PERSEPOLIS
The modern world knows little of the beauty and grandeur of ancient
Anshan, the home of Cyrus, or of the province of Fars and its cities.
Mountains shut off from them the hot winds of the Persian Gulf and
of the northern deserts. The high valleys lying between the mountain
ranges that extend across it like huge dikes are of surpassing
loveliness. Romantic woodlands, dells, lakes, canyons, murmuring
brooks, rushing rivers, far vistas, plains, mountains, and hills
delight the soul. In the valleys, flowers perfume the air all the year,
and vegetation, where irrigation is practiced, is luxuriant. On the
high hills and mountain tops winter holds sway during three or more
months and the seasons are well-marked as in the temperate zones. It is
the land of Omar, of Firdusi, and of many lesser poets; the land of an
ancient white race, whose rugged virtues made them lords of much of the
earth, but whose descendants have degenerated by admixture with lower
grades of humanity and have suffered much to maintain even their own
independence.
The celebrated plain of Mervdasht is between two parallel ranges of
mountains, one of which lies to the west between it and the low hot
lands of the gulf-coast and the other to the east between it and
the vale of Murghab, or ancient Anshan. A river comes down from the
northern mountains through the midst of this plain and empties into a
lake. It is a perennial stream, but fordable save in the winter when
the rains fall. It has been variously named, anciently the Araxes,
later the Kur or river of Cyrus, and again the Bendamir. Another river
of less volume but more celebrated, the Pulwar, comes down to join
it through the mountains from northeast table-lands. This passes by
the vale of Murghab, where a little stream of that name, coming from
the east, flows into it. In this vale was ancient Anshan, the capital
of the Achæmenian line of kings, a city also known as Pasargadæ. The
tortuous bed of the Pulwar connects the vale of Murghab with the valley
of Mervdasht, having cut for itself a deep gorge through the mountains.
A royal road, passing through this gorge or canyon, connected the
ancient capital with a more modern city, Persepolis.
Persepolis, or the city of the Persians, ancient Parsa, lay close to
the mouth of the mighty canyon of the Pulwar, where it opened into
the vale of Mervdasht. The city lay principally on the northern banks
of the river. On the southern bank was a great park; and in this on
a plateau extending from the base of low mountains that border the
eastern side of the plain, were the palaces of the Kings of Iran.
King Hystaspis and his great son, Darius, and his grandson, Xerxes,
each erected magnificent palaces of dark-gray marble on this natural
platform. The great size and magnificent architecture of these
buildings were among the wonders of the ancient world. Their majestic
ruins yet testify to the power, the love of art, and the learning of
those masters of men.
King Hystaspis, content to rule Iran as a nominal vassal of Cyrus and
under the shadow of his mighty arm, laid out for himself in the valley
of Merv a new city and there placed his loved friends and retainers.
He brought artisans from Egypt, Canaan, Syria, Phœnicia, and distant
Greece, and built for himself a great palace. It is said that he or his
son formulated a new alphabet for his language and caused the books of
Zoroaster to be translated therein.
Orchards of apple, peach, and apricot, vineyards where grape and berry
grew, fields of vegetables and grain, covered the fertile valley and
its surrounding hills. On the day when the Imperial Guard, escorting
the body of the Great Cyrus, halted on the summit of the western ridge
bounding the valley and looked down upon the peaceful scene, autumn
was touching all with the signs of harvest and the coming winter-rest.
On that day, while the funeral car halted, Prince Bardya, his sisters,
and the Prince of Iran rode forward to a bluff jutting out from the
ridge; and from this position they looked down into a paradise,--so it
seemed to them, weary with dusty roads and desert lands. There, where
the Pulwar entered the plain from the narrow gorge in the western
mountains, Cyrus had drawn up his Persian patriots to fight a last
battle for liberty from the Medean yoke, having been driven to bay by
the vast army of stern old Astyages, his grandfather. That decisive
battle not only gave liberty to his own province but gave Astyages to
him as a prisoner and the crown of Medea for his own head. From that
victory Cyrus had gone forth to conquer the world. But now, conquered
by the last enemy, Death, he was returning there to his final rest.
The heart of the Prince of Iran was stirred by strong emotions, as he
looked across the beautiful vale. He could see afar the great portico
of his father’s palace where, he knew, his mother stood watching for
the coming of her son. Uncovering his head, he extended his hands
towards heaven, saying:
“To thee, O Ahura-Mazda, Ruler of Heaven, Giver of Life, Lover of
Truth, and Protector, we give thanks! For thou hast brought us home!”
“Amen and amen!” exclaimed Bardya, uncovering his head.
