 
 ACT III. SCENE I 
 
 ( With a fierce gesture he bares his left arm, and shows it 
 
 contorted and deeply branded.) 
 I am a Jew : a year ago I plied 
 My trade in Rome upon the Aventine, 
 Injuring none, enduring patiently 
 The scorn my nation suffers, while God hides 
 His countenance from us. There arose a talk 
 Of edicts from the Emperor to reform 
 The abuses of the city : discontent, 
 Already smouldering, flamed into revolt, 
 Fanned by the wealthier senators, who feared 
 Curtailment of their rights: but, in a week, 
 Aurelian and the legions were in Rome ; 
 And, as beneath the falcon's threatened swoop 
 The woods grow silent, every murmur died. 
 The Jews were made the scape-goat. On this arm 
 I carry the memorial of wrongs 
 That cry for vengeance. 
 
 ZEN. So thou offerest 
 
 Help to his enemy ? 
 
 ZAC. Escape at least ; 
 
 Beggaring thus his passionate desire 
 To have you captive. Further, 'tis to you 
 Our rabbis point, as chosen instrument 
 Of Israel's restoration, so our God 
 Will turn Him and be gracious. 
 
 ZEN. (Thoughtfully.) That may chance, 
 
 Howe'er past present hope. In the meantime 
 I owe this act its recompense. Repair 
 Thy fortunes from our chest : take what thou wilt. 
 (Opening the door of a side chamber?) 
 
 ZAC. No, not in this ! who shall accept a hire 
 For his own vengeance ? that repays itself ! 
 
 80
 
 ACT III. SCENE I 
 
 Besides, I am not poor. 
 
 ZEN. What is thy name ? 
 
 ZAC. Zacchseus, lady ! one not powerless 
 Among these deserts, though they know me not 
 These many years. 
 
 ZAB. How came you hither, now, 
 
 Since with Aurelian's arms you durst not ? 
 
 ZAC. True ! 
 
 I came with Probus' levies, new arrived 
 From Egypt. I have been his secretary, 
 Unknown, until last night j when I set forth 
 On this design. 
 
 LONG. And was our strait foreseen 
 
 By thee in Rome ? 
 
 ZAC. ( With a shrug.) Surely 'twas possible ! 
 But I'd a double purpose. Eight years since 
 I left the sunshine of a darkened life 
 In Egypt ; I have sought her there in vain ! 
 
 ZEN. What was her name ? 
 
 ZAC. Zillah : and 'tis most like 
 
 She was brought captive into Syria 
 By Zabdas four years past. 
 
 ZEN. 'Twill be my care, 
 
 These troubles past, to find her. Now, my lords, 
 How do you counsel me ? 
 
 ZAB. Accept this chance ! 
 
 Ride for the Persian frontier. Sapor knows 
 His kingdom totters if Palmyra fall : 
 Gather his powers, rally to your flag 
 The desert-horse, and here again ! while yet 
 The city, safe in our joint leadership, 
 Defies the Roman leaguer. 
 
 ZEN. Ride ! but how ? 
 
 z. 81 F
 
 ACT III. SCENE I 
 
 The desert is no stable to supply 
 Steeds to my need. 
 
 ZAC. Your highness may command 
 
 The fleetest camels of the Syrian waste 
 Through me. They shall await you at the mouth 
 Of this same passage, at what hour you please. 
 
 ZEN. Why then, my lords, we shall see Persia soon ! 
 And to ensure all secrecy I'll take 
 But one attendant, Myrrha, with some six 
 Or seven for escort ; and, for aught I see, 
 We may be gone to-morrow. 
 
 LONG. ( With sudden energy.) No, to-night ! 
 Lose not a day ! The leaguer, reinforced, 
 Will be more closely pressed, and our supplies 
 Allow no waiting. Zabdas' soldiership, 
 Wasted within these walls, must second you, 
 And work our rescue. (ZAB. starts.) Leave me ample 
 
 powers, 
 
 And trust the town to its high battlements 
 For some three weeks. 
 
 ZAB. (Slowly, after regarding LONG, fixedly?) Longinus 
 
 counsels well. 
 Is such your highness' pleasure ? 
 
 ZEN. Surely so ! 
 
 We cannot lack our general ! we must leave 
 Longinus governor. 'Tis evening now : 
 (To ZAC.) Canst thou fulfil thy promise in three hours ? 
 
 ZAC. I shall be waiting at the passage-mouth 
 Before eleven, with camel, horse, and guide 
 To steer your desert-gallop. Linger not ! 
 The legionaries ransack every nook 
 For forage ; should they happen on the place, 
 Our chance is gone. The moon is up by twelve : 
 
 82
 
 ACT III. SCENE I 
 
 Let it find you far in the desert. Once across 
 
 Euphrates, you are safe. I must be gone 
 
 At once. Delay not, madam : the time is short. 
 
 ZEN. We take thy word, Zacchaeus, and thy help. 
 We will prepare us straight. ( With gesture of farewell.) 
 Until eleven ! 
 
 (Exeunt ZENOBIA by door L., ZAC. by passage!) 
 
 ZAB. The gods be thanked ! but there are other dues 
 That call for payment. (To LONG.) I have done you 
 
 wrong. 
 
 This act has something in it more generous 
 Than my dull prejudice looked for. But I'll have 
 No vantage of it : and for my hasty word 
 An hour ago, 'twas blindness, jealousy, 
 What fault you will, so it may find forgiveness. 
 (Offers his hand.} 
 
 LONG. (Grasping it.) Freely as e'er I gave it ! Now, 
 
 my fear, 
 
 Which is no fancy's coinage, may be made 
 Safe ere the morning. Only give command 
 Seleucus' post be changed, and in six hours 
 We are safe. 
 
 ZAB. That shall be done : and a picked guard 
 Assigned yourself. 
 
 LONG. Spend not a thought for me : 
 
 Look to your charge ! think in your hands is laid 
 The single flawless jewel of this world ! 
 Lose it, or let it fall, thou must not dream 
 Of men's forgiveness ever ! bring it back, 
 Restore it to this towered coronet, 
 Thou shall be well-nigh god ! 
 
 ZAB. Fear not for that ! 
 
 Be you as careful of the diadem, 
 
 83
 
 ACT III. SCENE I 
 
 And we'll reset our jewel in its place 
 To shine with added lustre. 
 
 (Exit ZAB. R.) 
 
 LONG. (Seated dejectedly.} Thy best haste 
 May prove a loiterer ! Yet now, descend 
 What unseen blow there will, it harms not her ! 
 Tis I, whose folly drank such dream of bliss 
 As is not tasted in the exultant cup 
 That passes 'mongst Immortals, shall atone ; 
 And those indignant seats be pacified ! 
 I think we shall not meet after to-night ! 
 Never again, after to-night ! 
 
 (His head falls in his hands. Re-enter ZEN. L. : she watches 
 him a moment in silence?) 
 
 ZEN. My lord ! 
 
 Do you in conscience counsel this, and not 
 In single care for me ? 
 
 LONG. (Rising.} Palmyra and thee. 
 
 ZEN. Nay, say Palmyra only ! never thrust 
 A shameful safety on me. Is this flight 
 What policy prescribes ? 
 
 LONG. 'Tis policy ! 
 
 Even should the city fall ere you return, 
 It falls if you remain. Unless you go, 
 There is no gleam of hope. 
 
 ZEN. (After a long pause, slowly and deliberately.) I 
 shall not go ! 
 
 (She seats herself with an air of immobility. LONG, stands 
 looking at her. Then, taking off his chain of office, he pre- 
 sents it to her kneeling.") 
 
 LONG. Madam, resume these ornaments ! I go forth 
 To make submission to Aurelian, 
 As one Zenobia has disgraced. 
 
 84
 
 ACT III. SCENE I 
 
 ZEN. (Passionately.} This shows 
 Thou hast the tyrant native in thee, bred 
 In the bone ! and in my weak hour it leaps forth 
 As on a prey ! Yet I'll not go ! 
 
 LONG. (Rising in assumed anger.) Stay then ! 
 And leave this black stain on your memory, 
 That, when a people cried to her for help, 
 Zenobia quailed ! So run mankind's report 
 Even till their voice is hushed, and the great scroll 
 Of worldly matters all be written out, 
 And tossed to endless silence ! 
 
 (A pause, during which the queen remains still immovable: 
 then changing his tone to one of passionate entreaty] 
 
 Have I spent 
 
 Naught in your service ? Have I sacrificed 
 Nothing of will or pride that yours might stand 
 Erect, unhumbled? Did I not forswear, 
 Solely to pleasure you, my quiet haunts, 
 And stoop me to the invidious anxious yoke 
 That bows the neck of Power unspoken fears, 
 Hands that must work in darkness, doubtful feet 
 Groping for hold along the slippery edge 
 That mounts, 'mid cloudy chasm and precipice, 
 To sunlit spaces of a people's good ? 
 Oh ! I take bitter shame to urge you thus ; 
 But, if you can acknowledge any debt, 
 Then ride this night to Persia ! (In a low voice, kneeling 
 
 and taking her hand} 'Tis my prayer ! 
 ZEN. (Aside.} And, as thou knowest too well, that 
 
 prayer commands. 
 
 (Rising, in a low tone, her head averted) 
 We have your escort, sir, to the passage mouth ? 
 
 85
 
 ACT III. SCENE I 
 
 LONG. {Rising from his knee, in his wonted respectful tone) 
 
 Some way, madam, at least. I shall await you 
 Here before ten. 
 
 (Exeunt ZEN. and LONG, severally.} 
 
 Di. (Emerging from her hiding-place.) She loves 
 
 Longinus then ! 
 
 Zabdas will lose his prayers. Yet, once away, 
 Are mine not lost ? What is this cloudy hint 
 About Seleucus ? Who can prophesy 
 Palmyra be not fallen within a week, 
 And we afoot for Rome ? then what return 
 For me from Rome, or him from Persia ? None ! 
 But even from this parting I must pass 
 Adown the sunless valley of lonely years 
 Unto that frozen waste, where gibber and flit 
 Tired ghosts that once walked in flushed womanhood 
 With love on morning heights ! Sooner come death! 
 What means to hinder it ? Seleucus? he 
 Nay, there's a surer method ; but a line 
 Scribbled, a soldier bribed, and before dawn 
 They are Aurelian's ! I'll entreat for them : 
 He dare not kill her ; 'twere to blot his fame 
 Indelibly : and Zabdas will be spared 
 To win him conquests ay, and to despise 
 A traitress ! Shall I not despise myself? 
 Oh, idle questioning ! while I debate 
 Swift ebbs the tide of opportunity, 
 And sweeps my life to that unsounded sea 
 Where prayers and tears avail not. Write it straight ! 
 Then manage its despatch : they will be gone 
 Ere midnight gone ! Gods ! let me be in time ! 
 
 (Exit hurriedly.') 
 
 THE SCENE CLOSES. 
 
 86
 
 ACT III. SCENE II 
 
 SCENE II. The Walls of Palmyra. Night. In the fore- 
 ground a large military engine with stones piled near it. 
 Beyond the ramparts are seen the innumerable lights of 
 AURELIAN'S camp. Enter MILO L., groping his way 
 in the darkness. 
 
 MILO. Tis a pitiful thing to see how one furnished with 
 all the outward appurtenance of wisdom to wit, a lean 
 body, a furred gown, and a trick of inattention should yet 
 be totally lacking in the same. If I were Longinus, would 
 I keep a man afoot in this most dangerous spot for near 
 two hours ? He considers not how society is robbed ! In 
 the dark, too ! I think there be not a buttress nor cata- 
 pult nor other cursed contrivance whatsoever within half a 
 mile of this that I have not broken my shins against since 
 nine o'clock. Whoop p ! {Stumbles over the engine, and 
 falls on his face, then picking himself up and rubbing his 
 shins ruefully.} 'Tis nothing nothing at all, if only you're 
 used to it. By the knuckle-bones of my father, which I 
 very well remember or by these same over-high and other- 
 wise ill-arranged walls of Palmyra, at whose building I am 
 glad I was not present if he come not straight, I'll home 
 to bed ! 'Tis clean contrary to all sound rule of warfare 
 thus to expose and endanger the wise of the city. By 
 Odin ! a light he comes at last. Nay though, 'tis my 
 lady Dione ! Sure her wits are turning ; none but Longinus 
 or a lunatic would want to air themselves up here at this 
 time of night ! Let us see ! 
 
 (Hides in an angle of the wall as DIONE enters R., carrying 
 a lantern!) 
 
 Dio. All still as death ! What means this solitude ? 
 Where are the sentinels ? I have no means 
 Save to discharge my letter into camp ( 17 ) 
 Out of some engine, and my little strength 
 
 8?
 
 ACT III. SCENE II 
 
 Is far unequal to it. The night wears on : 
 Soon it will be too late ! I looked to find 
 Syrus on guard ; he would have helped my need : 
 And three days since his post was here. 
 
 {After looking vainly up and down the wall, sJie deposits 
 her lantern, stoops to the pile of stones, selects one, and com- 
 mences fastening her letter to it.) 
 
 Oh ! why 
 
 Must woman, who can long and love and hate 
 With passion beside which a man's is pale, 
 Be ever powerless, and owe her will 
 Only to man's complaisance, if indeed 
 He thwart her not even there ? 
 
 (She lifts the stone with difficulty to its place in the engine, 
 and tries in vain to work it by pulling it backwards ; then 
 bursting into tears and wringing her hands.) 
 
 Thou cruel thing ! 
 
 That hast no heart nor feeling of my woes. 
 Thou manlike and insensible instrument, 
 
 (Beating the engine) 
 
 That only canst do hurt, and keep'st no part 
 For tenderness or pity ! Would that all 
 The pangs thou ever scattered'st could be pressed 
 In one fierce hour of quivering sentience, 
 To torture thy dull mass ! O misery 
 Of anguished woman's heart throughout the world, 
 Shrill your wild accent in the ears of Heaven 
 And make it pitiful now ! Stern Artemis, 
 Help thy weak maid ! Is't not a little boon ? 
 Try yet again ! 
 (Makes a last and violent effort to work the engine, which 
 
 refuses to move.) 
 Vain ! vain ! It will not be ! 
 88
 
 ACT III. SCENE II 
 
 (Still clasping the engine, slie falls in a passion of sobs by 
 
 its side, and faints away.) 
 
 MILO. (Advancing.) Faith, poor lady, I must cheer 
 her spirits. But, for her letter, I know not : 'twere all as 
 well, perchance, if it were not delivered. I have found 
 that so with others ere now, when I came to the reading of 
 the same. (As he is crossing to Dio., he stops suddenly and 
 listens ; then, approaching the rampart, peers stealthily over 
 it. He starts back immediately.) By the hammer of Thor, 
 here comes more company than was ever invited ! A sur- 
 prise ! (Hurries to Dio. and tries to rouse her.) Quick, 
 lady, quick ! Rouse thee, and come with me ! (Bending 
 attentively over her.} Fainted, by Hercules ! I may not 
 stay to aid her : I must find Longinus and give the alarm. 
 (Picks up Dio.'s lantern, and exit L. rapidly. Enter, 
 silently and siviftly over the ramparts, PROBUS, AGRIPPA, 
 and ROMAN SOLDIERS.) 
 
 PRO. (In loiv tones to a Centurion.) Take twenty men 
 
 at once : seize yonder tower ! (Pointing L.) 
 We follow straight. 
 
