“Inclitus ille Clitus,” etc.;[339]
and another verse, describing the violence of the soldiers after
victory:--
“Extorquent torques, et inaures perdidit auris.”[340]
A rapid analysis will at least exhibit the order of events in the poem,
and its topics, with something of its character.
Alexander appears, in the first book, a youth panting for combat with
the Persians, enemies of his country and of his father. There also is
his teacher, Aristotle. Philip dies, and the son repairs to Corinth
for coronation. Under the counsels of Demosthenes, the Athenians
declare against him. The young king arrives under the walls of Athens.
Demosthenes speaks for war; Æschines for peace. The party of peace
prevails; and the Macedonian turns to Thebes, which he besieges and
captures by assault. The poet Cloades, approaching the conqueror,
chants in lyric verses an appeal for pardon, and reminds him that
without clemency a kingdom is unstable:--
“_Instabile est regnum quod non clementia firmat._”[341]
And the words of this chant are still resounding. But Alexander,
angry and inexorable, will not relent. He levels the towers, which
had first risen to the music of Amphion, and delivers the city to the
flames,--thus adding a new act to that tragic history which made Dante
select Thebes as the synonym of misfortune.[342] Turning from these
smoking ruins, he gathers men and ships against Persia. Traversing the
sea, he lands in Asia; and here the poet describes geographically the
different states of that continent,--Assyria, Media, Persia, Arabia,
with its Sabæan frankincense and its single phœnix,--ending with
Palestine, where a God was born of a Virgin, at whose death the world
shook with fear. Commencing his march through Cilicia and Phrygia, the
ambitious youth stops at Troy, and visits the tomb of Achilles, where
he makes a long speech.
The second book opens with the impression on the mind of Darius,
menaced by his Macedonian enemy. He writes an insolent letter, which
Alexander answers by moving forward. At Sardes he cuts the Gordian
knot, and then advances rapidly. Darius quits the Euphrates with his
vast army, which is described. Alexander bathes in the cold waters of
the Cydnus, is seized with illness, and shows his generous trust in the
physician that attended him,--drinking the handed cup, although said
to be poisoned. Restored to health, he shows himself to his troops,
who are transported with joy. Meanwhile the Persians advance. Darius
harangues. Alexander also. The two armies prepare for battle.
The third book is of battle and victory at Issus, described with
minuteness and warmth. Here dies Zoroas, the Egyptian astronomer, than
whom nobody was more skilled in the stars, the origin of winter’s cold
or summer’s heat, or in the mystery of squaring the circle,--“_circulus
an possit quadrari_.”[343] The Persians are overcome. Darius seeks
shelter in Babylon. His treasures are the prey of the conqueror. Horses
are laden with spoils, and the sacks are so full that they cannot be
tied. Rich ornaments are torn from the women, who are surrendered
to the brutality of the soldiers. Only the royal family is spared.
Conducted to the presence of Alexander, they are received with the
regard due to their sex and misfortune. The siege and destruction of
Tyre follow; then the expedition to Egypt and the temple of Jupiter
Ammon. Here is a description of the Desert, which is said, like the
sea, to have its perils, with its Scylla and its Charybdis of sand:--
“Hic altera sicco
Scylla mari latrat; hic pulverulenta Charybdis.”[344]
Meanwhile Darius assembles new forces. Alexander leaves Egypt and
rushes to meet him. An eclipse of the moon causes sedition among his
soldiers, who dare to accuse their king. The phenomenon is explained by
soothsayers, and the sedition is appeased.
The fourth book opens with a funeral. It is of the Persian queen.
