Macedon melancholy philosopher countenance
cypress messenger perplexity recognize
vigor humiliation solitude poverty
oracles alleviation company behest
The bannered hosts of Macedon stood arrayed in splendid might. Crowning
the hills and filling the valleys, far and wide extended the millions in
arms who waited on the word of the young Alexander--the most superb array
of human power which sceptered ambition ever evoked to do its bidding.
That army was to sweep nations off the earth and make a continent its
camp, following the voice of one whose sword was the index to glory, whose
command was the synonym of triumph. It now stood expectant, for the king
yet lingered.
While his war horse fretted at the gate, and myriads thus in silence
waited his appearance, Alexander took his way to the apartment of his
mother. The sole ligament which bound him to virtue and to feeling was the
love of that mother, and the tie was as strong as it was tender.
In mute dejection they embraced; and Alexander, as he gazed upon that
affectionate face, which had never been turned to him but in tenderness
and yearning love, seemed to ask, “Shall I ever again behold that sweet
smile?” The anxiety of his mother’s countenance denoted the same sad
curiosity; and without a word, but with the selfsame feeling in their
hearts, they went out together to seek the oracles in the temple of
Philip, to learn their fate.
Alone, in unuttered sympathy, the two ascended the steps of the sacred
temple and approached the shrine. A priest stood behind the altar. The
blue smoke of the incense curled upward in front, and the book of oracles
was before him.
“Where shall my grave be digged?” said the king; and the priest opened
the book and read, “Where the soil is of iron, and the sky of gold, there
shall the grave of the monarch of men be digged.”
To the utmost limit Asia had become the possession of the Macedonian.
Fatigued with conquest, and anxious to seek a country where the difficulty
of victory should enhance its value, the hero was returning to Europe. A
few days would have brought him to the capital of his kingdom, when he
fell suddenly ill. He was lifted from his horse, and one of his generals,
unlacing his armor, spread it out for him to lie upon, and held his golden
shield to screen him from the mid-day sun.
When the king raised his eyes and beheld the glittering canopy, he was
conscious of the omen. “The oracle has said that where the ground should
be of iron, and the sky of gold, there should my grave be made! Behold the
fulfillment! It is a mournful thing! The young cypress is cut down in the
vigor of its strength, in the first fullness of its beauty. The thread
of life is snapped suddenly, and with it a thousand prospects vanish, a
thousand hopes are crushed! But let the will of fate be done! She has long
obeyed my behest! I yield myself now to hers! Yet, my mother!”
And the monarch mused in melancholy silence. At length he turned to his
attendants and ordered his tablets to be brought; and he took them, and
wrote, “Let the customary alms, which my mother shall distribute at my
death, be given to those who have never felt the miseries of the world,
and have never lost those who were dear to them;” and sinking back upon
his iron couch, he yielded up his breath. They buried him where he died,
and an army wept over his grave!
When the intelligence of the death of Alexander was brought to his mother,
as she sat among her ladies, she was overwhelmed by anguish.
“Ah! why,” she exclaimed, “was I exalted so high, only to be plunged into
such depth of misery? Why was I not made of lower condition, so, haply, I
had escaped such grief? The joy of my youth is plucked up, the comfort of
my age is withered! Who is more wretched than I?” And she refused to be
comforted.
The last wish of her son was read to her, and she resolved to perform that
one remaining duty and then retire to solitude, to indulge her grief for
the remainder of her life. She ordered her servants to go into the city
and bring to the palace such as the will of Alexander directed--selecting
those who were the poorest. But the messengers, ere long, returned, and
said that there were none of that description to be found among the poor.
“Go then,” said the queen, “and apply to all classes, and return not
without bringing some who have never lost any who were dear to them.” And
the order was proclaimed through all the city, and all heard it and passed
on.
The neighboring villages gave no better success; and the search was
extended through all the country; and they went over all Macedonia, and
throughout Greece, and at every house they stood and cried, “If there are
any here who have never known misery, and never lost those that were dear
to them, let them come out, and receive the bounty of the queen;” but none
came forth. And they went to the haunts of the gay, and into the libraries
of the philosophers; to the seats of public office, and to the caves of
hermits; they searched among the rich, and among the poor--among the high
and among the low; but not one person was found who had not tasted misery;
and they reported the result to the queen.
“It is strange!” said she, as if struck with sudden astonishment. “Are
there none who have not lost their friend? And is my condition the
condition of all? It is not credible. Are there none here, in this room,
in this palace, who have always been happy?” But there was no reply to the
inquiry.
“You, young page, whose countenance is gay, what sorrow have you ever
known?”
“Alas! madam, my father was killed in the wars of Alexander, and my
mother, through grief, has followed him!”
The question was put to others; but every one had lost a brother, a
father, or a mother. “Can it be,” said the queen, “can it be that all are
as I am?”
“All are as you are, madam,” said an old man that was present, “excepting
in these splendors and these consolations. By poverty and humility you
might have lost the alleviations, but, you could not have escaped the
blow. There are nights without a star; but there are no days without a
cloud. To suffer is the lot of all; to bear, the glory of a few.”
“I recognize,” said the queen, “the wisdom of Alexander!” and she bowed in
resignation, and wept no more.
--HORACE BINNEY WALLACE.