 Dio. (Reviving, and staring about her.} Where am I ? 
 Myrrha ! Oh ! 
 
 (Perceives SOLDIERS, and faints away again.) 
 PRO. Who was that spoke, Agrippa ? Did you note 
 What seemed a light moving inside the wall 
 A minute since, just ere we reached the top ? 
 (Discovers Dio. lying prostrate.) 
 A woman ? Light there ! (A torch is kindled. PROBUS 
 
 (bends over her} 
 AGRIPPA. (Catching sight of the letter in the engine.) 
 
 Can this tell us aught ? 
 
 (He unties it, and reads ; then, with a suppressed exclama- 
 tion, stoops over Dio.) 
 Probus, I know this lady ; a near friend 
 
 89
 
 ACT III. SCENE III 
 
 And confidante of the queen. Her errand here 
 Is clear from this of vital import. Read ! 
 (Handing paper. } 
 
 PRO. (Reading.} Zenobia in flight for Persia ! Gods ! 
 Aurelian must know this instantly ! 
 He would not lose her for a kingdom's fee ! 
 (To a SOLDIER.) Bessus, descend at once ! deliver this 
 Straight to the Emperor he waits even now 
 Before the Emesan gate : Agrippa, say, 
 Vouches the news authentic. Let him pass ! 
 
 (Pushing aside the throng of still ascending SOLDIERS.) 
 Lose not a moment ! 
 
 (Exit SOLDIER over the wall} 
 
 AGRIPPA. (Still bending over Dio.) Probus, I'll entreat 
 Your care for this poor lady : she's not safe 
 Here on the wall : there'll be rough work ere dawn. 
 Send her to camp. You'll spare a brace of men 
 To lift her down the ladders ? 
 
 PRO. 'Tis the least 
 
 We can. Bestow her safely, two of you ; 
 And find her tendance. Come ! each minute lost 
 Is worth a province. Forward, to the gate ! 
 (Exeunt OMNES L., except the two who remain with Dio.) 
 THE SCENE CLOSES. 
 
 SCENE III. A rocky ravine on the edge of the oasis. A 
 starlit night. A few scattered palms and terebinths. 
 On the right, in the side of the low hill which closes 
 the back of the scene, the mouth of the covered way 
 is dimly outlined through bushes by the torches of the 
 approaching party. ZACCH^EUS and an ARAB SHEIKH 
 awaiting them. 
 
 ZAC. (Impatiently.} At last they come, Shiraz ! 'tis 
 past the time 
 
 90
 
 ACT III. SCENE III 
 
 Almost an hour. Some trinket, I'll be sworn, 
 Hath kept this daughter of the Syrians, 
 That, woman-like, must spoil her beauty's gift 
 With wanton trickeries, though her life and state 
 Hang on the hazard ! 
 
 SHEIKH. Be not wroth, my lord ! 
 
 The moon is not yet risen : ere she shines, 
 Our camels will have sunk these towering palms 
 Behind them 'neath the horizon. 
 
 (Enter with torches from the passage ZENOBIA, LONGINUS, 
 ZABDAS, MYRRHA, and six armed ATTENDANTS, carrying 
 some slight baggage.} 
 
 ZEN. (Eagerly.} We are come, 
 
 Zacchaeus ! Hast thou brought the promised beasts ? 
 
 ZAC. (Swallowing his annoyance and saluting her.} Ay, 
 lady ! they have waited thee an hour. 
 
 (Presenting SHEIKH.) 
 Here is your pilot : follow in his wake ; 
 Before to-morrow's sunset you shall stand 
 Upon Euphrates' brink, whose further shore 
 Gives safety. Mayst return with victory, 
 And in that hour forget not Israel ! 
 
 (He kneels and kisses her hand.} 
 
 ZEN. Nor thee, our strangely-found deliverer ! 
 If the petition of a fugitive 
 Can breed a blessing, may it rest on thee 
 And on thy people. 
 
 (ZAC. retires into the shadow R.} 
 
 ZAB. (Impatiently.} Madam, will you mount ? 
 
 ZEN. Immediately. Have they secured the gear ? 
 Look to it, Zabdas. 
 
 (Exeunt ZAB. and ATTENDANTS L.) 
 (To LONG.) Into thy charge we give
 
 ACT III. SCENE III 
 
 The city : in our absence be ourself. 
 This seal confers the full validity 
 That our own word has carried. Use it, sir, 
 We say not faithfully that cannot need 
 But with all cheer and courage. The dark day 
 Comes as God's index of a hidden worth, 
 And candle to a man's nobility : 
 Let it illumine thine ! Our thoughts, our prayers, 
 Thou knowest, are always with thee. Fare thee well ! 
 LONG. (On his knee.) Heaven bless and keep your 
 
 highness ! 
 
 (He rises, and exit by way of the passage, with one ATTEN- 
 DANT lighting him.) 
 MYR. (Pressing forward, and laying her hand eagerly on 
 
 ZENOBIA'S arm.) Pray you, forgive me ! 
 What was that man you talked with ? 
 
 ZEN. (Absently, moving off I..) What man, child ? 
 
 MYR. (Imploringly.) Oh, madam, but one moment 
 
 ZEN. (Turning as she is passing out.) What ails the 
 
 girl? 
 What is't to thee ? 
 
 MYR. (Stammering.) That voice ! I 
 
 ZAB. (Re-entering L., with urgent insistence.) Why do 
 
 we wait ? 
 Away ! away ! your life depends on haste ! 
 
 ZEN. We come ! we come ! Come, Myrrha ! as we ride 
 I'll answer thee at full. 
 
 (Exeunt all L., except ZAC., who remains motionless, 
 watching the retreating party. The glow of the rising 
 moon is noticeable L.C., over the low banks of the ravine. 
 From some bushes at the extreme right emerge stealthily five 
 or six ROMAN SOLDIERS, who approach ZAC. in the rear, 
 and secure him as the curtain falls.) 
 
 92
 
 ACT III. SCENE IV 
 
 SCENE IV. The Desert, near Corsote, on the Euphrates ( 18 ). 
 The wide horizon of sand is broken only by low, reddish, 
 irregular, rocks, by the broken trunk of a cedar glittering 
 with salt, or by the skeleton of a camel. In the extreme 
 left winds the broad green band of the Euphrates, some 
 quarter of a mile distant. The whole scene dominated 
 R.c. by an imperious pomp of sunset. ZAB. discovered 
 supporting ZEN. and MYR., with Attendants strewing 
 carpets and erecting rough awning, L. 
 
 ZAB. Here we must halt. Our travel has been such 
 As mocks pursuit ; and we may count ourselves 
 All but in safety. Yonder flows the stream ! 
 But since we cannot trust our jaded beasts 
 To stem the current, we must find a means 
 To ferry you across. In the meantime 
 Snatch what repose you have sore need of it ! 
 This short half-hour may grant 
 
 ZEX. Thanks, Zabdas, thanks ! 
 
 I am weariness itself. 
 
 (Exeunt ZAB. and Attendants. ZEN., reclining on carpet 
 with MYR. at her feet, gazes into the dying sunset.) 
 
 ZEN. How passing fair, 
 
 Night after night, that glory ! where Day sets 
 The limits of his march, and pitches tent, 
 And summons festal pageant How it broods 
 O'er the hushed desert in a hundred dyes 
 Unmatched of mortal loom, while the tired Earth 
 Kneels to accept a blessing ere she sleep ! 
 Can we behold such beauty and not feel 
 A presage and a promise, strong ally 
 
 93
 
 ACT III. SCENE IV 
 
 Of hope against all tremblings, the sure smile 
 Of goodness that foretastes its victory ? 
 
 MYR. It makes me sorrowful, madam ; as if the skies 
 Piled their magnificence to make a pyre 
 For some dead greatness, whose high funeral 
 Is charge to God Himself. 
 
 ZEN. It is because 
 
 You are inclined to sadness. Evermore 
 We colour Nature after our own hearts, 
 Making her augur of our happiness 
 Or prophet of despair. But be more brave ! 
 Soon shall we see our city's walls again, 
 And there, thy father. These strange accidents 
 Amaze me still : it must be more than chance 
 That brought thee to Palmyra. Prithee, sing 
 What gentle lullaby thou wilt : I'll sleep. 
 {Reclines her head on a cushion^ and falls asleep during the 
 following song.} 
 
 MYR. (Sings.) 
 
 Shut of eve, and twilight pale ! 
 
 Day has tasked her powers, 
 Told the children many a tale 
 
 Through the varying hours : 
 Now she has no more to tell ; 
 
 Sleep well, sleep well ! 
 
 Vex no more the 'wildered heart, 
 
 Trouble not the brain : 
 All wherein thou play'dst a part 
 
 With the masquing train, 
 Weaving life's entangled plot, 
 
 Be now forgot. 
 94
 
 ACT III. SCENE IV 
 
 Or if elfin memory still 
 
 Tread her wayward round, 
 Let her softest footfall fill 
 
 Sleep with echoing sound 
 Freight of happy airs that blow 
 
 From long ago. 
 
 Darkness and the glittering arch ! 
 
 Night's revealing shade 
 Bids us 'neath her million march 
 
 Slumber unafraid. 
 Order in the depth and height ! 
 
 All's well ! Good-night ! 
 
 (During this song the western gloiv has faded 'entirely \ and 
 stars are now discernible twinkling in the darkness.} 
 
 MYR. She sleeps ! I must be wakeful. Heavenly Power 
 Who watchest over all things, whose strong hand 
 Appointed these bright wanderers their course 
 Even from the beginning, be our guard, 
 And guide our footsteps to such prosperous end 
 As fits thy purposes ! 
 
 (After a few minutes MYR.'S head droops, and she too falls 
 asleep. On a curtain at the back are represented the dreams 
 of the two women. ZEN.'S (R.C.) is of herself and LONGINUS 
 reading Plato under a portico opening upon beautiful gardens. 
 MYR.'S (L.C.) is of Jerusalem as seen from the Mount of 
 Olives. After a few seconds is heard very faintly in the dis- 
 tance, R., the softened thud and scuffle of horses at a gallop 
 over the sand. As the noise advances, the dreams of the two 
 women undergo a change ZEN.'S representing LONG., a 
 prisoner, brought before AURELIAN ; MYR.'S representing her 
 father's departure from the harbour of Alexandria, with her- 
 self weeping on the quay.) 
 
 95
 
 ACT III. SCENE IV 
 
 ZEN. (Moving uneasily in her sleep.} Not yet ! Stay 
 
 but a little she will surely come ! 
 He is not guilty ! stay ! 
 
 (She wakes, starts up suddenly, and listens.) 
 
 Myrrha ! Awake ! 
 Are we pursued ? 
 
 (The noise grows louder and louder : then suddenly stops, 
 and is followed by the clang of armour and weapons, as of men 
 dismounting. A voice, R., " Secure them ! " Countershout 
 heard off, L. As the two women start up, a band of Roman 
 soldiers rush in with torches, R. Before they can reach the 
 queen, re-enter, L., ZABDAS with his men, and throw them- 
 selves before her.) 
 
 ZAB. (Rushing in.) Too late ! but not too late 
 To strike one blow for what is more than life ! 
 
 (After a brief struggle, the handful of Palmyrenes are 
 overpowered ; and ZAB. falls, mortally wounded. ZEN. breaks 
 from the Roman soldiers who have seized her and MYR., and 
 kneels over him.) 
 
 ZEN. Speak, Zabdas, noble friend ! 
 ZAB. (In a faint voice.) Lady, we hope, 
 
 And strive, and all but conquer ; and at last, 
 Even in the dawn of conquest, are struck down, 
 Vanquished, despoiled, crushed by a stronger fate 
 That robs us of our prize ! and then we know 
 That not in victory lies happiness, 
 
 But in the having striven. (Struggles to raise himself: the 
 effort is too much for him.) So? (Falls back.) Good- 
 night ! (Dies.) 
 ZEN. (Bends over him, her hand at his heart and lips : 
 
 then rising, with solemnity) 
 That known, is victory ! Soldier, good-night ! 
 CURTAIN. 
 96
 
 ACT IV 
 
 SCENE I. // is the afternoon of the second day after the fall of 
 the city. The scene is laid in the same Hall of Zenobia's 
 Palace as in Act II. Scene II. Chair of state L. Enter 
 in state the EMPEROR AURELIAN, the upper part of his 
 face shrouded by a short dark gauze veil worn beneath 
 the helmet. He is conferring with FELIX. PROBUS, 
 AGRIPPA, and other Roman Officers and Guards in 
 attendance. 
 
 AUR. (To FEL.) I use, but praise not traitors. Stand aside, 
 But within call. Hereafter, if you learn 
 How to serve honestly, our mind may change. 
 
 (FELIX retires.} 
 
 Thus far, my friends, we have been strange to you. 
 Our wound craved rest, and we had closer ends 
 Requiring tendance ; but if Fortune's mood, 
 Kindlier now for bounty long withheld, 
 Affect no new displeasure, all our toils 
 Draw to a close. The city yields herself 
 Almost without a blow, her gorgeous fanes 
 And palaces unharmed, as though she hailed 
 This vindication of imperial right, 
 And smiled upon our victory. Remains 
 To exact deserved penalty from those 
 That have seduced her loyalty, and pay 
 To the infuriate legions the revenge 
 
 z. 97 c
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I 
 
 Their wounds and labours ask. Zenobia 
 Evades her punishment by flight, but leaves 
 Her counsellors in madness. Have they found 
 What hole the rhetorician has crept into, 
 Longinus ? 
 
 PRO. Hitherto our utmost search 
 
 Is fruitless, Caesar. 
 
 AUR. He'll come forth anon : 
 
 Even a philosopher must eat at whiles, 
 Or talk at least. 
 
 (He takes his seat upon the chair of state.} 
 
 Go, summon here again 
 That sullen greybeard whom the soldiers took 
 Prowling two nights ago along the verge 
 Of the oasis. 
 
 (Exit a SOLDIER, who re-enters presently with ZACCH., 
 remaining in the background till later in the scene.) 
 
 Something in his face 
 Mistrusts me. Where is the centurion 
 Who captured him ? 
 
 SOLD. (Stepping forward.) Here, Caesar. 
 
 AUR. Said you not 
 
 You heard a distant galloping of horse ? 
 
 SOLD. Ay, Caesar, eastwards. But the light was dim ; 
 We saw not aught. (Retires.) 
 
 AUR. Call Clitus, and Seleucus. (Exeunt some SOLDS.) 
 Tis time we saw our traitor. (To PRO.) Saidst thou not 
 It was thy secretary by whom he tried 
 To doctor thee in Egypt ? 
 
 PROB. Ay, my lord ; 
 
 But the strange knave is strangely disappeared, 
 And with him overt proof. I know not why : 
 Methought the rascal loved me. 
 
 98
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I 
 
 AUR. Proof enough 
 
 Against Seleucus lies in his delay. 
 A four months' siege ! He played a double game 
 Here, as in Egypt. But we shall see. 
 
 (Re-enter SOLD. R. ivith CLITUS, in deep dejection!) 
 
 AUR. (To CLITUS.) Well, sir ! 
 
 How fares your daughter ? we are bound to her, 
 And must be more indebted. Is she yet 
 Able to answer question ? 
 