Alexander laments her with tears. Darius learns at the same time her
death and the generosity of his enemy. He addresses prayers to the gods
for the latter, and offers propositions of peace. Alexander refuses
these, and proceeds to bestow funeral honors upon the spouse of him he
was about to meet in battle. Then comes an invention of the poet, which
may have suggested afterwards to Dante that most beautiful passage of
the “Purgatorio,” where great scenes are sculptured on the walls.[345]
At the summit of a mountain a tomb is constructed by the skilful Hebrew
Apelles, to receive the remains of the Persian queen; and on this tomb
are carved, not only kings and names of Greek renown, but histories
from the beginning of the world:--
“Nec solum reges et nomina gentis Achææ,
Sed generis notat historias, ab origine mundi
Incipiens.”[346]
Here in breathing gold is the creation in six days; the fall of man,
seduced by the serpent; Cain a wanderer; the increase of the human
race; vice prevailing over virtue; the deluge; the intoxication of
Noah; the story of Esau, of Jacob, of Joseph; the plagues of Egypt,--
“Hic dolet Ægyptus denis percussa flagellis”;[347]
the flight of the Israelites,--
“Et puro livescit pontus in auro”;[348]
the manna in the Desert; the giving of the Law; the gushing of water
from the rock; and then the succession of Hebrew history, stretching to
the time of Esdras,--
“Totaque picturæ series finitur in Esdra.”[349]
At once, after these great obsequies, Alexander marches against Darius.
And here the poet dwells on the scene of the Persian army watching by
its camp-fires. Helmets rival the stars; the firmament is surprised
to see fires like its own reflected from bucklers, and fears lest the
earth be changed into sky and the night become day. Instead of the sun,
there is the helmet of Darius, which shines like Phœbus himself, and at
its top a gem of flame, obscuring the stars and yielding only to the
rays of the sun; for, as much as it yields to the latter, so much does
it prevail over the former. The youthful chieftain, under protection of
a benignant divinity, passes the night in profound repose. His army is
all marshalled for the day, and he still sleeps. He is waked, harangues
his men, and gives the order for battle. The victory of Arbela is at
hand.
The fifth book is occupied with a description of this battle. Here are
episodes in imitation of the ancients, with repetitions or parodies of
Virgil. The poet apostrophizes the unhappy, defeated Darius, as he is
about to flee, saying,--“Whither do you go, O King, about to perish in
useless flight? You do not know, alas! lost one, you do not know whom
you flee. While you flee from one enemy, you run upon other enemies.
Desiring to escape Charybdis, you fall upon Scylla.”
“Quo tendis inerti,
Rex periture, fuga? Nescis, heu! perdite, nescis
Quem fugias; hostesque incurris, dum fugis hostem;
_Incidis in Scyllam, cupiens vitare Charybdim_.”[350]
The Persian monarch finds safety at last in Media, and Alexander
enters Babylon in triumph, surpassing all other triumphs, even those
of ancient Rome: and this is merited,--so sings the poet,--for his
exploits are above those of the most celebrated warriors, whether sung
by Lucan in magnificent style, or by Claudian in pompous verse. The
poet closes the book by referring to the condition of Christianity in
his own age, exclaiming, that, if God, touched by the groans and the
longings of his people, would accord to the French such a king, the
true faith would soon shine throughout the universe. Had he witnessed
either Bonaparte on the throne of France, it is doubtful if he would
not have regretted his supplicatory prophecy, or rejected them as
unworthy of Alexander.
The sixth book glows with the luxury of Alexander at Babylon, the
capture of Susa, the pillage of Persepolis. Here the poet forgets the
recorded excesses of his hero, with Thaïs by his side, and the final
orgy, when the celebrated city was handed to the flames at the bidding
of a courtesan; but he dwells on an incident of his own invention,
calculated to excite emotions of honor rather than of condemnation.
Alexander meets three thousand Greek prisoners, wretchedly mutilated
by the Persians, and delivers them. He leaves to them the choice of
returning to Greece, or of fixing themselves in the country there
on lands he promises to distribute. Some propose to go back. Others
insist, that, in their hideous condition, they cannot return to the
eyes of their families and friends, when an orator declares that it
is always pleasant to see again one’s country, that there is nothing
shameful in the condition caused by a barbarous enemy, and that it is
unjust to those who love them to think that they will not be glad to
see them. A few follow the orator; but the larger part remain behind,
and receive from their liberator the land he had promised, also money,
flocks, and whatever was necessary for farmers.