The Prince of Iran then addressed his companions: “I welcome you to the
home of King Hystaspis. This valley and yonder city are his property,
ceded to him as a home for the Achæmenian family, when he consented to
remove hither from Bactra. I bid you rest at our palace yonder this
night. The road from Parsa to Anshan is rough and ought to be traveled
only by day. My mother is at the door to welcome you.”
“We gladly accept!” assented Bardya, heartily. “Do I not love that
mother almost as much as you? Do you remember the happy days when
we hunted on yonder hills and swam in the Pulwar and the Araxes? Do
you remember the day we were almost drowned? We will go to that deep
water-hole again to-morrow and swim there as boys again. Our troopers
should rest a day while we send a message to Cambyses at Anshan to
inform him of our coming.”
Athura added: “It will be delightful to accept the hospitality of your
mother. I shall return after going to Anshan and shall stay long with
her and rest. My sister is much in need of rest. The long journey has
made her ill.”
“After we shall have accomplished our mission,” said the Prince of
Iran, “we shall enjoy many pleasant days there. The hunting is good. We
shall enjoy the royal sport!”
“Unless Ahriman interfere!” added Bardya, waving his hand towards
Anshan, where his brother now awaited their coming. “I propose to stay
a month at least. I suppose he awaits us impatiently at Anshan.”
Athura said reprovingly to her brother: “Speak not of the King of Kings
thus! He has sent us courteous messages, even if he would not await us
at Hamadan or march with us here. Perhaps it was best that he should
go on ahead to prepare the tomb and to arrange for the ceremonies.
Be advised, brother! Remember to show him the deference due to his
station. His anger was ever terrible! Now he has no one to restrain
him.”
Bardya laughed and tossed his head, as he answered: “Fear not for me! I
shall treat him with all due respect. Am I not on the ground my father
gave me in his will? The Persian lords will not permit him to oppress
us. When I see that King of Kings, I will demand of him that he publish
the full terms of my father’s will. If he refuse to observe that--Well,
it may be that he will cease to reign!”
The Prince of Iran said nothing, but his countenance was somber. He
feared that the impetuous Bardya would precipitate trouble. He foresaw
civil war.
Descending into the valley, they approached Persepolis. A vast throng
of people came out to meet them and stood on either side of the road
weeping and wailing aloud as the funeral car passed. A company of
guards led by an aged veteran met them at the entrance of the city.
Prince Darius greeted the leader warmly: “Ho, Orobates, our beloved
High Chamberlain! How fares my royal mother?”
“All hail, Prince of Iran!” cried the stately old man, kissing the
Prince’s cheeks as the latter bent down to greet him. “God’s blessing
of long life and happiness be upon you! How good it is to behold you
once more! Your mother, our most gracious Queen, is well and awaits
you at the palace. She begs that you will prevail upon the royal Bardya
and his sisters to honor her house with their presence. All things are
prepared. The best of the herds, the finest game from the mountains,
the daintiest fruits and flowers,--all are ready!”
“They have consented to honor us, Orobates. Has my mother good health
and is she happy?”
“Excellent health, gracious Prince; but she sighs much for you and the
King.”
“Did Cambyses, the Great King, honor our house with his presence?”
“He refused our bidding on the plea that he was in haste to reach
Anshan on state business. But he sent a gracious greeting to your
mother.”
The Prince led the caravan into the city, nodding and waving greeting
to many whom he had known when a child. Crossing the Araxes over a
magnificent stone bridge, the cortège marched into Persepolis and
encamped in a great open field on the shore of the Pulwar. The funeral
car was driven into the sacred enclosing wall of a temple and there
rested till a messenger went to Cambyses and returned.
Leaving the cares of the encampment to subordinates, the Prince of
Iran, accompanied by Gobryas and some of his chief officers, conducted
Bardya and his sisters across the Pulwar over a beautiful stone
bridge of one great arch and through the park to his father’s palace.
The limpid stream, the great oaks, elms, walnuts, and plane trees,
whose foliage was tinged with gold and red, the flowering shrubs, the
fountains, and the greensward, smiled a joyful welcome to the weary
travelers. Broad steps, leading up to the great plateau or bench on
which the palace stood, gleamed white through the tree-limbs. Slender
gray columns adorned the portico. On the stairs stood a group of
women, and among them a stately dame, who waved her hand in welcome.
Prince Darius galloped on ahead to the foot of the steps and, leaving
his horse in charge of an attendant, ran up into the embrace of his
mother.