 CLIT. (With clasped hands.} Oh, my lord, 
 Have we not shame enough ? She wanders yet. 
 The feverish fit hath spent its violence, 
 But left a heavy lassitude ; most times 
 She is sunk in slumber ; when she wakes, her words 
 Are still but incoherence. Tis in vain 
 To question her at present. 
 
 AUR. We will wait. 
 
 'v 
 
 Look to her well. 
 
 (Exit CLITUS R. Enter SEL., who approaches the thront 
 with assurance.} 
 
 SEL. Hail, Caesar ! here at length 
 
 My knee pays rightful homage, and my voice, 
 To simulated vows constrained too long, 
 Welcomes you to Palmyra. 
 
 AUR. (Coldly.} Ay, too long! 
 
 There thou speak'st truth ! This troublesome hurt of ours 
 Must plead excuse, sir, for the privacy 
 Kept since our entry. 
 
 SEL. 'Tis not serious, 
 
 I humbly hope. I see our Syrian sun 
 Troubles your eyes, my lord. 
 
 AUR. (Grimly.} Ay, we have felt 
 
 99
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I 
 
 Its fervour some four months ! your airy halls 
 Are welcomer for it. 
 
 SEL. And now, my lord, I trust 
 
 To serve your just revenges. 
 
 AUR. (Coldly.) A fair hope! 
 
 'Tis like our justice will require yourself, 
 Whose large desert may speedily expect 
 Its proper recompense. 
 
 ( Uproar in the square without. Enter R. hurriedly, a 
 SOLDIER.) 
 
 SOLD. Caesar, great news ! 
 
 Thou hast Zenobia ! made prisoner 
 Even on the river's very brink ; and there 
 Zabdas her general slain ! She waits below 
 Among the soldiers, who are hardly kept 
 From tearing her in pieces. 
 
 AUR. (Exultantly.) 'Tis complete ! 
 
 Here's that will drink thee into happiness ! 
 
 (Throwing him a purse.) 
 
 Bring her before me. (Exit SOLD.) Now by all the gods, 
 And, chief, the sacred splendour of that orb 
 Which crowns me with perpetual victory, 
 All else was toys to this ! 
 
 (Enter ZEN. and MYR. R., as prisoners.) 
 
 And this is she 
 
 Who played at hazard with an emperor, 
 Who held our embassies of as much weight 
 As the commission of some petty chief, 
 Tyrant of half a dozen villages ! 
 Who would refine our grosser taste with tales 
 Of beasts and marvellous wood-cutters, and add 
 Lessons in soldiership as we progressed ! 
 These elements acquired, we now invite 
 
 100
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I 
 
 Zenobia's aid in a yet harder task, 
 To unriddle her own madness. 
 
 ZEN. Must thou needs 
 
 Trample the foe thou hast o'erthrown, and drink 
 Thy conquest to the dregs ? 
 
 AUR. Then thou dost own 
 
 Us conqueror ? We hardly hoped so much ; 
 Though in this chair, usurped so long, we sit 
 To visit thy presumption. 
 
 ZEN. Victory owned 
 
 Leaves much to prove. A generous soul disdains 
 To make its triumph the mere carnival 
 Of cruelty and insult. For what's past, 
 Palmyra scorned allegiance to a prince 
 That dared not punish injuries, but drowned 
 In wine the smart of Persian insolence. 
 Not to a Gallienus could we bow ; 
 Nor yet to Claudius ! Aurelian proves 
 Of different mould : his strength compels our knee ; 
 Let him be generous, if he craves respect. 
 
 AUR. ( With a chuckle, to PROBUS.) Fago * would find 
 
 a certain humour here. 
 
 (To ZEN.) A helmet, lady, somewhat dulls our brain 
 For niceties we yield philosophy : 
 And clemency pleads best from other lips 
 Than the offender's. Our displeasure rests 
 Not on thee only, but thy counsellors ; 
 And, most, the Greek, Longinus. He is hid : 
 And thou must tell us where. 
 
 ZEN. And canst thou ask 
 
 That, from a queen, which not the meanest hind 
 
 1 Aurelian's favourite jester. See Note 9, p. 129. 
 101
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I 
 
 Who paid her tribute would have stooped unto ? 
 
 Zenobia may be vanquished, prisoner, 
 
 Dethroned, a common mock but traitress, no ! ( 19 ) 
 
 AUR. Art thou so certain of their loyalty ? 
 Thou hast not heard, then, of the pretty note 
 Whereby two nights ago thy bosom-friend 
 Informed us of thy flight ? 
 
 ZEN. Dione ! Nay, 
 
 She could not know ; and could not violate 
 Our friendship, had she known. 
 
 AUR. And yet she did ; 
 
 As this must show you. (Handing her Dio.'s letter) We 
 
 are debtor, too, 
 
 For Egypt to a kinsman of your own, 
 
 Seleucus here (beckoning SEL. forward) ; and by his timely aid 
 We climbed your battlements. 
 
 ZEN. (To SEL.) Thou art too base 
 
 For my reproaching ! On what crawling thing 
 Canst thou have been begotten, that un shamed 
 Stand'st to outface such treachery to her blood 
 Whose glory lifted even thee, whose fall 
 Marks thee for spitting to the end of time ? 
 
 (SELEUCUS breaks into coarse laughter.) 
 
 AUR. You relish this, Seleucus ? 
 
 SEL. Let her rail ! 
 
 I have the Emperor's friendship. 
 
 AUR. (Drily.) And shall taste 
 
 His bounty in due season. (To ZEN.) But there's yet 
 Another instance. (To an Attendant) Summon here the 
 Prince. 
 
 ZEN. (Agonized.) The Prince ! 
 
 SEL. (To AUR.) Were it not well to sacrifice 
 
 This rebel's whelp unto the soldiery ? 
 
 102
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I 
 
 'Twould stay their fury, and be argument 
 To make her speak. 
 
 AUR. (After withering pause.} We'll find the legions meat 
 Anon, Seleucus. (Enter Attendant with VAB. L. AUR. caresses 
 him with feigned graciousness.) Well, my pretty lord ! 
 Wilt thou fulfil thy promises erewhile 
 To tell thy mother's secrets ? There she stands, 
 Our prisoner ; and thy voice may help us much, 
 And build thee fortune from her punishment. 
 
 VAB. (Eagerly.) Ay, Caesar, I can help thee ; I can show 
 Her cabinet, where the secret papers are, 
 Written from Rome or Persia : I'll repeat 
 A hundred bitter words she spake of thee, 
 And many 
 
 (During this speech ZEN. has sunk upon the ground^ 
 covering her face with her hands} 
 
 AUR. (Smiting him across the mouth.) Enough ! remove 
 
 the prating cub : 
 
 We'll physic him anon. (To ZEN.) Art thou convinced ? 
 Or need we point thee to thy subject towns, 
 Ancyra, Tarsus, Antioch, Emesa, 
 Which welcomed us ? or to thy trusted aids, 
 Saracen, Persian ? or thy capital, 
 Yielded without a struggle ? Not a strength 
 But failed on trial ; and that oily tongue, 
 To whose cajolery thou owest thy plight, 
 Was traitor most. Then visit on his head 
 The lies which earned his momentary rank, 
 And taste our clemency. 
 
 ZEN. (Risen to her feet.) If all trust fail, 
 More needs Zenobia to be true herself; 
 Lest her defection be the fatal stroke 
 That 'whelms the tottering cause of honesty, 
 
 103
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I 
 
 And leaves the world all base. I was myself, 
 Defying thee : I will not now be less. 
 
 (TJie uproar outside, which has never ceased since ZEN.'S 
 arrival^ now increases. Cries are distinguishable. "Victims!" 
 " Give us Zenobia ! " " Where is Longinus ? " " Longinus and 
 the Queen ! ") 
 
 AUR. Dost hear that clamour ? 'Tis the voice of men 
 Who for four months have borne your Syrian blaze 
 'Mid wounds and hunger 
 
 (He is interrupted by a sudden inrush of SOLDIERS, uttering 
 the same cries. AURELIAN springs from his seat, and fells 
 the foremost to the ground. The rest hesitate, and recoil.) 
 
 Back ! you mutinous dogs ! 
 Will ye invade our very judgment-seat ? 
 And deafen us with shouting ? Now, by Mars, 
 Ye shall pay dear for this ! Back there, I say ! 
 
 (Still threatening them with his sword.) 
 SOLDIERS. (Sullenly, thronging the doorway.) Victims ! 
 
 We will have victims ! 
 AUR. (To his Guards, pointing out two ringleaders.) 
 
 Seize him there ! 
 
 And him ! Victims ? You shall afford them first ! 
 Put them in irons ! Now, is there yet some fool 
 Will try conclusions with us ? Forth with you ! 
 Ye shall have victims ; I have promised it : 
 But, by the Sun, they shall be of my gift, 
 Not of your taking. So begone ! 
 
 (Exeunt SOLDIERS, murmuring. AUR. touches the slain 
 SOLDIER with his foot.) 
 
 Cart out 
 
 This carrion, too much honoured in our stroke ! 
 ( The body is dragged off.) 
 104
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I 
 
 AUR. (As he resumes his seat on the dais, aside to PROBUS, 
 
 pulling him by the ear.) 
 
 Was't prompt enough ? I think but thou and I 
 Know the right medicine for the rascals, what ? 
 ( Turning to ZEN.) By this example judge ! The legions' rage 
 Will not be appeased by talk ; it asks for blood ! 
 Mercy must be deserved. Dost think it naught 
 To have defied two embassies, and brought 
 The Roman armies half across the world 
 To thy chastising ? Here were we encamped 
 Month after arduous month 'mid countless toils, 
 While Italy jested at her emperor 
 At war with women and with schoolmasters, 
 And held its shaking sides at ribald bards 
 Who spill their venom on the Coelian.( 20 ) 
 They knew not thee ! If vengeance spare thyself, 
 It slants on thine advisers, most of all 
 On this officious Greek, this thruster-in 
 To affairs not his : his life must purchase thine. 
 I could more easily pardon, did he live, 
 Zabdas, thy fiery man-at-arms, whose sword 
 Has wrested kingdoms from us : but this sophist ! 
 Tempt us no more. 
 
 ZEN. ( With quiet firmness^ Thou hast no argument 
 In all thine arsenal of force or guile 
 That can compel Zenobia's treachery. 
 
 AUR. (After a steadfast gaze, which ZEN. confronts un- 
 moved, turns with an impatient gesture!) Have you the 
 prisoner whom I bade attend ? 
 
 SOLDIER. (Thrusting forward ZACCH/EUS.) Here, 
 Caesar ! 
 
 MYRRH A. (Starting forward.') Father ! 
 
 PROBUS. Coelius !
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I 
 
 SEL. (Aside.) Ccelius ! 
 
 He must be silenced, then : but close, awhile ! 
 
 AUR. (Regarding ZACCH^US.) That face is not all 
 strange. 
 
 PRO. Nor to myself. 
 
 This is the man, my secretary, not seen 
 Since first we came to camp. 
 
 AUR. And ta'en that night 
 
 Whereon Zenobia fled ; in which same flight 
 He was confederate, I'll be sworn, and knows 
 Longinus' present hiding. Didst thou note 
 How yonder girl found voice? (To MYRRHA.) You, mis- 
 tress ! you ! 
 
 Stand forth, and teach your modesty to attend 
 Our question. Is the man thy father ? Speak ! 
 
 MYR. ( With clasped hands,) He is, my lord ! but 'tis 
 
 an eight years' space 
 Since we have greeted. 
 
 AUR. Thou dost serve the queen ? 
 
 PRO. She shared her flight. 
 
 AUR. Ay ! then herself can tell 
 
 The path by which they fled. Now, shy-face, speak ! 
 
 (MYR. bursts into tears.) 
 Nay, by the sun, this is too tedious. 
 
 Speak, you sir ! (To ZAC.) Were you privy to their flight? 
 (ZAC. remains sullenly silent.) 
 
 SEL. A taste of the pincers or the scourge, my lord, 
 Is often potent. Try it on the girl, 
 Or on her father, we shall have them both 
 Give tongue at once. 
 
 AUR. (Turning to SEL.) Thou'st proved the remedy- 
 By frequent use, Seleucus, hast thou not ? 
 
 SEL. Why, 'tis of use. 
 
 1 06
 
 ACT IV. SCENE 1 
 
 AUR. And gives a kind of zest 
 
 Unto authority ? 
 
 SEL. (Laughing.} A piquant sauce ! 
 
 AUR. (Slowly.} A subtle taste ! one like thyself was born 
 To wield a sceptre ! we shall soon enlarge 
 Thy knowledge of these methods. 
 
 (The cries for victims rise again from without.} 
 
 AUR. (To ZAC.) Sirrah, speak ! 
 
 Dost know my medicine for this stubbornness ? 
 
 ZAC. (Breaking silence.) Ay, if thou beest Aurelian ! 
 
 and each pang 
 
 Thy nod ordains makes heavier yet the doom( 21 ) 
 Even now o'erhanging thee ! 
 
 AUR. (Half speechless.} Am I emperor? 
 
 ZAC. Until God's anger strike thee from a seat 
 Red with thy tyranny, of which this arm (Bares his shrivelled 
 and branded left arm} Carries the proof. I never did 
 thee wrong : 
 
 Why then do I drag this seared and useless limb? 
 It cries for vengeance : if it fall not now, 
 Yet it will fall and blast thee ! Even here 
 Have I not baulked thee ? I contrived their flight ; 
 I taught Longinus where to shelter him ; 
 And sooner shall this soul and body part 
 Than thou shalt know't. Thou hast a thousand foes 
 Stubborn as I. How canst thou compass truth, 
 Whose seat is ringed with fears and flatterers 
 That lie for safety ? Round a tyrant's walk 
 Is treachery rife : it leans upon his hand, 
 Smiles at his banquet, sports, nay ! sleeps with him, 
 And having bought a quaking privilege 
 By slaughter of its fellows, turns at last 
 And makes its terror nothing ! yonder stands, 
 
 107
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I 
 
 To whet thy cruelty, a fawning hound, 
 
 Whose fangs anon shall fasten on thy flesh. 
 
 Question Seleucus of the heavy sura 
 
 Offered of late upon his guarantee 
 
 To Coelius in Egypt, but to slip 
 
 A sleeping-potion in his master's drink. 
 
 Probus can tell thee. 
 
 AUR. (Aside to PROBUS, after conferring with him apart.} 
 
 We must temporize, 
 Or go without his knowledge. 
 
 SEL. (In great agitation.) Caesar knows 
 My services in Egypt : they are proof 
 How much this rascal lies. 
 
 AUR. (Dispassionately.) Why, that may be : 
 Lies, as he saith, are common. We will look 
 Closer. 
 
 (He beckons the guards, who close round SEL. Again the 
 cry for victims rises from without.) 
 
 AUR. (To ZACCH^US.) Sirrah, we recollect thee now 
 As of that faction of intriguing Jews 
 Who felt our hand in Rome. Yet of thyself 
 We might be misinformed : and, though thy tongue 
 Wags at us like an ale-wife's, and the tune 
 Is one our ears want custom to make sweet, 
 We overlook it. Prove thyself of use, 
 Fasten this foul plot on Seleucus there ; 
 Thou mayest yet win pardon for thyself, 
 And free thy daughter. 
 