In the seventh book we meet the treason of Bessus substantially as in
Quintus Curtius. Darius, with chains of gold on his feet, is carried
in a closed vehicle to be delivered up. Alexander, who was still in
pursuit of his enemy, is horror-struck. With more rapidity he moves
to deliver or to avenge the Persian monarch than he ever moved to his
defeat. He is aroused against the criminals, like Jupiter pursuing the
Giants with his thunder. Darius is found in his carriage covered with
wounds and bathed in his blood. With the little breath that remains,
and yet struggling on the last confines of life, he makes a long
speech, which the poet follows with bitter exclamations against his own
age, beginning with venal Simon and his followers, and ending with the
assassins of Thomas à Becket:--
“Non adeo ambiret cathedræ venalis honorem
Jam vetus ille Simon, non incentiva malorum
Pollueret sacras funesta pecunia sedes.”[351]
Thus here again the poet precedes Dante, whose terrible condemnation of
Simon has a kindred bitterness:--
“O Simon mago, o miseri seguaci,
Che le cose di Dio, che di bontate
Denno essere spose, voi rapaci
Per oro e per argento adulterate.”[352]
These ejaculations are closed by an address to the manes of Darius,
and a promise to immortalize him in the verse of the poet. The grief
of Alexander for the Persian queen is renewed for the sovereign. The
Hebrew Apelles is charged to erect in his honor a lofty pyramid in
white marble, with sculptures in gold. Four columns of silver, with
base and capital of gold, support with admirable art a concave vault,
where are represented the three continents of the terrestrial globe,
with their rivers, forests, mountains, cities, and people. In the
characteristic description of each nation, France has soldiers and
Italy wine:--
“Francia militibus, celebri Campania Bacco.”[353]
From funeral the poet passes to festival, and portrays the banquets
and indulgence to which Alexander now invites his army. Sedition
ensues. The soldiers ask return to their country. Alexander harangues
and awakens the love of glory. They swear to confront all dangers,
following him to the end of the world.
The eighth book chronicles the march into Hyrcania; the visit of
Talestris, queen of the Amazons, and her Amazonian life, with one
breast burnt so as to accommodate the bent bow; then the voluntary
sacrifice of all the immense booty of the conqueror, as an example for
the troops; then the conspiracy against Alexander in his own camp,
with the examination and torture of the son of Parmenio, suspected of
complicity; and then the doom of Bessus, the murderer of Darius, who
is delivered by Alexander to the brother of his victim. Then comes the
expedition to Scythia. The Macedonian, on the banks of the Tanaïs,
receives an embassy. The ambassador fails to delay him; he crosses
the river, and reduces the deserts and mountains of Scythia. And here
the poet likens this people, which, after resisting so many powerful
nations, now falls under the yoke, to a lofty, star-seeking Alpine
fir, “_astra petens abies_,”[354] which, after resisting for ages all
the winds of the East, of the West, and of the South, falls under the
blows of Boreas. The name of the conqueror becomes a terror, and other
nations in this distant region submit voluntarily, without a blow.
The ninth book commences with a mild allusion to the murder of Clitus,
and other incidents, teaching that the friendships of kings are not
perennial:--
“Etenim testatur eorum
Finis amicitias regum non esse perennes.”[355]
Here comes the march upon India. Kings successively submit. Porus alone
dares to resist. With a numerous army he awaits the Macedonian on the
Hydaspes. The two armies stand face to face on the opposite banks. Then
occurs the episode of two youthful Greeks, Nicanor and Symmachus, born
the same day, and attached like Nisus and Euryalus. Their perilous
expedition fails, under pressure of numbers, and the two friends, cut
off and wounded, after prodigies of valor, at last embrace, and die
in each other’s arms. Then comes the great battle. Porus, vanquished,
wounded, and a prisoner, is brought before Alexander. His noble
spirit touches the generous heart of the conqueror, who restores his
dominions, increases them, and places him in the number of friends:--
“Odium clementia vicit.”[356]
The gates of the East are now open. His movement has the terror of
thunder breaking in the middle of the night,--
“Quem sequitur fragor, et fractæ collisio nubis.”[357]
A single city arrests the triumphant march. Alexander besieges it, and
himself mounts the first to the assault. His men are driven back. Then
from the top of the ladder, instead of leaping back, he throws himself
into the city, and alone encounters the foe. Surrounded, belabored,
wounded, he is about to perish, when his men, learning his peril,
redouble their efforts, burst open the gates, inundate the place, and
massacre the inhabitants. After a painful operation, Alexander is
restored to his army and to his great plans of conquest. The joy of the
soldiers, succeeding sorrow, is likened to that of sailors, who, after
seeing the pilot overboard, and ready to be ingulfed by the raging
floods, as Boreas plays the Bacchanal, “_Borea bacchante_,”[358] at
last behold him rescued from the abyss and again at the helm. But the
army is disturbed by preparation for distant maritime expeditions.
