When Alexander was about twelve years old, a horse was brought for sale from Thessaly called Bucephalus. The price required was about £2,500 sterling, or $12,000. Yet when any one attempted to mount him, he became restive and unmanageable. Philip was incensed that such a price should be asked for so vicious a beast, but Alexander had observed him carefully, and saw that he was indeed a noble creature. He therefore wished to try him. His father rebuked him sharply, but the prince persevered, and desired to mount the horse. “If you are not able to ride him upon trial,” said Philip, “what forfeit will you pay?” “The price of the horse,” said Alexander. This produced a laugh rather at Alexander’s expense—but the forfeit was agreed upon, and he ran to the horse. He had observed that he was startled at his shadow, the sun shining very brightly; so he turned his head to the sun, leaped lightly upon his back, obtained a firm seat, and gave the animal the rein. The noble beast felt, with that quick intelligence of which his race is capable, that one worthy to be his master was on his back, and set forward. Finding him inclined to run, Alexander, nothing daunted, but with a spirit as wild and fearless as his own, and no doubt with a bounding and joyous sympathy, gave him the spur, and made him fly over the plain.
Philip and all his courtiers around him were greatly frightened at first, but soon Alexander wheeled Bucephalus about, and rode him back to the place from which he started. The animal was completely subdued; yet there was something in his proud look, as he now stood still before the admiring throng, which seemed to say, “I yielded, but only to one worthy of being a conqueror.” Alexander was received by a shout of acclamation—but Philip was overcome by the noble chivalry of his boy, and wept in very joy. “Seek another kingdom, my son!” said he, in the fulness of his heart, “for Macedon is too small for thee!” Such was the value in those days set upon personal gallantry and courage; and we know that these qualities are of the utmost importance, when hard blows usually decide the fate of empires.
Everything seemed to show that Alexander had very early acted under the idea of being a king, and of pursuing, in that character, a career of conquest. No doubt all around him, the courtiers, his father and mother, and his teachers had thus trained him, and no doubt all this coincided with his natural turn of mind. He not only showed personal courage, but a precocious desire of practical knowledge. When less than twelve years of age, ambassadors came to visit the court of Macedon from Persia. Philip was absent, and Alexander therefore received them with great politeness, and a sobriety quite astonishing. He asked no trifling or childish questions; but made a great many inquiries about the roads to Persia; the distance from place to place; the situation of certain provinces; the character of their king; how he treated his enemies; in what the power of Persia lay, &c. All this astonished the ambassadors, who, in their excitement, exclaimed, “The boasted sagacity of Philip is nothing to the lofty and enterprising genius of his son!” Such, indeed, were the striking qualities of young Alexander, that the people of Macedon, in their admiration, called the youth king, and his father only general!
Philip was pleased with all this, but as Alexander grew older, troubles sprung up between them. Olympias, the mother of Alexander, was a woman of fierce and restive temper, and she was justly incensed by a foolish marriage which Philip made with a young lady, named Cleopatra. At the celebration of this union there was great festivity, and the king got drunk. Alexander’s mind, having been poisoned by his mother, was in such a state of irritation, that he spoke rudely at the feast. Philip drew his sword, but his passion and the wine he had drunk, caused him to stumble, and he fell upon the floor. “See,” said Alexander, insolently—“men of Macedon, see there the man who was preparing to pass from Europe into Asia! He is not able to pass from one table to another!” After this insult, he left the table, and taking his mother, they repaired to Epirus.
Here they spent some time, but Philip at last induced them to come back. Other troubles, however, arose, and finally king Philip was slain by Pausanius, whom he had injured. Olympias was thought to have incited the young man to this desperate act, and suspicion of participation fell upon Alexander.
The latter, now twenty years of age, succeeded to his father’s throne. His dominion extended over Macedon and the adjacent tribes to the north, including nearly the whole of that territory which now forms a part of Turkey, and lies between Greece, and the Argentaro mountains. Macedonia itself, was far less civilized than the southern parts of Greece: the people were, indeed, men of a different race, being esteemed barbarous, though the kings claimed to have been of Hellenic origin, and even to trace their lineage to Achilles and Hercules. The nation was much softened in its manners by the wise administration of Philip, while, at the same time, they were carefully trained in the art of war. The surrounding tribes, still more savage than his own people, and often giving exercise to his arms, still served to fill his ranks with the most daring and powerful soldiery.
Greece, too, constituted a part of the kingdom now left to the youthful Alexander. But his father had only conquered, not consolidated into one empire, his vast dominions. Upon his death, the barbarians on the north, and the states of Greece at the south, feeling themselves liberated from a tyrant, and little fearing a youth of twenty, either revolted or showed a disposition to revolt. Alexander’s advisers recommended him to give up Greece, and seek only to subdue the barbarous tribes around him, and to do this by mild measures.
Such a course did not suit the young king. He took the opposite course; marched north as far as the Danube, defeating his principal enemy, and thus securing submission to his authority in that quarter. He then pushed southward, and fell upon the restive Thebans, destroying their city, and reducing the place to a mere heap of ghastly ruins! No less than six thousand of the inhabitants were slain in battle, and three thousand were sold as slaves!
In the midst of the horrors which took place immediately after Thebes was taken—fire and the sword, slaughter, rapine, violence, raging on all sides—a party of savage Thracians, belonging to Alexander’s army, demolished the house of Timoclea, a woman of high standing and quality. Having carried off the booty found in her house, and shamefully abused the lady, the captain asked her if she had not some gold and silver concealed. She replied that she had—and taking him alone into the garden, showed him a well, in which she said she had thrown everything of value when the city was taken. The officer stooped to look into the well, when the lady pushed him down, and rolling stones down upon him, soon despatched him. The Thracians, coming up, found what she had done, and, binding her hands, took her to Alexander. When he asked her who she was—“A sister of Theagenes,” said she, proudly and fearlessly,—“a Theban general, who fought for the liberty of Greece, against the usurpation of Philip—and fell gloriously at the battle of Cheronæa!” Alexander was so much struck by her noble mien and patriotic sentiments, that he caused her and her children to be set at liberty. Such are the few rays of light, that flash across the dark path of the conqueror!
Greece was soon brought to a state of submission and, as Alexander now contemplated an expedition against Darius, king of Persia, the several states, having held an assembly at Corinth, concluded to furnish their quota of supplies. Many statesmen and philosophers came to Corinth, where Alexander was to congratulate him upon this result; but the king was disappointed to find that Diogenes, the cynic philosopher, was not among the number. As he desired greatly to see him, he went to his residence in the suburbs of the city, to pay him a visit. He found the philosopher, basking in the sun; at the approach of so many people, he carelessly roused himself a little, and happened to fix his eyes on Alexander—“Is there anything,” said the king, condescendingly—“in which I can serve you?”—“Only stand a little out of my sunshine,” said Diogenes. This answer produced a laugh among the crowd, who thought it mere vulgarity; but Alexander saw deeper, and, reflecting upon that superiority, which could regard even his presence without surprise, and look with disdain upon his gifts, remarked, “that if he were not Alexander, he would wish to be Diogenes.”