 ZAC. Can thy pardon teach 
 
 The shrivelled sinews of this arm to swell ? 
 Can it efface the brand of bitterness 
 Stamped on this heart ? Not the great God Himself 
 Undoes the past, or more than mitigates 
 
 108
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I 
 
 The stern succession of its consequence. 
 Tis for my daughter's sake, not mine, I speak. 
 I have served Probus well he used me well : 
 Else had he died in Egypt, where his life 
 Hung by a thread. Three thousand sesterces 
 Were promised on Seleucus' guarantee 
 By one called Felix. 
 
 SEL. Rascals of that name 
 
 Swarm through the empire. He can bring no proof 
 Connecting him with me. 
 
 AUR. (To ZAC.) Describe the man. 
 
 ZAC. Taller than common, dark, with a hooked nose, 
 And something of a stammer. 
 
 AUR. (Reflectively.} And called Felix ? 
 
 ZAC. Ay. 
 
 AUR. Had he not a sword-cut on his cheek ? 
 
 ZAC. The same ! the same ! 
 
 AUR. (To FELIX in background.} Come forth. (FELIX 
 advances.} 
 
 (To ZACCH.) Is that your man ? 
 
 (SELEUCUS starts involuntarily, but instantly recovers his 
 self-command.} 
 
 ZAC. Tis he ! 
 
 AUR. Felix, do you deny the tale ? 
 
 FEL. I cannot, being that myself proclaimed. 
 
 AUR. Good ! Now, Seleucus, do you know this fellow ? 
 
 SEL. Not I ! Caesar knows well that men of mark 
 Are a mere target for the informing tribe 
 To shoot their slander at. It lacks all proof. 
 I never saw the man. 
 
 AUR. ( With great deliberation} The memory 
 Of men of mark busied with great affairs 
 Must needs be short. We shall remind you, then, 
 
 109
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I 
 
 How once before the war, you and the prince 
 
 Would rape the old man's daughter there, and charged 
 
 Felix and Glabrio to carry her 
 
 Unto his lodging ; which they failed to do, 
 
 Prevented, as I think, by one Marcellus, 
 
 Who put that mark on him. Dost know me yet ? 
 
 Or must I jog thy memory of a talk 
 
 Held with Marcellus 'bout an Emperor 
 
 Fond of a wench and his Falernian, 
 
 Bloody withal, and not so firmly fixed 
 
 In the Roman chair, but that a close intrigue 
 
 Might chance to unseat him ? Dost not know me yet ? 
 
 Then see ! 
 
 (He removes his helmet with the veil attached to it, and 
 reveals the features 0/" MARCELLUS.) 
 
 ZEN., MYR., AND OTHERS. (Together.} Marcellus ! 
 
 AUR. (Gravely.} Ay, lady ! that sad knight, 
 
 Your two months' wearisome petitioner, 
 Was one unused to beg, who found those weeks 
 A wholesome purge for pride, too prone to see 
 In the distorting glass of flattery 
 
 A swollen and dropsied image. (Turns to SEL.) But for 
 thee 
 
 SEL. (Grovelling at his feet.} Mercy ! I'll serve thy 
 kitchen ! Mercy yet ! 
 
 AUR. (Sternly \ spurning him with his foot cries still 
 
 without} 
 
 As thou wast merciful ! Dost hear my dogs 
 Roar for their meat ? Their feeding-time has come ; 
 And thine for payment ! Not a shift will serve : 
 Thou art run down in the open ! Prick him forth (to 
 
 Guards}, 
 And prick for company that dastard cub,
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I 
 
 Wherewith we shamed his dam some half-hour since. 
 Forth with them ! 
 
 (SEL. and VAB., shrieking and imploring, are driven out 
 at the spear-point, ZEN. hiding her face. A yell of triumph 
 greets their appearance outside ; the noise continues for some 
 seconds, and then gradually subsides.} ( 22 ) 
 
 AUR. (To ZAC.) Thou hast served us well indeed ! 
 Complete the service : tell us, since thou knowest, 
 Where lurks Longinus, and at once be free, 
 Thou and yon pretty piece of modesty 
 Who calls herself thy child. 
 
 ZAC. Can Caesar speak 
 
 A double language ? is he to be served 
 Only by traitors, or is treachery none 
 That helps himself? 
 
 AUR. (Aside to PROBUS.) This honesty's too shrewd. 
 
 (Scuffle without, L. Enter MILO, forcing way through 
 
 the guards.} 
 
 MILO. Way, there ! way, I say ! important business to the 
 Emperor. (To one of the guards.} Now then, ton o' guts ! 
 Dost think the world made for nothing but big paunches ? 
 
 AUR. (Amused, to PRO.) Hercules, doubtless, to felici- 
 tate our victory ! 
 
 MILO. The mistake is very natural the likeness has 
 been often noticed : but I am Milo the Goth. 
 
 AUR. Indeed ! 
 
 MILO. ( With nervous courage.} Yes! I don't think we 
 ever met before. (Brief pause.} Er I am Milo the 
 Goth. 
 
 AUR. ( With pleasant composure} So you were good 
 enough to observe. And your business ? 
 
 MILO. There is one Longinus a simple, absent-minded 
 creature, but I've a great respect for him : there is much the 
 
 in
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I 
 
 poor man cannot do for himself, and I am accustomed to 
 assist him in many little matters. 
 
 AUR. The story is deeply interesting. Pray go on. 
 
 MILO. (More assured.} Well, nothing will serve but he 
 must see you. I told him you were a busy man, but he 
 persisted so I said I would see about it. 
 
 AUR. Thou hast not served in arms ? 
 
 MILO. No mistaking a military man, is there ? In my 
 youth, Caesar, there were some trifles some deeds and 
 battles ; but I shine not in it now. Rather I try 
 
 AUR. Come, fellow ! try not us. Where is thy master ? 
 
 MILO. (Sulkily.} Waiting this long while in the queen's 
 cabinet. 
 
 AUR. (To the guards} Find, and conduct him hither. 
 
 (Exit SOLDIER. After a momenfs conference with PRO., 
 AUR. notices MILO, still shifting awkwardly in front of 
 throne.} 
 
 Stand aside ; 
 Learn manners, and thou shalt not lack thy meat. 
 
 MILO. (Aside as he retires.} Manners ! to an Athenian ! 
 But you shall always find your man of affairs a fool in some- 
 what. 
 
 AUR. All's ours at length ! and (sternly to ZAC.) without 
 
 aid of thine. 
 
 Thou hoary prating Honesty, that presumed'st 
 To snatch our victims from us, what if now 
 Thy boldness taste the judgment it deserves ? 
 Canst thou arraign us ? 
 
 ZAC. ( With MYR., in a hard despairing tone} Nay, de- 
 stroy us both : 
 
 Such act were but the crown and complement 
 Of former acts. That outrage is the least 
 Which scourges life beyond thy tyranny. 
 
 112
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I 
 
 Tis but a step through that ensanguined gate 
 Where multitudes have entered, with a smile 
 Lighting their weary faces, a new hope 
 Breaking in hearts that never tasted joy. 
 Its bloody portal passed, I shall have peace ; 
 And this poor innocence ! 
 
 (Embracing and hiding his face on MYR.'S shoulder.') 
 
 PROB. Caesar, I kneel. 
 
 He hath suffered much ; his desperate plot is foiled ; 
 And here his honesty hath served us well 
 Touching Seleucus. Witness these hot drops, 
 His seared heart knows the touch of tenderness. 
 See how he folds her ! so the savage rock, 
 Scarred by the lightning's passage, nurses yet 
 In some high cleft the hidden hare-bell's grace, 
 Or tender green of moss. I'll pledge myself, 
 Pardon shall make him harmless. 
 
 MYR. (Quitting ZAC. and kneeling before AUR.) Good 
 
 my lord, 
 
 By that brave service you once did myself, 
 Your pardon now ! 
 
 AUR. (Drily to PROB.) I have constantly observed 
 That one imprudent kindness draws in train 
 At least a dozen others. (To MYR.) Have thy wish ! 
 Even in ourself, whate'er the world suppose, 
 Rough commerce of the camp and battlefield 
 Hath spared some nook for pity. (To ZAC.) Thou art free. 
 Dwell with thy pretty maid where'er thou wilt, 
 Jerusalem or Rome. We shall essay 
 To mend the wrong our hasty justice wrought ; 
 And, if thou canst, Zacchaeus (lower tone\ teach thyself 
 To think of us more kindly. 
 (MYR. and ZAC. retire. Re-enter SOLDIERS with LONGINUS.) 
 
 Z. 113 H
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I 
 
 AUR. (To LONG.) Hast thou dared 
 To thrust thy head into the lion's mouth ? 
 Sure 'twas a madness only less than that 
 Which drove a bookman's vanity to strut 
 On the great stage of empire. 'Tis a walk 
 Studded with pitfalls, sir ; your doctor's gown 
 Might scarce escape a rending or a soil. 
 Better have hugged your cloister ! 
 
 LONG. Not for grace 
 
 I come, nor to dispute. I come to claim 
 My due precedence in your wrath ; 'twas I 
 Advised Zenobia. 
 
 ZEN. Shall Zenobia stand 
 
 Meekly to hear her queenship talked away ? 
 Longinus was my instrument ; no more : 
 For a year he strove in vain to alter me. 
 
 AUR. What frenzy, then, clouded his better wits, 
 And puffed his brain to spawn that insolence 
 Agrippa brought for answer ? 
 
 LONG. 'Tis enough, 
 
 I wrote it, and stand here to answer it. 
 
 AUR. (Overmastered by his temper?) Ay, 'tis enough ! 
 
 why do we bandy words ? 
 A madman masquing in a cynic's gown ! 
 And so, to allay this fever in thy brains, 
 Thou diest at sunset ! 
 
 ZEN. (Passionately.} This is tyranny, 
 Not justice ! such an act as will disgrace 
 Aurelian ever. 
 
 AUR. (With recovered dignity coldly.) Lady, to your- 
 self 
 
 Our thoughts intend all kindness : see you frame 
 Your efforts to deserve it. To your care, 
 
 114
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I 
 
 Probus, she is entrusted When we set 
 
 Our march towards Rome, we leave you governor 
 
 Of the East and of Palmyra. (Rises to depart.} 
 
 ZEN. (Crying after him in despair.} Caesar ! my lord ! 
 This must not be such haste is madness' self ! 
 
 (AURELIAN waves her away. She appeals with clasped 
 
 hands to PROBUS.) 
 
 Sir, you are good ; you will help me to prevent 
 This murder, this 
 
 PROB. (In a constrained tone.} I am sorry for you, 
 
 madam : 
 
 I can do naught ; I serve the Emperor. 
 (Again she turns, and, running, throws herself on her knees 
 before AURELIAN as he is passing out.} 
 
 ZEN. (To AUR.) Grant us at least some conference. 
 
 AUR. (Unmoved.} To what end ? 
 
 Tears and reproaches cannot give you back 
 Your broad dominions, nor respite him. 
 Yet of our charity, that you may not call 
 Our justice churlish, we will pleasure you. 
 
 (Aside to PROBUS.) 
 
 Withdraw your men ; but leave them not too long 
 Alone together. 
 
 (Exeunt AURELIAN and all except LONGINUS and ZENO- 
 BIA. While the stage clears, she has remained sunk upon the 
 ground, her head buried in her hands. She now rises and 
 approaches LONGINUS, her step firm, her voice quiet and 
 steady?) 
 
 ZEN. Was this act well done ? 
 
 Is it not a kind of avarice to engross 
 All greatness to thyself, and leave thy friend 
 Naught but the muddy lees of selfish gain 
 To make her cheer ? 
 
 "5
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I 
 
 LONG. ( Turning from her, in a low, despondent tone) 
 
 Oh justly-punished crime, 
 
 That such a praise would palliate ! the dull lapse 
 Of uncrowned years shall edge your bitterest curse 
 Upon that traitorous sleep of my resolve 
 Which, thrown entire in the wavering scale, had saved 
 Your seat to years of happiness. 
 
 ZEN. (With conviction.) Nay, of shame! 
 
 LONG. (As before.) Had I stood firm ! there came a 
 
 wandering gleam 
 
 That seemed of heaven indeed, yet was a light 
 That flickers o'er the marsh or airy vision 
 Forged in the sunbeat traveller's heated brain, 
 That lures him with the cool of waving woods, 
 Wide-glittering lakes, and gorgeous palaces, 
 To stagger parched and blinded o'er the waste, 
 Till on the upcast of a bloodshot eye 
 Flickers the circling shadow of foul wings 
 That soon shall swoop. 
 
 ZEN. By all that's noble, no ! 
 
 It was no mirage juggled you. Clear-eyed, 
 Clear-hearted, was that instant : and that choice 
 Of justice against odds leapt as a flame 
 From out the embers of a slumbrous time 
 
 LONG. ( With bitterness.) To quench itself in blackness ! 
 ZEN. (She begins quietly.) Must I turn 
 Thy tutor, to acquaint thee that is great 
 Which greatly aims and struggles ? Though it fail, 
 Its memory is a lamp where good men turn 
 'Mid tears and toils unmarked, outshining far 
 The tinselled shrines at which a low world pays 
 Its damning adoration. Would'st thou be 
 That pitiful thing which never dares to stand 
 
 116
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I 
 
 Frankly itself, but worms, and creeps, and halts, 
 And creeps again, watching the dreaded hint 
 Of a fool world's displeasure, till at length 
 It issues safe, the mode's sleek favourite ? 
 What joy has such an one on cushioned seat, 
 Chapleted, hymned, without that inner glow, 
 The smile of God, that warms the heart of him 
 Who grasps a fearless purpose in both hands, 
 And smites ! Thou hast that smile, for thou hast dared ! 
 And this bold deed, untarnished by success, 
 Goes down the ages to acquaint mankind 
 Of one that looked askance at petty life 
 Seared with the withering touch of compromise ; 
 And so drew sword, and shouted battle-cry, 
 And, where the war was deadliest, fell, and stepped 
 Into the Eternal presence undismayed. 
 {During this speech LONGINUS has been watching her atten- 
 tively, and now his answer rings proudly and firmly.} 
 
 LONG. Canst brave it thus ? The ignominious years 
 Harbour no threat to such a constancy ! 
 The weakness was all mine : I am strong again. 
 Lo, here I kneel unto that spirit I found 
 Peerless on earth ; and passing to those seats 
 Where about Plato couched on asphodel 
 Throng the glad souls, and drink that other fount 
 Whose deathless name is Socrates, I'll say 
 I left their fellow here, who but delays 
 To join that feast of sweet society, 
 Where earth's mischance is matter for a smile. 
 
 ZEN. (Saddening.) It will content thee, then, that 
 
 fellowship ? 
 
 There will be nothing wanting, not a sigh 
 To ruffle that fair haven's summer calm ? 
 
 117
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I 
 
 No breath of aught unsatisfied, nor thought 
 
 Sent wandering down the lone abyss of stars 
 
 Unto one dark and tempest-ravaged isle, 
 
 Where famish shipwrecked souls ? Thou hast no tear 
 
 For anything that loved thee or thou lov'dst ? 
 
 Thou part'st without a pang ? 
 
 LONG. (Brokenly.} Nay, spare me this : 
 
 The pass is steep enough ! 
 
