The King presently dismissed Prexaspes, and the latter was conducted to pleasant rooms in the palace, where he refreshed himself with a bath, arrayed himself in clean linen and rich garments and had himself barbered and perfumed by the King’s own barbers. Cambyses was lavish with his favorites, and just now Prexaspes was chief of them. The latter sat at the King’s right hand at dinner that evening. All festivities were abandoned in honor of the dead King, but the many courtiers who ate at his tables found opportunity to assure the new King of their joy over his accession to the throne. He drank deeply both of adulation and wine until he became half-drunk and maudlin, whereupon Merobates took him almost forcibly to his bedchamber.

Next day, the King and all his retinue returned to Hamadan. A royal decree was immediately issued, reciting the death of the Great Cyrus and the accession of Cambyses to the throne of the world, and commanding all officers, soldiers, and peoples to acknowledge him King of Kings. The royal treasury was opened. From it the golden crown studded with precious gems, which Cyrus had worn on state occasions, and the royal scepter were brought forth. Clad in purple, and having the high, pointed crown on his head, his royal feet encased in yellow shoes, and his hair and whiskers curled, powdered, and perfumed, Cambyses held his first court in the great audience room of the palace. He sat on a golden throne placed high up on a dais, with fan-bearers waving ostrich plumes over him, with Prexaspes standing at his right hand and Merobates at his left, bearing the King’s sword and shield. He placed the crown on his head with his own hands, while a loud-voiced herald recited his titles. Then the thousand nobles and officers who were in attendance fell on their faces to the floor before him and hailed him King of Kings, the Great King! Cambyses, swelling with pride, deemed himself divine, and as a god he looked down upon his subjects with haughty demeanor.

The world thus acquired a new ruler.

CHAPTER VI
PERSEPOLIS

THE modern world knows little of the beauty and grandeur of ancient Anshan, the home of Cyrus, or of the province of Fars and its cities. Mountains shut off from them the hot winds of the Persian Gulf and of the northern deserts. The high valleys lying between the mountain ranges that extend across it like huge dikes are of surpassing loveliness. Romantic woodlands, dells, lakes, canyons, murmuring brooks, rushing rivers, far vistas, plains, mountains, and hills delight the soul. In the valleys, flowers perfume the air all the year, and vegetation, where irrigation is practiced, is luxuriant. On the high hills and mountain tops winter holds sway during three or more months and the seasons are well-marked as in the temperate zones. It is the land of Omar, of Firdusi, and of many lesser poets; the land of an ancient white race, whose rugged virtues made them lords of much of the earth, but whose descendants have degenerated by admixture with lower grades of humanity and have suffered much to maintain even their own independence.

The celebrated plain of Mervdasht is between two parallel ranges of mountains, one of which lies to the west between it and the low hot lands of the gulf-coast and the other to the east between it and the vale of Murghab, or ancient Anshan. A river comes down from the northern mountains through the midst of this plain and empties into a lake. It is a perennial stream, but fordable save in the winter when the rains fall. It has been variously named, anciently the Araxes, later the Kur or river of Cyrus, and again the Bendamir. Another river of less volume but more celebrated, the Pulwar, comes down to join it through the mountains from northeast table-lands. This passes by the vale of Murghab, where a little stream of that name, coming from the east, flows into it. In this vale was ancient Anshan, the capital of the Achæmenian line of kings, a city also known as Pasargadæ. The tortuous bed of the Pulwar connects the vale of Murghab with the valley of Mervdasht, having cut for itself a deep gorge through the mountains. A royal road, passing through this gorge or canyon, connected the ancient capital with a more modern city, Persepolis.

Persepolis, or the city of the Persians, ancient Parsa, lay close to the mouth of the mighty canyon of the Pulwar, where it opened into the vale of Mervdasht. The city lay principally on the northern banks of the river. On the southern bank was a great park; and in this on a plateau extending from the base of low mountains that border the eastern side of the plain, were the palaces of the Kings of Iran. King Hystaspis and his great son, Darius, and his grandson, Xerxes, each erected magnificent palaces of dark-gray marble on this natural platform. The great size and magnificent architecture of these buildings were among the wonders of the ancient world. Their majestic ruins yet testify to the power, the love of art, and the learning of those masters of men.

King Hystaspis, content to rule Iran as a nominal vassal of Cyrus and under the shadow of his mighty arm, laid out for himself in the valley of Merv a new city and there placed his loved friends and retainers. He brought artisans from Egypt, Canaan, Syria, Phœnicia, and distant Greece, and built for himself a great palace. It is said that he or his son formulated a new alphabet for his language and caused the books of Zoroaster to be translated therein.

Orchards of apple, peach, and apricot, vineyards where grape and berry grew, fields of vegetables and grain, covered the fertile valley and its surrounding hills. On the day when the Imperial Guard, escorting the body of the Great Cyrus, halted on the summit of the western ridge bounding the valley and looked down upon the peaceful scene, autumn was touching all with the signs of harvest and the coming winter-rest. On that day, while the funeral car halted, Prince Bardya, his sisters, and the Prince of Iran rode forward to a bluff jutting out from the ridge; and from this position they looked down into a paradise,—so it seemed to them, weary with dusty roads and desert lands. There, where the Pulwar entered the plain from the narrow gorge in the western mountains, Cyrus had drawn up his Persian patriots to fight a last battle for liberty from the Medean yoke, having been driven to bay by the vast army of stern old Astyages, his grandfather. That decisive battle not only gave liberty to his own province but gave Astyages to him as a prisoner and the crown of Medea for his own head. From that victory Cyrus had gone forth to conquer the world. But now, conquered by the last enemy, Death, he was returning there to his final rest. The heart of the Prince of Iran was stirred by strong emotions, as he looked across the beautiful vale. He could see afar the great portico of his father’s palace where, he knew, his mother stood watching for the coming of her son. Uncovering his head, he extended his hands towards heaven, saying:

“To thee, O Ahura-Mazda, Ruler of Heaven, Giver of Life, Lover of Truth, and Protector, we give thanks! For thou hast brought us home!”