Age had not greatly affected the beauty of the Queen of Iran nor dimmed
her blue eyes. Her gray hair was gathered in a net at the back of her
head and was encircled by a golden band set with sparkling gems. Her
dress was an ample purple robe reaching to her feet and encircled at
the waist with a silken sash. Its loose sleeves revealed arms still
shapely and adorned with bracelets of gold. The gracious majesty of her
countenance, the sweetness of her smile, and the soft accents of her
voice were celebrated in Iran.
That was an age when wife and mother were not slaves or prisoners.
Recognized as the equal of men, their virtues and loveliness made homes
where men were grown. Not yet had Cambyses, aping the manners and
customs of the dwellers in Mesopotamia, Syria, and Arabia, degraded
women to the seclusion of harems; nor had custom forbidden women to
appear before friends unveiled, though veils were commonly worn in
public places. Polygamy was almost unknown in Iran, though its practice
had crept into Medea. The wife was queen of the home and ruled in the
heart of her husband.
The Prince knelt at his mother’s feet, and her arms encircled his
neck while her lips kissed his brow. “Welcome home, beloved son!” she
exclaimed. “Long days have intervened since you waved farewell to me
from yonder bridge; but no day has passed that I did not think of you!”
She raised him up and stood proudly at his side, leaning on his arm,
while she welcomed Prince Bardya and his sisters. To Bardya she said
as he bent his knee before her: “The blessing of Ahura-Mazda be upon
you, O Prince of the World! Arise! It is not meet that you kneel to me!
Welcome to the palace of my lord, the King of Iran!”
“Gracious Queen,” replied Bardya as he arose, “I kneel to you as to
my mother! Next to her, who lives only in my memory, do I love and
reverence the mother of my friend, the Prince of Iran. Have we not, in
years past, stood together at your knee and received your instruction?
Now that we are indeed orphans we come to you for consolation.”
Tears filled the great lady’s eyes. She embraced Athura and Artistone
tenderly; and, leaving the men to the care of her son, she took the
girls with her to her own apartments and personally saw that they were
made comfortable. While they are removing the dust of the road and
enrobing themselves for dinner, we may wander in spirit through this
typical palace of the Achæmenian kings and observe its grandeur.
From the portico which extended the full breadth of the palace front,
an entrancing view of valley and mountain, of river and park, could
be had. Sixteen slender, fluted, marble pillars supported the massive
wooden roof of the portico. Their capitals were winged bulls; their
bases were bell-shaped and carved to imitate lotus buds. A high, narrow
door gave entrance from the front through the thick stone walls into
a hall, on either side of which were rooms where the palace-guards
had their abode. The hall led into a reception room fully fifty feet
square, whose walls were pierced by a dozen narrow windows and whose
ceiling of heavy carved timbers was upheld by slender wooden pillars
covered with silver plates. The stone walls were hidden by beaten
silver plates and the windows and doors were hung with tapestries of
fine crimson and purple fabrics. Wooden shutters were fitted to the
windows, but were now open to admit air and light. Later, when winter
should come with its rains and frost, the windows would be closed by
semi-transparent oiled silk. Red and purple rugs lay on the tiled
floor, partially covering the various patterns worked out in colored
tiles. A throne, shining with gold plate, occupied a raised platform at
the end of the room opposite the entrance. Cushioned chairs, divans,
and couches, tables of polished wood, mirrors of polished silver and
bronze, lamps of many patterns fastened to the pillars and walls, and a
cabinet of dark inlaid wood comprised the furniture. The cabinet held
a collection of books, rolls, and tablets, the library and the special
treasure of the King of Iran.
Doors at the right of the throne led into the apartments of the men;
at the left, into the apartments of the women; and, immediately at
the rear, into a small open court, beyond which were the servants’
quarters. Banquets of state were held in the throne room, but
ordinarily the tables were laid in the small open court. The various
apartments were furnished with couches, and with blankets and rugs of
skillful weaving and of that fineness and texture for which the woven
products of Iran have ever been famous. All the conveniences of an
advanced civilization, which power and wealth could provide or gather
from the many nations over which the Persians held sway, were here.
Baths and toilets fed by water piped from the hills, and drained into
the Pulwar below, ornamental cabinets, containing scents and cosmetics
for adorning the person, wardrobes full of costly dresses made of silk
and fine linen, mirrors, combs, and brushes--even the modern homes of
many so-called civilized people could boast no better.