 ZEN. (Same tone of sad reverie.} Why, thou dost well : 
 I blame thee not ! What witchcraft juggles us 
 To cling to what would choke us ? to abide 
 This stealth of years that trample us and pass, 
 Each with its gibbering masque of mocking hopes, 
 Each with its bitter potion of salt tears, 
 Each with its irremediable theft, 
 A friend, a grace, a faculty ; and all 
 Warping to hard and cruel, deepening 
 The soilure on us ? 
 
 LONG. (Try ing to comfort her.} Dear lady, but the end 
 Comes surely, and the harvest : severed friends 
 Are clasped afresh, and all the taint outworn. 
 
 ZEN. ( With new decision.} Ay, we shall meet, but 
 
 sooner than thou think'st. 
 'Tis I, not Plato, who shall welcome thee. 
 Didst think I would accept a shrunken life 
 At hands of yonder laurelled boor, while thou 
 Pay'dst penalty for both ? My veins have drawn 
 Too much from Cleopatra ! See, my lord, 
 My conduct to Elysium ! 
 
 (She draws from her breast, and opens, a phial of poison. 
 LONGINUS rushes to prevent her drinking. Holding him off 
 with her left hand, she drains the contents of the phial, and 
 flings it from her. Then exultantly} 
 
 118
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I 
 
 Thus I mount, 
 
 And ride once more across the glimmering waste 
 Into the morning ! On the river's brink 
 No need to halt ; there waits the ferryman, 
 Newly returned from carrying Zabdas o'er : 
 And I shall have fair passage. Follow soon, 
 Dear heart, oh, soon ! I cannot lack thee long. 
 (She staggers, and falls upon a couch.} 
 
 LONG. (Chafing her hands.} My queen ! my mistress ! 
 
 ZEN. (Faintly, her eyes closed.} What ! no more but so? 
 Art thou so meek ? Thou should'st have been my king, 
 And shalt be yet. But first, the victory ; 
 The doubt, the peril to brave ; the crown to achieve : 
 And after, we'll not reckon gain or loss, 
 We'll take no count of the dumb pitiless years, 
 We will be spendthrifts of our happiness, 
 Children a-holiday, with an unsummed wealth 
 Of springtides, shadowless . . . [her voice trails off inaudibly.'] 
 
 LONG. (In a troubled voice} 'Tis the potent fume 
 Of the drug : she raves ! Swift ! swift ! oh terrible one ! 
 Shear from the stalk this lily ere gust or blight 
 Ravage its pure perfection. 
 
 ZEN. (Indistinctly and painfully} Dear, dear love ! 
 Wilt thou not answer ? Trust me in all the world 
 Thou wast the single jewel that I craved 
 To enrich my coronet. Silent ? oh, then, hush 
 Poor heart ! thou hast waited long, but shame us not : 
 We women must be quiet. 
 
 LONG. (Apart, powerfully moved.} Comes the dream 
 
 true? 
 Oh death, be stronger than my weakness, haste ! 
 
 ZEN. (Suddenly raising herself, her eyes wide} It is not 
 true ! he is mine he is mine I know it ! 
 119
 
 ACT IV. SCENE 1 
 
 (Groping blindly with her hands.} Where? where? Art 
 
 gone ? The darkness comes apace : 
 Yet there is time. ( With a flash of old imperiousness.) 
 
 Summon my lord again ! 
 What ! are we queen ? does no one stir ? 
 
 LONG. (Soothingly.) I am here ; 
 
 Be calm, dear lady. 
 
 ZEN. (Sinking back with a smile.) . I am abused! 
 
 methought 
 
 They had reft me ere I could discharge my debt, 
 And set against the sum of thy great worth 
 My paltry woman's fee. How shall I speak? 
 What 
 
 (She hesitates then raising herself suddenly with out- 
 stretched arms.) 
 
 Love forgive me ! wilt thou not spare one kiss 
 In pledge thou wilt not scorn me when thou comest 
 Fresh from thy triumph, through the halls of heaven ? 
 
 LONG. (Clasping her with a passionate cry.) 
 Mine ! mine ! my spirit shall claim and single thine, 
 And pay no meaner dues nor fealty 
 Through all eternity. 
 
 (They are locked in a long embrace, from which ZENOBIA 
 falls back dead. A long pause, LONGINUS kneeling by the 
 couch. A single trumpet sounds without.) 
 
 PROB. (At the door R.) The time draws on : 
 You must suspend your conference. 
 
 LONG. (Rising.) It is done. 
 
 Enter, nay, enter, sir ; and have no fear 
 To break our converse : for those high concerns 
 Which asked a queen's participance are sped ; 
 And she is gone from council, leaving us 
 Such clerkly office and mechanic chare, 
 
 120
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I 
 
 Such poor remains of mighty business, 
 As meaner care may handle. Come, behold 
 A sight shall daunt your vision, and make sere 
 The nodding honours on your master's brow, 
 Leaving his triumph blank ! 
 
 PRO. (Entering -with Guards, starts back in horror.) 
 Gods ! how fell this ? 
 
 LONG. It seems she carried poison in her robes, 
 And, being captive, used it for a key 
 To unlock her prison-gates, and so walked forth 
 To liberty. I strove to hinder her, 
 But saw the intent too late. 
 
 PRO. O fatal trust, 
 
 And purpose half-divined ! but how came she 
 By such a means ? 
 
 LONG. She must have furnished her 
 
 Before she fled. 
 
 PRO. O timeless overthrow ! 
 
 Of how much grace and sweet nobility 
 Is our rough world made orphan ! Sir, mine eyes, 
 Made traitors to a Roman fortitude, 
 Shame not for such a womanhood as this 
 To play the woman. In all time to come, 
 When men would praise some flower of womankind 
 For gracious dignity of golden words, 
 For fearless heart that held its course uncowed, 
 For animating fire of glorious hopes 
 Beyond our faithless measure, they shall say 
 So spake, so dared, so dreamed Zenobia ! 
 
 LONG. So shall they ! yet not know the wrong they do 
 In the comparison of lesser worth 
 With what must aye be peerless ! 
 
 (Enter, R., CLITUS. His air is one of the deepest shame 
 
 121
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I -- 
 
 and dejection, and during the following speech he does not 
 raise his eyes.) 
 
 CLITUS. I am come 
 
 From one that weeps and prays and wrings her hands, 
 And finds no comfort ; an unhappy girl 
 Maddened by love's mischance, who thought to stake 
 Friendship and faith for dreams of happy life, 
 And knew not that the throw was desperate ! 
 One who, long wandering in a twilight land, 
 A stranger to herself, gathers at length 
 From the confused and tangled skein of thought 
 Some clue to know her act, and finds its shame 
 Intolerable ; and, nigh distraught again, 
 Amid the wreck of all she had and hoped, 
 Craves only pardon, pardon ! 
 
 LONG. (Sadly.) How inept, 
 
 To what an impotent and idle tune, 
 Limps in this message ! In this world how oft 
 The melancholy story is retold, 
 Of penitence returning to unload 
 Its debt of trespass to some loving heart 
 Whose beat is stilled, whose kindly impulse cold ! 
 Oh, good old friend ! Dione sends too late ! 
 
 CLITUS. (In alarm.) How sends too late ? 
 
 Zenobia ? 
 
 LONG. (Solemnly.') Is not here ! 
 She is gone forth on progress : even now 
 She sights the gate of some fair capital, 
 That pours from all its palaces and towers 
 Its bright inhabitants to welcome her 
 With revelry and pageant. What lies here 
 
 (Pointing to the couch) 
 
 Is but the rich robe worn one passing hour 
 
 122
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I 
 
 At tedious ceremony, then cast aside 
 As no more needed. 
 
 CLITUS. (At the couch.} Can the years unborn 
 Hold any marked or memorable grief 
 For men to suffer ? When this tide of tears 
 Hath spent its ruinous force, and drawn again 
 Back to the general deep, whose monody 
 Is heard about the shores of human life 
 For ever and for ever, shall there come 
 One heaving billow from that sighing store 
 And sobbing chamber of calamity 
 To touch our height of sorrow ? 
 
 PROB. Yet there lives 
 
 Even in that thought some comfort. 
 
 CLITUS. I must fare 
 
 Like an unthrifty messenger betrayed 
 By too much zeal, who, stumbling in rude haste 
 Into some august presence, feels rebuke 
 Even in its calm, and stammering out abashed 
 A maimed and garbled story, gets him forth, 
 Leaving the pith unworded. 
 
 LONG. Say not so. 
 
 I am Zenobia's factor, left in charge 
 To satisfy a clamorous creditor 
 And hasten after. I'll deliver her 
 Dione's message : if the radiant soul, 
 Freed like a bird from its captivity 
 And fledged for flight untired, at all revert 
 To little injuries of the prison-house, 
 The unkindness, keenly felt and mutely borne, 
 Of scanted seed, or water-drops forgot, 
 Or twittering cheep denied, that made it droop 
 Be sure this word will gladden her. 
 
 123
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I 
 
 CLITUS. There you touch 
 
 New sorrow ! Cassius, when your steps were bent 
 To Athens' calm of whispering colonnades, 
 'Twas I that bade you stay : would first this tongue 
 Had withered at the roots ! 
 
 LONG. Wish no such wrong ! 
 
 My days had hardly bettered the blind mole's, 
 Driving content his toilsome burrowings, 
 To whose dull sense the burning of the stars, 
 The wild sea's passion and the gorgeous wear 
 Of field and forest, are naught. Now have I stood 
 Upon a skyey pinnacle, beset 
 With all earth's giant rumour, while mine eyes 
 Drank the unclouded miracle of light, 
 As wrought for only me. Dost thou recall 
 Our talk of marriage once ? I have found a bride 
 I never dreamed of ! my felicity 
 Is of an endless consequence, and dares 
 A date with heaven itself. 
 
 CLITUS. And is this truth ? 
 
 Then has God given thy soul an amulet 
 Sovereign indeed, that makes the axe thy friend 
 And marshal unto happiness. 
 
 PROB. (Advancing.) My lord, 
 
 'Tis my ungrateful office and strict charge 
 That bids me hasten you. 
 
 LONG. I am ready, sir. 
 
 Most welcome is the summons ; for this world 
 Is grown a blurring mist, and earthly sound 
 Estranged to idle buzzing in these ears 
 That catch the immortal accent. I am one 
 Embarking, 'neath the North's bleak frown, for lands 
 Of flowery pomp and fadeless summertime. 
 
 124
 
 ACT IV. SCENE II 
 
 The wind blows fair ; the deep's loud voices call ! 
 The canvas draws aloft ; and the heeled craft, 
 Dipped to the gunnel 'neath the bellying sail, 
 Strains at the cable : cut it when you will ! 
 
 PROB. (Clasping his hand.} Oh, happy confidence ! 
 
 when I set sail, 
 
 My bark be manned with spirits of like emprise, 
 Confess the freightage of as rich a hope, 
 And win such port as thine ! 
 
 LONG. Let us go forth. 
 
 (Exeunt R., LONGINUS leading?) 
 THE SCENE CLOSES. 
 
 SCENE II. The great square, thronged with soldiers and 
 citizens. Sunset. In the centre appears a scaffold 
 draped in black, and surrounded by Guards drawn 
 up: upon it the headsman, in black, standing near the 
 block. Facing it, on the right, AURELIAN, seated in a 
 chair of state. Enter, L., LONGINUS, escorted by 
 PROBUS and soldiers. At the foot of the scaffold the 
 soldiers halt, and LONGINUS ascends alone, while 
 PROBUS passes round and whispers AURELIAN. With 
 a passionate gesture the EMPEROR starts from his 
 seat ; and, disregarding PROBUS' deprecatory move- 
 ment, seems with uplifted arm to threaten LONGINUS. 
 As the latter reaches the top of the scaffold the setting 
 sun bursts from behind the clouds and illuminates 
 his features: at the same moment break forth the 
 voices of the Priests of the Sun, chanting the Evening 
 Hymn. With a movement of despair AURELIAN 
 sinks back in his chair, and buries his face in his 
 robe. During the singing of the Hymn, LONGINUS 
 125
 
 ACT IV. SCENE II 
 
 stands motionless, gazing into the sunse't : and towards 
 the close of the second verse the CURTAIN falls. 
 (TJie PRIESTS, singing, R.) 
 
 EVENING HYMN 
 
 Chief! about whose sinking fire 
 
 Cloud-battalions conspire, 
 
 Victor Light ! who, threatened thus, 
 
 Shinest still more glorious ; 
 
 Tinge our journey at its close 
 
 With a tender evening rose ; 
 
 Life's brief sunbeam overcast 
 
 Gather to Thy Flame at last. 
 
 Swift o'er all the human tale 
 Darkness draws her destined veil : 
 Fails the age-attested scheme ; 
 Flags the effort, dies the dream. 
 Only Thou art changeless ! Man, 
 Finishing his futile span 
 On the threshold of the night, 
 Bows his head, expects Thy light. 
 
 126
 
 NOTES TO 'ZENOBIA 1 
 
 Note i. Act I., p. 13. ' The buried world whose dust your coming 
 stirred' : " On ne S9ait ni le terns, ni 1'occasion qui amena ce scavant 
 a la Cour de Palmyre. Mais ce qui est avoue de tous les connoisseurs, 
 c'est que Denys Longin fut en son genre un des plus grands hommes 
 du troisieme siecle. Quelques-uns 1'ont cru natif d'Emese en Syrie : 
 du moins assure-t-on que Frontonide sa mere e"toit Emesienne, et soeur 
 d'un petit-fils de Plutarque nomme Fronton, qui fit Longin heritier de 
 tous ses biens." Histoire de Zenobie, par Euvoi de Hauteville (La 
 Haye, 1758), p. 180. 
 
 Note 2. Act I., p. 21. 'Decks her son in the purple': Trebellius 
 Pollio mentions two sons of Zenobia by Odenathus, namely Heren- 
 nianus and Timolaus, ' quorum nomine Zenobia, usurpato sibi 
 imperio diutius quam feminam decuit, rem publicam obtinuit, parvulos 
 Romani imperatoris habitu prseferens purpuratos eosdemque adhibens 
 contionibus, quas ilia viriliter frequentavit, Didonem et Samiramidem 
 et Cleopatram sui generis principem inter cetera praedicans.' Triginta 
 Tyranni^ c. 27. Vopiscus, however, correcting this statement (Aurel. 
 c. 38), says that it was not in the name of Herennianus and Timolaus, 
 but of Vabalathus, that she exercised authority ; and his claim finds a 
 support, which that of the others lacks, in the survival of a few medals, 
 both Greek and Roman, bearing his name and effigy, with Aurelian's 
 on the reverse. The rank conferred on him, whether by Zenobia or 
 Aurelian, must have been that of ' Caesar,' a title employed from the 
 time of Hadrian onwards to designate the heir-apparent, already 
 associated to the imperial power. In Act IV. I have, however, once 
 or twice applied to Aurelian a style properly applicable only to earlier 
 emperors. 
 
 Note 3. Act I. , p. 22. ' Makes not Sapor even now His footstool 
 of a captive emperor ' : the indignities offered to the imperial captive 
 are reproduced from Tillemont by Gibbon, who says that when Sapor 
 wished to mount his horse, he placed his foot upon Valerian's neck. I 
 
 127
 
 NOTES 
 
 cannot find the precise authority for this, though several speak of 
 servile treatment. The Elizabethan reader will recall the similar 
 usage of the captive Bajazet by the ' glorious tyrant ' Tamburlaine 
 (ist Part, iv. 2). It should be noted, however, that Valerian's suffer- 
 ings terminated long before the date at which the play opens. Against 
 the ' captus in dedecori seruitute consenuit ' of Rufus Sextus, c. 23, we 
 may put Aurelius Victor ' De Caesaribus,' c. xxxii., ' interiit imperil 
 anno sexto,' i.e. in 260, the year of his defeat and capture. He was 
 then more than seventy years of age. 
 