Alexander avows that the world is too small for him; that, when it is
all conquered, he will push on to subjugate another universe; that he
will lead them to the Antipodes, and to another Nature; and that, if
they refuse to accompany him, he will go forth alone, and offer himself
as chief to other people. The army is on fire with this answer, and vow
again never to abandon their king.
The tenth book is the last. Nature, indignant that a mortal should
venture to penetrate her hidden places, suspends unfinished works, and
descends to the lower world for succor against the conqueror. Before
the gates of Erebus, under the walls of the Stygian city,--
“Ante fores Erebi, Stygiæ sub mœnibus urbis,”[359]--
are sisters, monsters of the earth, representing every vice,--thirst of
gold, drunkenness, gluttony, treachery, detraction, envy, hypocrisy,
adulation. In a distant recess is a perpetual furnace, where crimes are
punished, but not with equal flames, as some are tormented more lightly
and others more severely. Leviathan is in the midst of his furnace; but
he drops his serpent form, and assumes the divine aspect he had worn
when wishing to share the high Olympus,--
“Cum sidere solis
Clarior intumuit, tantamque superbia mentem
Extulit, ut summum partiri vellet Olympum.”[360]
To him the stranger appeals against the projects of Alexander, which
extend on one side to the unknown sources of the Nile and the Garden
of Paradise, and on the other to the Antipodes and ancient Chaos. The
infernal monarch convenes his assembly on the plains where agonize the
souls of the wicked in undying torments,--
“quibus mors
Est non posse mori,”[361]--
and where, as in the Inferno of Dante, ice and snow, as well as fire,
are punishments. The satraps of Styx are collected, and the ancient
Serpent addresses sibilations from his hoarse throat:--
“Hic ubi collecti satrapæ Stygis et tenebrarum,
Consedere duces, et gutture sibila rauco
Edidit antiquus serpens.”[362]
He commands the death of the Macedonian king before his plans can be
executed. Treason rises and proposes poison. All Hell applauds; and
Treason, in disguise, fares forth to instruct the agent. The whole
scene suggests sometimes Dante and sometimes Milton. Each was doubtless
familiar with it. Meanwhile Alexander returns to Babylon. The universe
is in suspense, not knowing to which side he will direct his arms. From
all quarters ambassadors come to his feet. In the pride of power he is
universal lord. At a feast, surrounded by friends, he drinks the fatal
cup. His end approaches, showing to the last grandeur and courage. The
poet closes, as he began, with salutation to his patron.
* * * * *
Such is the sketch of a curiosity of literature. It is interesting to
look upon this little book, which for a time played so considerable
a part; to imagine the youthful students once nurtured by it; to
recognize its relations to an age when darkness was slowly yielding to
light; to note its possible suggestions to great poets who followed,
especially to Dante; and to behold it lost from human knowledge, and
absolutely forgotten, until saved by a single verse, which, from its
completeness of form and its proverbial character, must live as long as
the Latin language. The verse does not occupy much room; but it is a
sure fee-simple for the poet. And are we not told by an ancient, that
it is something, in whatsoever place or corner, to have made one’s self
master of a spot big enough for a single lizard?
“Est aliquid, quocumque loco, quocumque recessu,
Unius sese dominum fecisse lacertæ.”[363]
A poem of ten books shrinks to a very petty space. There is a balm of a
thousand flowers, and here a single hexameter is the express essence
of many times a thousand verses. It was the jest of Hamlet, conversing
with Horatio in the churchyard, that the noble Alexander, returning
to dust and loam, had stopped a bung-hole. But the memorable poem
celebrating him, while reduced as much, may be put to far higher and
more enduring use.