A narrow stair led up from the inner court to the flat roof, where the
occupants of the palace, reclining on soft divans, under canopies or
sunshades, could pass the warmer hours of the day, breathe the cool
mountain air, and enjoy the lovely scenes. Looking down from it, one
could see the royal stables five hundred paces to the south in the
park, where scores of graceful horses were kept; and farther on was the
inclosure where cattle and sheep, driven in from the mountain pastures,
were ready to furnish the royal table with meat or milk. A canal led
from the Pulwar above the palace through the park to the stables below
and thence into luxuriant gardens where servants toiled to supply
their master’s table with vegetables. Fowls, dogs, horses, and cattle
enlivened the barnyard scene. Servants in gay tunics, loose, fringed
trousers, and with sandaled feet went hither and thither on their
duties. Guards in shining armor walked their beats through the park or
lazily stood leaning on their spears at the palace steps.
While the guests were removing the dust and stains of travel, servants
busily prepared the banquet. Tables of walnut, plated with silver and
bound together by golden bands fastened with copper nails, were set in
the great audience hall. Platters of beautiful porcelain or of beaten
silver, piled high with fruits and bread, were placed on them, and
plates of silver and cups of gold were also brought forth. Low seats
whereon the guests could either sit or recline were set in order. A
major-domo in gorgeous livery saw that all things were made ready. Then
the guests were called. The men were seated at one table; the women,
at another. Prince Darius sat at the head of the former; his mother
at the head of the latter. Servants brought on, in regular courses,
fish, steaming loads of venison and fowl, and bountiful supplies of
vegetables and pastry. Water, milk, and wine of Helbon were the drinks,
the latter being used sparingly. With appetites sharpened by a long
day’s journey in the bracing air of the mountains, the guests did full
justice to the viands. While they ate, the soft music of harps, played
with considerable skill by musicians in the court, floated in through
the open doors.
The banquet hour having passed, the officers and nobles returned to the
camp, while Prince Bardya and his sisters accompanied Prince Darius and
his mother to a room adjacent to the dining-hall, used by the King of
Iran when at home as an office. A large fireplace in one corner of the
room was filled with a cheerful blaze. Gathered about the fire, guests
and hosts felt much at home and spent a pleasant hour in conversation.
“Now that Cambyses passed through your city with scant courtesy,”
Bardya said, somewhat warmed by the wine he had imbibed and by his
genial surroundings, so that he felt called upon to express his
indignation towards his brother, “what think you of such a king?” He
addressed Queen Hystaspis.
“I marvel not at his action,” she replied quietly. “He was never kindly
disposed towards us. But it is not for us to find fault. I should have
met him in person and given the invitation to stop with us. I would
have so done, had I not heard that he believes, with the Medes, that
women have no place in the affairs of men. He passed through our city
in a closed litter, not even deigning to see our messengers. He made
reply through his chamberlain that the King of Kings was indisposed and
pressed for time and would not rest till he should arrive at his palace
in Anshan.”
“He has ever been ill-natured!” continued Bardya, bitterly. “He
believes himself heaven-born! He will end by declaring himself a god
and appointing set times to worship him! What think you the nobles of
Persia will say of his manners? It is said he has determined to decree
a law of polygamy, and, like the Arabs, fill a harem with many wives.
He is a follower of the Magi; but I doubt if he believes in the gods.
I know he will never abide by our father’s will. As I have ridden from
Bactra hither, I have thought much; and I have concluded that the
kingdom will be his who can strike first!”
The Prince had never before spoken his inmost thoughts. The Prince of
Iran and his mother, though much disturbed, remained silent. Athura
said reprovingly: “Brother, is it right to have such thoughts before
our father’s body is entombed? Wisdom demands silence on your part
until you see the King! As King he may act justly. If you stir up
trouble, civil war may be the result. Let us be wise and discreet until
we return to Bactra, from which you ought never to have departed! Then,
if he act unjustly, the people of Iran will stand justly with you.”
“What say you, my brother?” demanded Bardya, turning to the Prince.
The latter answered at once and without hesitation: “The words of your
sister are wise. Cambyses is King of Kings by right of birth and by
the will of Cyrus. I am bound by an oath to support him in that right.
It is not wise to plan against the will of Cyrus, nor is it even wise
to discuss the matter. While we are safe here, an unwise word uttered
at another place, and overheard, may cause great trouble. As for me, I
shall ask of Cambyses, the King, two favors,--first that I may receive
the reward that Cyrus, the Great King, promised; second, that I may
accompany you to Bactra after my father returns here.”
Athura smiled and blushed, as the Prince mentioned his promised reward
and turned his ardent gaze upon her. Bardya arose and paced back and
forth.
“Alas! that my father should bind you and the powerful King, your
father, with an oath!” he cried. “My way would otherwise be clear!