 Note 4. Aft I. , p. 24. ' Whose fame . . . Longinus ' : 
 Eunapius, in his life of Porphyry, Longinus' pupil, extols our hero as 
 4 a kind of living library and walking museum,' without whose assent 
 no critical opinion could be held valid. 'Hi/ yap 6 Aoyyi v s M a/c PV v 
 rare &v8oCiv TO. wavra Apiffros, Kal TUI> fiifiXluv re avrou iroXi) irXrjOos 
 <pfpfrai, Kal TO <pep6(ji>ot> 0av/j.afeTai. Kal ft TIJ Kartyvu TIVOS TUIV 
 iraXaiuv, 01) TO dofaffOtv ttcpdrei. irporepov, dXX' TJ Aoyyivou irdvTtin ^Kparet 
 
 Note 5. Act I., p. 29. ' Phronto of Athens ' : see Note I. Actually 
 Phronto must have died some years prior to the date at which the play 
 begins, 272 A.D. The Gothic attack on Athens really occurred ten 
 years before (262 A.n.), in the reign of Gallienus : see Gibbon, vol. i. 
 399 (ch. x.). The story about the books occurs in Zonaras, xii. 26, 
 p. 605, and is briefly given at the end of Montaigne's essay on 
 Pedantry. 
 
 Note 6. Act /., /. 32. 4 A seditious bishop Paul,' etc. : see 
 Zonaras, xii. 25, p. 603, and Robertson's History of the Church, ch. vii. 
 The critic will, I hope, forgive my retention of Paul of Samosata, a 
 figure who appears no more, and is unessential to my plot, though he 
 was one of Aurelian's sources of trouble in Syria. Neale's History of 
 the Eastern Church says that he had been chosen, as the highest 
 dignitary in the East, to satisfy Zenobia's desire for instruction in the 
 principles of the Christian faith. According to Athanasius, nearly her 
 contemporary, she was inclined to Judaism ; and she has even been 
 said (with scant probability) to have been a Jewess. See the recent 
 work of Dr. William Wright, Palmyra and Zenobia, pp. 124, 131. 
 
 Note 7. Act II., p. 37. ' Aphaca ' : a place between Heliopolis and 
 Biblus, with a lake and temple sacred to Aphrodite. Zosimus, i. 58, 
 says the Palmyrenes might have taken warning from the fact that the 
 gold and silver vessels and woven raiment which they were wont to 
 cast yearly into the lake in the goddess' honour, failed this year to sink, 
 as though she rejected their offering. 
 
 128
 
 NOTES 
 
 Note 8. Act II. , p. 40. 'Aurelian's taste for intrigue . . . 
 Milan ' : see Zonaras, xii. c. 25, pp. 601-2. 
 
 Note 9. Act 1 1., p. 43. A merry soul that loves a wench,' etc. : 
 "convivium de assaturis (roast meat) maxime fuit : vino russo maxime 
 delectatus est. . . . Erat quidem rarus in voluptatibus, sed miro 
 modo mimis delectabatur, vehementissime autem delectatus est Fagone," 
 a story of whose gluttony is then related. ^ V I JK<. > SCA<A 1 
 
 Note 10. Act If., p. 43. ' That gamesome legionary he crucified,' 
 etc. : this instance of Aurelian's severity is recorded by Vopiscus, c. 7. 
 " Hie autem, ut supra diximus, militibus ita timori fuit, ut sub eo, 
 posteaquam semel cum ingenti severitate castrensia peccata correxit, 
 nemo peccaverit. Solus denique omnium militem, qui adulterium cum 
 hospitis uxore commiserat, ita punivit, ut duarum arborum capita in- 
 flecteret, ad pedes militis deligaret easdemque subito dimitteret, ut 
 scissus ille utrimque penderet : quae res ingentem timorem omnibus 
 fecit." ^V *O-HAJ fai.jJ+na*Jtr LJO-* a.<-c al^t.4 6, A<**<*Jn.Av\ 6> O e*<c> i rtQ 
 
 Note II. Act If., p. 43. 'The Jews . . . after the late re- 
 volt ' : the disturbance here alluded to, and connected with the fortunes 
 of Zacchaeus (Act III., p. 80), was that which took its rise from a 
 corruption of the coinage by the workmen of the mint. " Neque secus 
 intra Urbem monetae opifices deleti ; qui cum auctore Felicissimo 
 rationali (supervisor) nummariam notam corrosissent, poerue metu 
 bellum fecerant, usque eo grave, uti per Coelium montem congress! 
 septem fere millia bellatorum confecerint." Aurelius Victor, c. 35. 6. 
 But from Vopiscus' mention (c. 21) of the execution of some senators, 
 it seems as if senatorial intrigue lay behind. Aurelian was not on good 
 terms with the order. Gibbon relates the affair as occurring after the 
 war with Zenobia ; but Vopiscus places it before. 
 
 Note 12. Act II., p. 43. ' Hand-to-Sword ' : Vopiscus (c. 6) says 
 that Aurelian received this nickname in the army, when tribune, to 
 distinguish him from a namesake. 
 
 Note 13. Act //.,/. 50. 'Cniva led the Goths southwards ': the 
 Gothic invasion under Cniva, 250 A.D., is related by Jomandes, c. 18, 
 and Aurelius Victor, c. 29. They besieged and sacked Philippopolis, 
 and twice defeated the emperor Decius. See Gibbon, vol. i. 382-6 
 (ch. x.). 
 
 Note 14. Act If., p. 57. 'Probus . . . Egypt ' : Zosimus, i. 
 44, relates that Probus recovered Egypt after Zabdas' conquest of it in 
 Claudius' time, only to be subsequently worsted by Timagenes, an 
 Egyptian champion of Zenobia, and to commit suicide. Zonaras, xii. 
 27, p. 607, says that Zenobia on her conquest of Egypt ' had captured 
 
 z. 129 i
 
 NOTES 
 
 Probus, who was commander there ' : while Vopiscus, in his life of 
 Probus, c. 9, says, " Pugnavit etiam contra Palmyrenos Odenati et 
 Cleopatne [Zenobias ?] partibus /Egyptum defendentes, primo feliciter, 
 postea temere, ut poene caperetur, sed postea refectis viribus ^Egyptum 
 et orientis maximam partem in Aureliani potestatem redegit." I have 
 chosen to follow Gibbon in representing these Egyptian events as part 
 of Aurelian's campaign against Zenobia. The hint of Probus' danger 
 given above forms my sole warrant for the Alexandrian schemes with 
 which I have credited Seleucus. Probus succeeded to the empire in 
 276 A. D., and kept his high character unstained through six years of 
 sovereign power. It is interesting to note that, like Aurelian, he was 
 a native of Sirmium in Pannonia. 
 
 Note 15. Act I I., p. 69. "Zenobia ... to Aurelian": his- 
 torically Zenobia's letter of defiance, dictated by Longinus, was written 
 during the siege, in answer to Aurelian's demand for surrender. It 
 is preserved by Vopiscus (Aurel. c. 27) from the documents to which 
 he had access in the Ulpian library, being translated by him from the 
 original Greek, and runs as follows: " Zenobia regina orientis Aureliano 
 Augusto. Nemo adhuc praeter te hoc, quod poscis, litleris petit. 
 Virtute faciendum est quidquid in rebus bellicis est gerendum. De- 
 ditionem meam petis, quasi nescias Cleopatram reginam perire maluisse 
 quam in qualibet vivere dignitate. Nobis Persarum auxilia non desunt, 
 qua; jam speramus, pro nobis sunt Saraceni, pro nobis Armenii. 
 Latrones Syri exercitum tuum, Aureliane, vicerunt. Quid igitur si ilia 
 venerit manus, quse undique speratur ? Pones profecto supercilium, 
 quo nunc mihi deditionem, quasi omnifariam victor, imperas." The 
 responsibility for this letter was the cause of Longinus' execution (Vop. 
 Aurel. 30. 3). 
 
 Note 16. Act III., p. 78. 'A secret way': there is no historical 
 authority for this secret passage, Zenobia's escape having been actually 
 made through the Roman lines. The expedient is suggested in Ware's 
 Letters from Palmyra (p. 304, Cassell's edition), but formed, I believe, 
 part of my plot before I had reached that portion of the novel, which, 
 however, I have followed in making a Jew the repositary and the re- 
 vealer of the secret. 
 
 Note 17. Act III., p. 87. 'Discharge my letter into camp': 
 Aurelius Victor (De Casaribus, 33. 20) relates how Aureolus, besieged 
 in Milan, and wishing to convey some false information to the besiegers, 
 ' literas e muro quam occultissime potuit abjecit ; quae forte memoratis 
 repertae, metum suspicionemque injecere,' etc. 
 
 Note 1 8. Act I II., p. 93. 'Corsote': Dr. William Wright (Pal- 
 130
 
 NOTES 
 
 myra and Zenobia, p. 160) says : ' Deyr is believed to be the crossing 
 at which Zenobia was captured. ' But Deyr or Beonan lies some 1 50 
 miles to the N.E. of Palmyra ; and if Ctesiphon to the S.E. was her 
 objective, it seems hardly probable she would take so roundabout a 
 route. I have chosen Corsote, the nearest point (about 160 miles) on 
 the river due E. from Palmyra, as best satisfying her double need, of 
 speedy safely and speedy arrival at the Persian capital ; though doubt- 
 less the journey to Corsote and back is rather more than could actually 
 be accomplished by the most rapid travelling in the forty hours or so 
 that I have allotted for it. 
 
 Note 19. Act I V.i p. 102. ' But traitress no ! ' : the statement that 
 Zenobia endeavoured to shift the responsibility for her actions upon 
 Longinus rests on the authority of Zosimus, i. 56, p. 49 : i xai>t\6uv 
 et's rrjv "Efj.eyav ds Kpiffiv ijyaye Zi-qvofilav re Kal TOI)J Tavr-g ffwapanivoii. 
 tirel d oiVias H\e~ytv avri]i> e^aipovcra, iroXXoi's re AXXous frftv e/s (door 
 iis irapzyayovTas ola ywatKa, tv ofj Kal \ayyivot jv, o5 
 ccrri fiLtya Toty TratSeta? fierairoiovfjLtvois 6<j>(\os <ptpoma.' yirtp 
 Ko.TT)yopiiTo tXeyxofiAvif ira.pa.xp'ntM- 6 /3affi\ei)s 6a.v6.rov frinla 
 ty O&TU yevvaius tfveyKfv 6 \oyyivos &ffrf Kal TOI/S ffxeTXidfoiraj fwl Tip 
 irdtfei irapafj.v0elffdai, Kal &\\uv St ZTjvojSias Karenrova-rif K0\dffri 
 i'tra'xQti'Tuv. It is in this point, and in regard to her end, that I have 
 diverged most seriously from history. Zosimus, c. 59, mentions a re- 
 port that she died of illness or starved herself before they quitted Asia, 
 and that the other chief captives, except her son, drowned themselves 
 as they were crossing the Hellespont. Zonaras, too, xii. 27 (p. 607), 
 states that while some say she was taken to Rome and married there, 
 others represent her as dying on the journey through excessive grief at 
 her reverse of fortune. But there is no escaping the decisive testimony 
 of Trebellius Pollio, c. 30, and Vopiscus, c. 33, who describe at length 
 Aurelian's triumph in Rome and her part therein ; while the former 
 speaks of her subsequent quiet life at Tibur, not far from Hadrian's 
 villa. 
 
 Note 20. Act IV., p. 105. ' Ribald bards who spill their venom,' 
 etc. : Trebellius Pollio ( Triginta Tyranni, c. 30) relates how Aurelian 
 met the sneers against him by a letter to the Senate and people, repre- 
 senting how formidable a foe Zenobia was. " Sibi ergo habeant pro- 
 priarum venena linguarum ii quibus nihil placet.' 9- 
 
 Note 21. Act IV., p. 107. ' The doom even now o'erhanging thee ' : 
 Aurelian was assassinated about a year and a half later (March, 275 
 A.D.), between Heraclea and Byzantium, while setting out on his 
 campaign against Persia. I give the event in Gibbon's words (vol. ii.
 
 NOTES 
 
 p. 32, chap. xi. ) : " He there experienced that the most absolute power 
 is a weak defence against the effects of despair. He had threatened 
 one of his secretaries [Eros by name, according to Zonaras and Zosimus, 
 Mnesteus according to Vopiscus], who was accused of extortion, and it 
 was known that he seldom threatened in vain. The last hope which 
 remained for the criminal was to involve some of the principal officers 
 of the army in his danger, or at least in his fears. Artfully counterfeit- 
 ing his master's hand, he showed them, in a long and bloody list, their 
 own names devoted to death. Without suspecting or examining the 
 fraud, they resolved to secure their lives by the murder of the emperor. 
 On his march, between Byzantium and Heraclea, Aurelian was suddenly 
 attacked by the conspirators, whose stations gave them a right to sur- 
 round his person, and, after a short resistance, fell by the hand of 
 Mucapor, a general whom he had always loved and trusted. He died 
 regretted by the army, detested by the senate, but universally acknow- 
 ledged as a warlike and fortunate prince, the useful though severe 
 reformer of a degenerate state." 
 
 Note 22. Act IV., p. in. (Seleucus . . . driven out): I have 
 transferred to Palmyra and Seleucus the circumstances attending 
 Aurelian's capture of Tyana in Ancyra, which was betrayed to him by 
 one of its citizens earlier in the war. In a letter given by Vopiscus 
 (Aur. 23. 4) the emperor thus defends his abandonment of Heraclam- 
 mon, the traitor, to the soldiery : " Occidi passus sum cujus quasi 
 l>eneficio Thyanam recepi. Ego vero proditorem amare non potui et 
 libenter tuli, quod eum milites occiderunt, neque enim mihi fidem 
 servare potuisset, qui patrbe non pepercit." 
 
 132
 
 pinions of tbc fcress 
 
 THE IMMORTALS AND OTHER POEMS 
 BY R. WARWICK BOND 
 
 " The name of Mr. R. Warwick Bond will perhaps be new to most 
 readers of poetry, as it is to ourselves. But if he car. maintain the level 
 of melodious versification and graceful fancy which he has reached in 
 ' The Immortals and other Poems,' it should not long continue to be 
 unknown. ' The Immortals ' is a vision of the great poets of the 
 world, who hold high debate on man and his destiny, each reflecting in 
 his turn the spirit of the times to which he belonged. The conception 
 is a bold one, but Mr. Bond grapples with it boldly and not unsuccess- 
 fully, and handles the difficult metre he has borrowed from Cardinal 
 Newman with grace and skill." Times, Jan. 1st, 1891. 
 
 " Mr. Bond shows dignity of style and reverence of spirit in making 
 his Immortals speak. . . . The poem, as a whole, is lofty in tone and 
 elegant in diction. Of the minor verses, ' Sunset ' is perhaps the best, 
 but all are above mediocrity." Morning Post, Jan. 2nd, 1891. 
 
