And yet, not to give in to such a generally slanted view, we prefer to travel back to the Orient and observe how human nature, ever unconquerable, resists pressure from outside; and so we discover that the free and stubborn sense of self of individuals everywhere forms a counterweight to the all-powerful One; they may be slaves but they are not subjugated, they permit themselves incomparable audacities. To adduce an example from more ancient times let’s proceed to an evening banquet in the tent of Alexander where we come upon him in lively, vehement, indeed boisterous colloquy with one of his own.
Cleitus, Alexander’s foster brother, his companion in war and in play, loses two brothers on the battlefield, saves the king’s life, appears as a general of note, the loyal governor of important provinces. He cannot go along with the divine status arrogated by the king; he has witnessed his advance, he has known him needy of both service and aid; he may even cultivate an aversion, born of bitterness, to overestimating his achievements.
The table talk at Alexander’s festive board may always have been quite significant; his guests were all accomplished and cultured men, all of them born at a period when eloquence in Greece was at its height. It was customary to propose, choose or quite accidentally hit upon weighty problems and to bat these back and forth in a consciously sophistical and rhetorical fashion. But then when someone rose in defence of the party to which he himself was attached, drunkenness and passion mounted by turns and in the end it had to result in violent scenes. It is along just such lines that we come upon the suspicion that the conflagration of Persepolis didn’t come to pass simply out of coarse daft braggadocio70 but rather was kindled at just such a dinner-table exchange, in which one party argued that one ought to spare the Persians since they’d already been conquered, while the other, by contrast, bringing the remorseless behaviour of the Asians in destroying Greek temples once again before the company’s eyes and intensifying the madness in a drunken rage, reduced the old royal monuments to ashes. The fact that women took part – and they are always the fiercest and most implacable enemies of their enemies – renders our suspicion even more likely.
Nevertheless, should anyone remain a bit dubious on this subject, we’re all the more certain about what occasioned the fatal schism at the banquet which we mentioned earlier; history preserves it for us. To wit, that it was the conflict, perennially repeated, between youth and age. The elders, on whose side Cleitus argued, could refer to a consistent sequence of deeds which they had carried out tirelessly, with both strength and wisdom, in fidelity to the king, the country and the goal proposed. The young, on the other hand, took it as a given that all that had occurred, that much had been accomplished and that they stood at that moment at the borders of India; and yet, that brought to mind how much yet remained to be accomplished, comparable deeds waited to be performed and with the promise of a glittering future they thought to obscure the glory of past achievements. That the king took this side is natural enough for there could be no question of past action in his case. Cleitus, by contrast, revealed his secret indignation and in the king’s presence, he repeated malicious remarks which had earlier come to the prince’s notice as things spoken behind his back. Amazingly, Alexander maintained his composure but, alas, a bit too long. Cleitus overstepped the limit in fractious comment until the king leapt to his feet; at first those nearest him restrained him and took Cleitus aside. But Cleitus came back raging with fresh calumnies and Alexander, seizing a spear from a guard, struck him down.71
What next transpired doesn’t really belong here; we note only that the bitterest lament of the despairing king consisted of the observation that in future he would live alone like a beast in the forest since henceforth nobody would dare to utter a free word in his presence. This remark, whether it’s the king’s or the historian’s, confirms what we suspected earlier.
In the previous century it was still possible for a person to contradict the Persian emperor at festive meals, and to do so unabashedly – though, to be sure, the dinner companion who was overly bold would be dragged away by the feet and as he was hauled past him the monarch might be asked whether he might just possibly pardon him? If not, then out with him, and beaten to a pulp!
Just how boundlessly stubborn and refractory favourites could behave against the emperor has been reported to us by credible historians and handed down in anecdotes. The ruler is like fate, relentless, and yet he inspires defiance. In the face of this, strong natures sink into a kind of madness, the most amazing instances of which could be presented.
Even so, temperate, firm, consistent natures subordinate themselves to the supreme power, from which everything cascades – benefit as well as suffering – so that they may live and act as they wish. But the poet who values his talent has to dedicate himself to the first, and Highest, cause. At court, in converse with the great, he finds that a perspective on the world opens wide to him and he needs this to get to the rich abundance of all subjects. Here lies not merely the excuse but the justification for the flattery, which is appropriate for the panegyrist who practises his craft at its best when he is laden with a profusion of sheer stuff with which to deck out princes and viziers, maidens and youths, prophets and saints, indeed, the Godhead itself, in brimmingly human fashion.
We too praise our Western poet when he heaps up a whole world of frippery and finery72 to glorify the image of his beloved.73