The historians' history of the world in twenty-five volumes, volume 04

by Unknown

ALEXANDER’S FIRST DEEDS

From the remotest ages of Pelasgian antiquity down to the time of the Roman empire, the holy island of Samothrace, the seat of an awfully mysterious worship, was accounted equal to Delphi in sanctity. Here it is said Philip first saw Olympias, when they partook at the same time in the Cabirian mysteries, and resolved to seek her hand. Olympias loved the fanatical orgies celebrated by the Thracian and Macedonian women in honour of their Dionysus; and is even said to have introduced some of the symbols of this frantic worship,—the huge tame snakes, which the Bacchanals wreathed round their necks and arms,—into her husband’s palace. It is a stroke which agrees well with the other features of her wild, impetuous character. Who can estimate the degree in which this irritable, uncontrollable nature may have contributed one element towards that combination of ardent enthusiasm with the soberest forethought which distinguishes Alexander, perhaps above every man that ever filled a like station?

The anecdotes related of Alexander’s boyhood are chiefly remarkable as indicating what may be fitly called a kingly spirit, which not only felt conscious that it was born to command, and was impatient of all opposition to its will, but also studied how it might subject all things and persons around it to its own higher purposes. This inborn royalty of soul could hardly have failed to find its way to fame, had it even been originally lodged in an obscure corner. But the prince, who was destined to effect so great a change in the state of the world, was to be committed to the care of the man whose spirit was not less active and ambitious, who also in the range of his intellectual conquests had never been equalled, and who founded a much more lasting empire in the sphere of thought. Never, before or since, have two persons so great in the historical sense of the word, been brought together—above all in the same relation—as Alexander and Aristotle.

Alexander was but thirteen years old when he became the philosopher’s pupil. This relation appears to have subsisted between them for no more than three successive years. Alexander was only sixteen when Philip set out on his expedition to Thrace, from which he only returned in the autumn of 339, and he was entrusted with the regency of the kingdom—probably under the direction of a council—during his father’s absence. He was then of course occupied with affairs of state; and in the course of this time, a revolt of one of the conquered tribes, probably on the Illyrian frontier, afforded an occasion for his first essay in the art of war. He reduced the insurgents, took their chief city, expelled its inhabitants, and planted a new colony there, to which he gave the name of Alexandropolis. In the interval between the battle of Chæronea and his father’s death, he was engaged in transactions quite alien from philosophical or literary pursuits. It is very doubtful whether he saw Aristotle again before he came to the throne. Their personal intercourse must at least have been confined to occasional interviews.

It is pleasing to find it recorded that still he wrote a book on the office of a king expressly for Alexander. Nevertheless we have unquestionable proof that even on this head the force of nature was stronger than that of education. Aristotle’s national prejudices led him into extravagant notions as to the superiority of the Hellenic race over the rest of mankind: as if the distinction between Greek and barbarian was nearly the same as between man and brute, person and thing: hence slavery appeared to him not a result of injustice and cruelty, but an unalterable law of nature, a relation necessary to the welfare of society.

Hence too he deduced a practical maxim, which he endeavoured to inculcate upon the future conqueror of Asia, that he should treat the Greeks as his subjects, the barbarians as his slaves. The advice was contrary to Alexander’s views and sentiments: it did not suit the position which his consciousness of his own destiny led him to assume. He acted, we know, on a directly opposite principle.

We have at least reason to believe that Alexander, though he was but twenty years old at his father’s death, had learned, thought, seen, and done more to fit him for the place he was to fill, than many sovereigns in the full maturity of their age and experience. Like his father, he found himself, on his accession to the throne, in a situation which called forth all the powers of his mind and all the energies of his character. Macedonia, though nominally at peace with all its European neighbours, was surrounded by enemies, who might be expected eagerly to seize the opportunity, which seemed to offer itself now that the crown had devolved on a stripling, to shake off a yoke which they had endured with ill-disguised impatience. In the kingdom itself there were powerful families, which had not forgotten the times when they aspired to independence, if not to the possession of the throne. Amyntas, too, the son of Perdiccas, was still living, and might be tempted to assert his claim. It was known that the court of Persia was on the watch.

The young king’s first object was to secure himself at home: the next to overawe his hostile neighbours, and to extort from them such an acknowledgment of his superiority, as would place him in the position which his father was occupying at the time of his death. In Macedonia, though there might be some ambitious and disaffected nobles, the mass of the people both recognised his title and were attached to his person. Amyntas, son of Perdiccas, was put to death on a charge of a plot against Alexander’s life. After the last honours had been paid to his father, the king showed himself in a general assembly of his people, and declared his intention of prosecuting his predecessor’s undertakings with like vigour, and, it is said, granted a general immunity from all burdens except military service.

The news of Philip’s death had excited a general ferment throughout Greece. The gloomy prospect which, since the battle of Chæronea, must have saddened so many hearts—the thought that the flower of the Grecian youth were henceforth to shed their blood for the execution of projects which threatened their country with perpetual subjection—was suddenly exchanged for the liveliest hopes of deliverance from the foreigner’s power. In all the principal states language was heard, and preparations were seen, denoting a disposition to take advantage of the unexpected opportunity. Ambracia expelled the Macedonian garrison, and re-established its democratical institutions. The Acarnanian exiles who had taken refuge in Ætolia prepared to return, and the Ætolians in their congress voted succours to reinstate them. Athens took the lead in these movements, and indeed seems to have been the centre from which they proceeded.