 " The task was a hard one, but he has accomplished it with a large 
 measure of success, due partly to skill, partly to discretion. His mind 
 is clear, his power of expression vigorous and true, and by a rigid 
 application of the closure he saves his characters from any danger of 
 dulness. Homer's speech lends itself most easily to the needs of quota- 
 tion. 
 
 * * 
 
 Feebly and slow 
 
 Trickles Life's current in an hundred streams, 
 That once, downrushing from the mountain's brow, 
 
 Leapt in the morning's beams 
 Joyous, resistless ! Earth is wide as then, 
 And Nature not less fair : what plague has fallen on men ? 
 The last stanza is exceedingly fine, and so is his picture of the great 
 1'uritan poet." Literary World, March 2Oth, 1891. 
 
 " The poems therein contained show no sign of immaturity, and, if 
 the poet be in reality a young singer, he has in these verses already 
 reached no mean height of poetic attainment, and given most hopeful 
 promise of future success. . . . (The metre) is well suited to the ele- 
 vated diction and grave thoughtfulness of Mr. Bond's poem. . . . There 
 are but ten sonnets, and amongst them not one which the most fanatic 
 sonnet-maniac would wish away. That on Robert Browning is fine, 
 and this, on the unveiling of the Gordon Statue in Trafalgar Square, 
 except for the awkward penultimate line of the sextet, could hardly be 
 improved. 
 
 133
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS 
 
 We raised no cheer we stood a silent throng. 
 And watched the veiling drapery fall aside, 
 And viewed his breathing image with a pride 
 That struggled with the shame of conscious wrong, 
 As over each man's heart, that crowd among, 
 Swept the remembrance of yon bitter tide 
 When England gathered how her hero died 
 Deserted, hopeless but unshaken, strong ! 
 
 We cannot make amends : we can but weep 
 
 The cold insensibility that lost 
 
 A worth the world too seldom paragons ; 
 
 And shame our sordid lives, that halt and creep 
 
 And haggle o'er each Heaven-sent impulse' cost, 
 
 By his, whose memory shall outlive the bronze." 
 
 Manchester Examiner, Oct. loth, 1890. 
 
 " There is genuine poetic feeling in this dainty little volume, and the 
 author has considerable facility in metres." British Weekly, Oct. 2nd, 
 1890. 
 
 " Mr. Bond has the feelings and the fancy of a poet." Publishers' 
 Circular, Oct I5th, 1890. 
 
 "A dainty little volume of elegant verse." Inquirer, Oct. 25th, 
 1890. 
 
 " The effort of Mr. Bond ... is hardly less interesting than 
 daring." Glasgow Herald, Oct. 25th, 1890. 
 
 "There is both dignity and sweetness in Mr. Bond's work." 
 Graphic, Nov. 22nd, 1890. 
 
 " His verses are singularly graceful and well turned." Guardian, 
 Dec. 3 ist, 1890. 
 
 " In his minor pieces, such as ' The Fall of the Leaf ' and ' Bettws- 
 y-Coed,' we like him very much." Speaker, Dec. 2Oth, 1890. 
 
 " These poems have the note of culture and refinement." Birming- 
 ham Post, Jan. I4th, 1891. 
 
 " Mr. Bond evidently aims at the audience fit though few." Public 
 Opinion, Feb. 131)1, 1891. 
 
 " All the excellences of this charming little volume are not contained 
 in its parchment cover. . . . As a sample of his wares, we may take 
 the sonnet addressed to the crews of the Southport and St. Anne's life- 
 boats, who perished in the gallant attempt to rescue a crew in De- 
 cember, 1886. 
 
 Our tears would wrong you, hero-spirits ! who cast 
 
 Your lives into the ungoverned wild debate 
 
 Of wind and wave, and, whelmed beneath the weight 
 
 Of breakers roaring landwards on the blast, 
 
 From the mid hurricane to silence passed. 
 
 Tears for the world made poorer by your fate ! 
 
 Tears for the wife and children desolate ! 
 
 For you, great hearts ! no idle grief we waste : 
 
 Seeing, to brave men, Death is as a bride 
 
 Won by long wooing, in whose arms they sleep 
 
 134
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS 
 
 And know no care or harbour shut from harm, 
 Where the loud voices of the wintry storm 
 Come not, but sea-worn barks securely ride, 
 Locked in a spacious haven, still and deep." 
 
 Yorkshire, Post, Jan. 1 4th, 1891. 
 
 " A volume of poetry as contradistinguished from verse. A book 
 to put in one's pocket on leaving home for a holiday tramp. ... Of 
 the shorter poems ' The Fall of the Leaf and ' Sunset ' are very fine." 
 Sheffield Independent, April gth, 1891. 
 
 " In his 'Immortals and other Poems' Mr. R. Warwick Bond success- 
 fully breaks ground as a poet. . . . His diction and imagery are 
 occasionally felicitous as, for example, in this tribute to the magic of 
 Virgil : 
 
 But when he spoke 
 
 Oh ! not with this rude utterance ! an unknown 
 And peerless harmony the silence broke, 
 
 Whose sweetness might disown 
 The far-off cadence of the summer seas 
 That chant at eve a burthen fraught with memories. 
 
 Again, at Shakespeare's uprising with intent to express his broad and 
 sympathetic views of human conduct and interest, there was a thrill of 
 spontaneous enthusiasm : 
 
 And far in heaven, methought a delicate rose 
 
 Flushed o'er the listening heights, and thrilled their conscious snows. 
 . . . The poem is good, both in conception and execution, and its 
 promise is perhaps of more import than its performance. . . . His 
 ' Sunset ' displays both descriptive beauty and metrical grace." Daily 
 Chronicle, Feb. 1 8th, 1891. 
 
 AN ODE TO THE SUN, AND OTHER POEMS 
 BY R. WARWICK BOND 
 
 "Mr. R. Warwick Bond, whose poem ' The Immortals ' met with a 
 very favourable reception two years ago, has made another venture. 
 . . . There is much in Mr. Bond's volume that will please a good 
 reader . . . Here are verses which will show in what manner the won- 
 derful theme has kindled in him corresponding fires : 
 What wonder if the chainless soul of Greece 
 To thee her manifold libation spills ? 
 Lord of her olive's, of her vine's, increase ! 
 Unerring Archer ! roving Lycian hills ; 
 Fathomless Seer ! whose inspiration fills 
 Thy priestess with the rage of hidden things ; 
 Or Harpist ! wreathed with the unwithering bays ! 
 Greece, whose warm page, whose whole existence, rings 
 With still redoubled paeans in thy praise. 
 The theme alike and source of those her deathless lays ! 
 In ' The Stowaway,' which describes an incident that occurred in the 
 great storm of October, 1882, Mr. Bond gives us an admirable bit of 
 
 135
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS 
 
 verse. . . . it would make an excellent recitation. " Glasgow Herald, 
 Oct. aoth, 1892. 
 
 " Mr. Bond in his present volume fiilly maintains the promise we 
 discerned in his work. . . . His versification is still as melodious and 
 his fancy as graceful as before." Times, March 3Oth, 1893. 
 
 " Mr. Bond has improved, ... his poems show more feeling and 
 increased power. ... A minor key suits him best." Guardian, 
 March 1 5th, 1893. 
 
 " The author of ' The Immortals ' . . . gives further proof in this 
 volume of his undoubted felicity ot expression and genuine feeling . . . 
 ' A Christmas Eve ' is a charming composition in ballad form. . . . 
 His sympathy with classical studies is eloquently expressed in ' Vie 
 Victis.'" Church Times, Nov. nth, 1892. 
 
 " The measure and tread of the piece which gives title to the collec- 
 tion are firm and stately rather than flowing, requiring slow perusal 
 to thoroughly grasp the thought and catch the idea ; but amid the 
 elaborate lines there are those which have the freshness, smoothness, 
 and beauty of spontaneity and inspiration, as 
 
 Where no mind 
 
 Is pasture to remorse, where hate ne'er came, 
 Where trust begets no tears, and loveliness no shame. 
 
 The other pieces are cast in various moods and measures. The breezy 
 lilt and the pathetic strain alternate in ' The Stowaway ' ; humour lurks 
 but does not obtrude in ' Cinderella at Home ' ; there is music in the 
 plaint of ' An Old Air' and ' Out of Tune,' and not a few beauties of 
 diction and of fancy to be found in the remainder of a collection that 
 reaches a high level of culture and melodious excellence." Liverpool 
 Daily Post, November 3Oth, 1892. 
 
 "The work of a scholarly, cultured mind that takes delight in poetry, 
 in nature, and in art." Scotsman, March 2Oth, 1893. 
 
 "Shows himself capable of emotion and pathos." Publishers' 
 Circular, March 25th, 1893. 
 
 " He writes gracefully and well. He can put a touching story into 
 very effective verse, as 'The Stowaway' shows." Yorkshire Post, 
 March 29th, 1893. 
 
 "Of all the 'poems' in An Ode to the Sun we fancy but one, 'An 
 Old Air,' wherein the curious may discover a pretty lyric." National 
 Observer, January 2lst, 1893. 
 
 " These poems are well worth reading ' Astraea Redux ' 
 
 is ambitious and successful ; ' My Host ' is sarcastically clever ; even 
 the sonnet upon the death of Prince Albert Victor, which we have 
 begun to look upon as inevitable from minor poets, has an undeniable 
 charm and a true sympathetic ring about it." Public Opinion, March 
 3ist, 1893. 
 
 "The thought and point of view of 'Limitation' has distinct 
 interest." Bookman, April, 1893. 
 
 " New sonnetteers arc so often passed by without remark, that we 
 feel it incumbent on us to call attention to the quality of Mr. Bond's 
 verses." Bookseller, April 7th, 1893. 
 
 136
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS 
 
 " Mr. Bond is a deep student, and there is a majesty of diction in 
 most of these poems, which is in a high degree noteworthy. He has 
 sat long at the feet of Milton, and somewhat at those of Wordsworth, 
 and that purest singer of our time, Matthew Arnold, and no wonder 
 that he has caught more than an echo of their grandeur. Here, for 
 example, are the second and third stanzas of his opening poem : 
 
 Even as hoar Ossian's Celtic harp did hail 
 Thy lamp, that o'er his sightless eyeballs rolled 
 Even as that other broke the stately tale, 
 Where Hell and hideous Chaos lay enscrolled, 
 To bless that Light he should no more behold 
 I too, last-born of all the hapless choir, 
 No peer of these who hymned thee heretofore, 
 Yet one for whom God darkens not thy fire, 
 Salute thee, ere I reach the silent door, 
 And pass like them to dust, and be a voice no more. 
 
 Hail ! thou that never without welcome art, 
 Bright Lord of human joy ! whether new-born, 
 And shaking Ocean from thee, to the heart 
 Of the dim city's slaves, by toil outworn, 
 Thou bring'st a thought that makes them less forlorn, 
 And lightenest the sad features, pale and wan ; 
 Or when the red hues of thy setting stain 
 Evening's cloud-hung pavilions, and man 
 Hears in that vision's solemn peace a strain 
 Wafted from Heaven itself, that stills Earth's clamorous pain. 
 
 Much of Mr. Bond's work may be classed as rhetorical : but, as will 
 be seen from the above, there is plenty of lofty thought in it. Slight 
 faults . . . there are here and there ; but as a whole the lines are 
 melodious and free-flowing. ' The Stowaway ' is a noble story told in 
 noble language, and the rhetorical tendency, though always present, 
 does not detract from the simplicity and pathos, which were the writer's 
 aim. In ' Astraea Redux ' and ' Vae Victis ' . . . there is much 
 that is classical in the truest sense ; and ' A Ruminant ' the reverie of 
 a student diverted from the perusal of old Sir Thomas Browne, by a 
 mental glance at Milton's 
 
 Were it not better done, as others use, 
 To sport with Amaryllis in the shade 
 
 will bring before most readers a remembrance of the effort demanded 
 in successful pursuit of any sort. . . . Perhaps Mr. Bond at times 
 errs in the direction of building for himself a palace of art. The low- 
 lands, where shepherds pipe, are more constantly attractive to most 
 people, and they are not wanting in nobleness and poetry." Manchester 
 Courier, April 1st, 1893. 
 
 " Shows his accustomed merits of sweetness and dignity of versifica- 
 tion." Westminster Review, June, 1893. 
 
 "We know Mr. Bond to be a scholar and a lover of the old poets 
 from his recent edition of William Basse. . . . These three verses 
 
 137
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS 
 
 of parted love in Mr. Bond's most ambitious poem, ' An Epithalamium,' 
 in the Elizabethan fashion, make most impression on us : 
 
 Is there no sense 
 
 Whereby two souls conjunct in sympathy 
 May mingle, o'er the roaring waste of sea, 
 
 In conference? 
 
 Breathe no celestial airs that grace may lend 
 Our grosser limitation to suspend 
 And bid us bridge the vast unmeasured space 
 
 With love's embrace ? 
 
 Gleams there no glass in heaven's o'erarching blue 
 Where thought may follow thought and understand, 
 As when from eye to eye the message flew, 
 
 And hand pressed hand ? ' 
 
 All his verse has thought, and he has a certain skill in the manipulation 
 of intricate metres." Daily Chronicle, June 3rd, 1893. 
 
 " We can say, and that with no uncertain tone, that it has been a 
 true pleasure to us to peruse many of these poems. . . . The ode 
 addressed to the sun has some fine stanzas, and we should like to quote 
 one or two of them, but turning over the pages we find verses of 
 sweeter and simpler appeal. [' My Host ' quoted] This is capital. 
 . . . Often Mr. Bond gives us statelier work. The first three 
 verses of ' Polyhymnia ' are beautiful, and there is much to be admired in 
 the ' Stowaway ' ballad, though once Longfellow is too closely imitated. 
 We shall end by cordially hoping that more copies of this second book 
 will escape from the publishers' shelves into the reading world than 
 there did of the first." Literary World, June 9th, 1893. 
 
 " Mr. Bond is considerably above the level of average merit. ' Vae 
 Victis ! a lament over the threatened decay of Classical Studies,' is 
 really fine. There is something in the following which Matthew 
 Arnold himself would not have disdained : 
 
 Ah ! long ago 
 
 That glory sank beyond the western steep : 
 Fast comes the night ! but yet some after-glow 
 
 The lonely uplands keep ; 
 A roseate flush still lingers in the skies, 
 And echoes faint are heard of vanished harmonies. 
 
 We watch it fade, 
 
 That heavenly light ! we hear those voices die ! 
 Mutely we sit, with folded hands, betrayed 
 
 To idle phantasy : 
 
 We hear but discord in the world's new song ; 
 We cannot share its feast, nor join its hurrying throng : 
 
 Like an old hound 
 
 That patient waits in his dead master's hall 
 And strains his ear for the loved footstep's sound, 
 
 The old familiar call ; 
 And brooding o'er a dear face unforgot, 
 Turns from the strange caress, the hand that comforts not. 
 
 138
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS 
 
 The ' Epithalaraium,' that with its ' Epilogue ' concludes this volume, 
 is another fine effort." Spectator, October 28th, 1893. 
 
 AT STRATFORD FESTIVAL: A POEM 
 BY R. WARWICK BOND 
 
 " Mr. R. Warwick Bond has unmistakable poetical gifts, and this 
 short poem is distinguished by a vein of pleasant reflection as well as 
 by felicity of language." Times, April i6th, 1896. 
 
