That night violent reaction from the depression of the day seized upon Alexander. He ordered that all his army should rest and feast. Carpe diem was the dominating animus of the ensuing debauch. In a delirium of drunken joy Alexander proposed a drinking bout offering a crown to the victor. Promachus drank twelve quarts of wine and to him was awarded the prize. But Promachus did not live long to enjoy his reward, three days after he died from the effects of the debauch as did forty others who had taken part in the drinking bout at the great court feast.
There is undoubtedly a strong tendency in human nature to rush from one extreme to the other. The best by corruption become the worst; no one can fall so low as he who has been highest. But from the lowest which has known the highest there rush at times instantaneous recoil, re-ascent, re-attainment—momentary tho’ it be—to the highest. Then when genius gilds that lowest, that recoil, re-ascent, re-attainment—the thoughtless world is thrilled, it listens anew, it understands.
Some of the chastest lyrics of the language have been written in recoil from, in liberation and glad bird freedom from the slough of sensuality.
The significant charm of Francis Thompson’s Hound of Heaven lies in what it connotes rather than in what it tells. Soul-struggle is enmeshed in the lines, and defeat is heard in alto moan with every note of victory. It is the violent rebound to the height gilded, perhaps goldened, by genius.
Alexander’s Feast.
The ode Alexander’s Feast by Dryden is one of many contributions to literature inspired by the Macedonian Madman.
“Great genius is to madness near allied
And thin partitions do their bounds divide.”
—Dryden.
Perhaps the taking of Persepolis and the mad orgy of triumph there indulged in, mark the flood-tide of Alexander’s good fortune and likewise the fateful turning and re-flow of the tide. But what a tide!