Yes! let us be wise and patient! You shall come with me to Bactra, and
together we shall extend the empire even as far as the great river of
India and beyond the roof of the world where the slant-eyed Tourans
dwell! King Hystaspis shall rule Iran in peace, while you and I lead
victorious armies to the ends of the earth! Then we shall see who ought
to be overlord of the world!”
The Prince of Iran now sought to change the subject by suggesting that
before leaving for Bactra they must hunt a lion in the jungles of Lake
Baktigan. Plans for a hunting-trip to that wild region superseded more
treasonable subjects. After a while, the guests admitted weariness
and retired to rest. But the Prince of Iran threw a cloak about his
shoulders and went out to walk in the park now flooded with moonlight.
The watchmen respectfully saluted as he passed down the broad steps and
went slowly towards the river. How pleasant it seemed after a year of
war in desert lands to be at home! He could not retire to rest without
standing awhile on the bridge over the Pulwar and looking down at the
familiar hurrying waters.
Before he reached the bridge, he was startled by the sound of pursuing
footsteps. Turning, he beheld Athura approaching, followed by one of
the guards.
“Pardon, Lord Hystaspis!” she exclaimed, as he went back to meet her
in wondering haste. “So glorious is the moonlight and so restless am
I, that when I saw you come forth, I could not resist an impulse to
follow! Let me walk with you.”
“Most happy am I to have you with me, Athura, star of the evening! The
light of your eyes surpasses the light of the stars! Your countenance,
like the sun, brings warmth to my soul! Glad will that day be, when you
shall become my wife; and we shall walk together thereafter forever!”
He dismissed the guard. Then with his strong right arm around the
princess and his ample cloak shielding both, they went on together. She
laughed happily.
“Indeed, my lord, you have the tongue of a poet!” she said. “What says
the great Zoroaster of this land?
“Ahura-Mazda looked upon the desert lands
And with his mighty breath gave life to them;
Where none could dwell before he poured out life,
And Aryans lived and multiplied in peace,
Until their numbers were as desert sands.
Was not his thought inspired by such nights as this?”
“It may have been,” he answered. “But does he not continue:
“Then Angro-mainyus, death’s dark spirit made
That mighty serpent, Winter, with its snow,
To swallow up within its months of cold
The teeming earth, the flowing water-streams,
While storm-clouds cast upon the earth their pestilent shade.”
“You are melancholy, Prince of Iran! Let us not think of Angro-mainyus.
Are the days not passing swiftly? When the forty days of mourning shall
have passed, shall we not be happy?”
He drew her closely to him. “Most happy, beloved! But I am filled with
forebodings of evil. Like some threatening Angro-mainyus, jealously
watching the Spirit of Life at his creation and the children of men
in their happiness, does the form of the new King of Kings loom up in
the sky. I seem to feel even now the malignant hate with which he ever
seemed to regard Bardya, and me because I was Bardya’s friend. When I
think of the absolute power of life and death vested in him and his
opportunity to wreak vengeance upon those he hates, I am troubled. What
if he refuse to give you to me? What if he choose to bestow you upon
another?”
He felt the small hand now resting in his clench and harden. She looked
up into his face as she answered slowly and solemnly:
“As for me, though he inflict death, yet shall he not bend my will! I
have chosen you alone of all the world. Your wife I shall be or I shall
die. Listen, Prince of Iran! I am moved to say--some spirit prompts my
soul to salute you, King of Kings and Lord of Lords. At your side shall
I be Queen of the world! Is it not to be so?”
He drew her closer to him and kissed her forehead. “Hush, life of
mine!” he replied. “Start no such thoughts in my soul! Am I not
oath-bound? If I were not so, should I plunge Iran into bloody civil
war that I may wear a crown? Let Ahura-Mazda’s will be done! If
Cambyses and Bardya cease to exist, in spite of my loyal support, then
shall I deem myself most fortunate to sit on the throne of Cyrus at the
side of his daughter. Ah, if only Cambyses had a soul like Athura, what
a happy year would this be for the nations!”
Twenty-five centuries have come and gone since they stood on the old
stone bridge over the Pulwar and renewed their pledges of undying love
and faith. Myriads since then have gazed into each other’s eyes and
pledged the same faith, moved by the same love; but the story is ever
fresh and the love is ever sacred, sweet, and entrancing. Only traces
of the old stone bridge over the Pulwar remain. The tall, slender
shafts of marble with which the neighboring palace was adorned are
tumbled and broken; and over the ruins of the neighboring city the wild
dog wanders and bays at the moon. Perhaps the spirits of those heroic
two who stood on the old bridge, listening to the murmur of the waters
below, while they murmured to each other, may return there again and
again, to live once more in the ecstasy of love. Who knows?