 "It is a worthy attempt to pluck out the heart of Shakespeare's 
 mystery. He fails, of course, like many of his brothers, but he 
 succeeds very well indeed in showing how potently he has been touched 
 to a variety of fine poetic issues." Glasgow Herald, April i6th, 1896. 
 
 " A dignified and sonorous poem." National Observer, April i8th, 
 1896. 
 
 "It is a fine piece of Shakespearean admiration, dignified in style, 
 sweet and musical in its handling of verse, and healthy and inspiriting 
 in thought. Every lover of Shakespeare will desire to possess it in its 
 present attractive shape, and will read it with all the more sympathy 
 after looking at the picture of Stratford Church which graces it as a 
 frontispiece." Scotsman, April 2Oth, 1896. 
 
 " A very tastefully printed edition of Mr. R. Warwick Bond's tribute 
 to Shakespeare has been published. The poem originally appeared in 
 Afacmillan's Magazine, but some new stanzas of equal merit and beauty 
 have since been added." Literary World, October 2nd, 1896. 
 
 " A graceful tribute to the national poet. . . . Mr. Bond writes 
 with cultured ease and a warm appreciation of the merits of his 
 subject." Liverpool Post, February aoth, 1897. 
 
 " At Stratford Festival ... is that rare thing, a versified 
 
 tribute to Shakspere, of which his countrymen need not be ashamed. 
 
 All lovers of Shakspere, and of graceful verse and of dignified 
 
 thought, will be glad to have this further contribution to the praise of 
 
 the dramatist, and to leam that 
 
 'Xeath Arden boughs the breeze blows kindly yet 1 ' 
 
 Manchester Courier, May 2Oth, 1896. 
 
 ANOTHER SHEAF 
 
 (Reprinting At Stratford Festival.} 
 
 BY R. WARWICK BOND. 
 
 " The poem is . . . likely to take permanent place in the mass 
 of verse called forth by the name of Shakespeare ... a carefully- 
 wrought poetic effort, and contains many felicities of thought and 
 phrase. The same is true of the other poem called ' The Ordered 
 House (a Monologue after Philippi) ' . . . 
 
 139
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS 
 
 And all those flowers we cherished here on earth, 
 Shall they not there in full luxuriance bloom ? 
 Set in God's nursery shall not each give birth 
 To rarer growth than in this narrow room? 
 If struggling forth 'mid earth's surrounding gloom 
 They won the praise of fragrant or of fair, 
 What exquisite ineffable perfume 
 Shall they exhale in Heaven's pellucid air, 
 What dower of deathless grace, what soul of grandeur, there ! . . . 
 
 But still more striking are the following lines, addressed to the Spirit of 
 Good : 
 
 Hast Thou not oft from some disastrous hour 
 
 Plucked such an issue as redeemed the field ? 
 
 Canst Thou not fashion Irom defeat a power 
 
 That mocks the victory of spear and shield ? 
 
 If to our rude assault shall never yield 
 
 The fortress of Thine unascended sky, 
 
 In sorrow shall the conquest be revealed, 
 
 In sacrifice the race their bliss descry, 
 And catch through mist of tears the blaze of Deity ? 
 
 Glasgow Herald, Mar. I7th, 1898. 
 
 " A monologue ' after Philippi ' . . . has the classical stateliness of 
 form characteristic of all this author's work. ... In all of them 
 the writer proves himself a follower of the older orthodoxy in English 
 poetry, and not one to go after modern fashions of decadence, or follow 
 the French in producing pretty virtuosities. . . . His book . . . 
 cannot but be read with sympathy by those who concern themselves 
 to see the regular tradition of classical English poetry handed on." 
 Scotsman, March I7th, 1898. 
 
 " . . . He has . . . flowing and sinuous metres, harmony 
 and distinction of utterance, gravity, and pensiveness of thought, some- 
 times a very sharp pathos. . . . 
 
 Strength came at last my darling lure to fly : 
 
 I could not speak, but wrote ' We meet no more ! ' 
 And she long since knows happiness, and I 
 Knew weariness before. 
 
 That last touch searches. It is from ' A Foolish Calendar,' perhaps 
 the best poem in the book. Newcastle Chronicle, March 23rd, 1898. 
 
 " The score of admirably written pages which stand as an introduc- 
 tion to Another Sheaf, are packed with acute criticism and wise 
 comment upon some of the conditions which at present govern the 
 production of poetry ... his own achievement is an excellent 
 illustration of the methods he would extol. He is in the classical 
 tradition, and has caught much of its stately manner and dignified 
 felicities. His verse is intellectualised, yet his elaborate stanzas have 
 nothing rugged about them ; they unroll a serene and melodious length. 
 In . . . 'At Stratford Festival ' there is fine thought, fine feeling, 
 and fine music ; we have read it with pleasure, and shall do so again. 
 Here are two stanzas on Shakespeare's return to Stratford Puritanism : 
 
 140
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS 
 
 He, too, confessed the auroral sympathies : 
 Afar through mist of triumph and of tears 
 
 He caught their paradisal gleam, and saved 
 A quiet remnant from his strenuous years : 
 To Nature, wife and child returning braved 
 
 The petty calumnies, 
 
 The peevish scorns, the looks precise, that freeze 
 A wandering heart come back to wonted ways. 
 
 But witlessly ye raise 
 Dear fools ! your eyebrow of contempt ; for these 
 
 Do but enlarge their empire by your ban ! 
 Think of these stormy spirits as reeds of choice 
 
 Plucked by a fictive Deity that wrought 
 
 Tumultuous pipes for His great organ-voice, 
 
 Teasing life's every fibre to the thought. 
 
 Ye, whose mechanic plan 
 Would mend the bungling of this Artisan, 
 Con these last leaves ; and, as bleared eyes discern 
 
 The all-conquering sunshine, learn 
 The poet yet may purify the man. . . . 
 
 There is some fine austere writing in 'The Ordered House.' . . . 
 Mr. Bond handles (the metre) with skill and distinction. This stanza, 
 for instance, has its authentic dignity, and there are many as good : 
 
 Hast Thou not oft, etc. 
 
 And finally, these beautiful lines were written as a ' Swan Song ' for 
 Webster's noble and intimate tragedy, ' The Duchess of Malfi ' : 
 
 Pass gently, Life ! 
 
 As one that takes farewell of a dear friend : 
 For ne'er till now were thou and I at strife, 
 
 Nor shall the sequel lend 
 The rich succession of thy smile and tear, 
 The conquering pride of love that tramples fear 
 And vaunts itself a rapture without end ! 
 But mine is weariness thou canst not mend. 
 
 Come, kindly Death ! 
 Unweave for tired hands the tangled plot. 
 To thy forgetful palace entereth 
 
 None to ask heriot, 
 
 No hope and no regret but ever, there, 
 Passes the slumbrous waft of poppied air 
 O'er happy multitudes that have forgot : 
 Angel ! I would be sleeping tarry not ! . . . 
 
 . . . The strongest individual influence is probably that of Matthew 
 Arnold, and for the perpetuation of the Arnoldian tradition in English 
 poetry we must always confess gratitude." Academy, April gth, 1898. 
 " . . . Polished and delicate . . . afford very attractive 
 reading . . . 'Swan Song,' 'A Child's Eyes,' and 'A Stratford 
 Festival,' are more than pretty. His preface discusses with some 
 
 141
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS 
 
 eloquence various points as to poetry and criticism. " Morning Post, 
 April I4th, 1898. 
 
 " Mr. Warwick Bond is generally worth reading . . . and we 
 hope that many people will read his ingenious and admirably written 
 preface as well as his verses. . . . Many of the poems have a 
 certain felicity of statement and a certain grace of finish which are not 
 common even in these days when bards are many. . . . But the 
 preface . . . contains a noteworthy plea against that mistake of 
 the literary class, especially the younger members of it, which confuses 
 dexterity and novelty of manner with the one thing needful thought. 
 . . . It is well that this view of the matter should be stated so 
 clearly and competently just now, when the technical side of things is 
 being advanced with contemptuous assurance by so many clever young 
 critics in literature and art. . . . It is hardly necessary for any- 
 body to apologise for not having written a poem on the Jubilee, but if 
 we are to have an apology, let it be as graceful as Mr. Bond's, who 
 would not write of the sixty years' reign while every one else was 
 writing : 
 
 Even as some girl 
 Witnesses honours showered on one she loves 
 
 Above her walk, and all day long 
 Combats her heart, while dame and noble throng 
 With gift and chaplet, thinking 'mid the whirl 
 Of pride and shame that her weak bosom moves, 
 
 1 Silence is best ' : 
 
 But when the blare of trumpets and of drums 
 Is hushed, at nightfall comes 
 Weeping, and from her breast 
 Takes one poor wilding rose and lays it with the rest. " 
 
 Times, April I5th, 1898. 
 
 " There is melody in it, dignity of form often, a considered grace, a 
 workman-like recasting of moods and moulds familiar to masters of 
 English poetry." Weekly Sun, April lyth, 1898. 
 
 " The preface is a piece of literature, not only in its form, but in its 
 substance as philosophic criticism. It is a plea for the older poetry 
 on which the writer has formed his style. . . . The author writes 
 quite in the great manner, and has the air of poetic breeding, and the 
 suggestion of habitual converse with great spints. He sustains a great 
 theme with dignity from first to last, as in the ' Stratford Festival. ' " 
 Daily News, April l8th, 1898. 
 
 ". . . He is a very scholarly and tuneful writer, with great 
 skill in poetic numbers, and a considerable, if an ill -sustained, touch of 
 poetic inspiration ... his meaning is clear as crystal ; and he 
 does not need'to disavow (as he does in his admirable little prefatory 
 essay on poetry) ' the worship of sound and colour, or of merely 
 metrical effects, to the wilful obscuration or exclusion of sense.' Mr. 
 Bond's critical faculty is almost equal to his poetic." St. James' 
 Budget, April 22nd, 1898. 
 
 " When a poet writes twenty pages of preface to less than a score of 
 short poems, he deserves the severest of treatment. Mr. Bond owns 
 
 142
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS 
 
 the enormity and apologises. But an apology, we felt, could nut 
 wash out such offence, and we tackled the prose in grimmest mood to 
 find that it was an admirable and most timely essay. . . . ' A 
 Child's Eyes ' and the ' Swan Song "... are evidence of a 
 sensitive and gentle mind, with a skilled ear and a sweet voice in its 
 service." Bookman, May, 1898. 
 
 " To meet with a volume of poetry worthy of perusal from cover to 
 cover, is to the reviewer as an oasis in the desert . . . Those who 
 are true poets are few and far between. To these choice spirits, how- 
 ever, Mr. Warwick Bond belongs, and we have read this latest volume 
 from his pen with real pleasure. It is indeed a sheaf of golden grain. 
 ' At Stratford Festival ' is marked by power of thought and imagination, 
 and is written in stately numbers. We quote the closing stanza : 
 
 Well for the fame no envious years invade ! 
 And well for us that o'er the centuries' lapse. 
 
 One fair world blossoms, a perpetual spring, 
 Though here hope wither to a dim perhaps ! 
 Well for our English hearts if, entering 
 
 Within yon sacred shade, 
 We mark, not all unmoved, where he is laid 
 Who as God's steward bare the golden keys 
 
 That keep His treasuries. 
 And passed to the great Audit unafraid ! 
 
 Of the other poems we may specially mention ' A Child's Eyes,' ' The 
 Ordered House,' and on 'A Pastoral Play.'" Hereford Times, 
 May 7th, 1898. 
 
 " . . . A most ably written and thoughtful preface should not be 
 passed over. It contains some really valuable remarks on the prospects 
 of poetry, on ' the Celimene of public approbation,' and on the serious 
 appreciation of serious art, for which criticism not less than poetry may 
 thank the author. . . . The present volume is indeed, throughout, 
 good wine that needs no bush ; ripeness, dignity, conscientious strife 
 with the eternal difficulties of expression, mark all Mr. Bond's work. 
 The two most considerable poems in this book . . . teem with 
 good lines and strong imagery, and are excellently sustained. 'A 
 Foolish Calendar ' has a graceful and classic serenity ... but 
 rarer qualities are to be discerned in certain lyrical fragments and in 
 some of the verses of ' The Doubt,' which perhaps show the high- water 
 mark of his work in this volume." Manchester Guardian, May 1 3th, 
 1898. 
 
 " Excellent in conception and in execution, in fancy and in style." 
 Globe, May l6th, 1898. 
 
 ". . . Poems, exquisite alike in thought and diction. . . . 
 The rare beauty of the verses contained in the present book will hardly 
 be disputed by the most fastidious critic. Three of these may be 
 specially mentioned, viz. : ' At Stratford Festival,' April 23rd, 1892 
 (one of the most poetic tributes to Shakespeare's genius) ; ' A Child's 
 Eyes' (perhaps the best thing in the book), and 'A Foolish Calendar,' 
 
 143
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS 
 
 . . . while in the shorter ones Mr. Bond's marked poetic gifts are 
 equally manifest." Liverpool Post, June ist, 1898. 
 
 "Certainly in Mr. Bond himself, as with his master, Matthew 
 Arnold, the two functions of critic and poet are indissolubly combined 
 . . . this from the ' Monologue after Philippi,' where the final 
 tragedy is given with a right restraint : 
 
 " The breath Thou gavest, with these latest vows 
 Of one Thy servant ever, I return. 
 Come, sword, thine office ! " . . . 
 
 Through the shadowy boughs 
 One quivering sigh, the last of life, was borne, 
 And silence fell. Until the night was worn 
 Nature at all her tired eyes sweetly slept ; 
 Until the east remembered her of morn 
 The eternal lamps o'erhead their vigils kept, 
 As silent each along his changeless pathway swept. 
 
 In such passages as these Mr. Bond attains what he would delight to call 
 the highest ' fetch ' of his art. And, indeed, remembering still the 
 narrow limits which he assigns to his work, never giving himself away 
 in any daring innovation or original device, one may say that he 
 achieves a high success, both in conception and in literary style. He 
 inclines to intricacy of manner ; but though his writing asks for thought, 
 it is seldom obscure. Outlook, June i8th, 1898. 
 
 " . . . The preface is a piece of very tiresome and affected 
 writing, and starts the reader in quite a wrong mood. The book, on 
 the other hand, contains some really distinguished verse. ' Compline ' 
 is a very stately prelude ; ' At Stratford Festival ' is a fine poem. . . . 
 In a long poem called ' The Ordered House "... Mr. Bond is 
 perhaps at his best. There is a majesty about many of the stanzas, a 
 stately march of word and line, a sonorous and dignified philosophy 
 which is highly impressive : 
 
 So gladly from a darkening world I pass ; 
 Even as the labourer marks at set of sun 
 The shadows steal and lengthen o'er the grass, 
 And hails that signal of his day's task done : 
 Not fearful of the reckoning, not as one 
 Forecasting punishment remembers where 
 Deeds blot the past he dare not look upon ; 
 But homewards, through a quiet evening air, 
 Anticipating naught but happiest welcome there. 
 
 Mr. Bond must comfort himself with the applause of a little clan. He 
 may not be bought, but he will be respectfully reviewed and carefully 
 read, and not forgotten." Pall Mall Gazette, August nth, 1898. 
 
 Butler & Tanner, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, LOS ANGELES 
 
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