The stairs at the back of Aurelian’s Temple of the Sun

Posted on by Roger Pearse

Relaxing in the bath after completing my last post, I had a sudden realisation.  I think that I know how the stair-complex worked at the back of the Temple of the Sun (or Temple of Serapis, as some think), on the Quirinal Hill in Rome.

The key to this is to think of the Spanish steps.  The height is about the same.  There’s no need for some complicated building.  All you have to do is to have the flights of steps on the hillside, going to and fro.

I’m no artist, but I hope this scribble will convey the idea:

Steps for “Aurelian’s Temple of the Sun” / “Temple of Serapis”, Quirinal Hill, Rome.

The steps start in the street at the foot of the hill.  Then they zigzag up the hillside, in pairs.  At the top, they go through the wall that ran behind the temple and encircled it.  On either side, the stairs are protected by two enormous walls, with arched openings in them to catch the breezes on a hot day.  There may not have been any roof.

If we look at the following image from the 16th century, we see very much what I have drawn above:

The source of this drawing is not known to me, but I was sent a photograph of it by a correspondent, who I believe saw it in the Colonna gardens.

Note how gentle the hill slope is!  There’s no need for some blocky building, such as this in the recent Atlas of Ancient Rome:

It’s just not that high a hill!  We don’t need all that superstructure.  (The little temple is imaginary).

This is where the artist has probably been misled by Palladio’s diagram:

This looks like a chunky building, with stair case above staircase.  But in reality we should think of these stairs as lying flat against the hill.  Because why wouldn’t you do that?

In fact this is what the Spanish Steps do, today:

This is, of course, only my suggestion.  But we do need to remember the slope is low, and gentle, and the walls alongside were long.  The squareish block-shape is contradicted by Palladio’s plan, and by common-sense.

Let’s refresh our memory with Palladio’s plan.

This seems baffling, especially when compared to Palladio’s diagram of the stairs.  But it does confirm the length of the stair building.

It’s a thought, anyway.  Probably an ignorant one, but certainly worth considering.

PS: Is “P129” perhaps “129 paces”?  If so, does that make the stairs 129 paces long?  And the temple building 203?  Is this plan actually foreshortened?

UPDATE: While searching for 16th century drawings, I found a new plan of the staircase by Sallustio Peruzzi.  This supports Palladio’s plan, and contradicts the picture of zigzag staircases utterly.  It is here.  I draw together the real picture here.

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Palladio and the “Temple of the Sun” in Rome

Posted on by Roger Pearse

I am not aware of any directory of sources for old prints and descriptions of Rome as it was in the 15-16th century.  This means that I discover such sources more or less by accident.  Earlier this week I came across another.

Palladio published in 1570 his book, I quattro libri, on architecture.  What I had not realised was that book 4 contains descriptions, with plans and measurements, of monuments in Rome.  This French site has downloads of the book, and also of a French translation.  The downloads are of inferior quality to the online images, for some strange reason.  Fortunately a later edition is accessible in high resolution at the Bavarian State Library.

The monuments of interest here are the so-called “Temple of the Sun” (often called the Temple of Serapis) on the Quirinal hill; and also the Baths of Constantine, next to them.  These were both standing to some extent in Palladio’s day.

The material on the Temple of the Sun is in book 4, starting on p.41.

Here is Palladio’s plan of the temple:The key appears on the preceding page.  As my French is better than my Italian, I shall translate that:

At Monte-Cavallo (formerly known as the Quirinal Hill), the remains of the next building are seen, near the palace of the noble Colonna family, which is known as the “Frontispiece of Nero”.  Some are of the opinion that this was the tower of Maecenas, and that from here Nero took pleasure in watching the city of Rome burning. But they are deceiving themselves, because the tower of Maecenas was on the Esquiline Hill, close to the Baths of Diocletian. Others have thought that it was the house of the Cornelii.  Myself I believe that it must have been a temple of Jupiter: because when I found myself formerly at Rome, I saw the foundations of this edifice being excavated, where some capitals of the Ionic order were discovered, which no doubt were used inside the temple; and it was even remarked that these were those of the corners of the colonnades, because the middle part, in my opinion, was still to be discovered. The appearance of this temple was that which Vitruvius calls Pseudodipteros, that is, with false wings: its manner Pycnostylos, with thick columns: the columns of the portico on the outside, of Corinthian order.  The architrave, frieze, and cornice made up a quarter of the height of the columns. The mouldings of the architrave were of a very fine invention. On two sides the frieze was full of foliage; but on the face, although nothing could be made out, it was nevertheless visible that it had carried some inscription.  The modillions[1] of the cornice are quatriform, and there is one exactly in the middle of each column.  The modillions of the cornice of the frontispiece are all vertical, and thus they must be made like that.  Inside the temple there were porticoes, as I depict in my illustration.  Around this temple there was a great courtyard adorned with columns and statues: and on the facade were these two great horses, one by the hand of Phidias, and the other by Praxiteles, which have given the name to the place where they are presently, which is called Monte Cavallo.  One ascends by very convenient steps to this temple, which, in my opinion, must be the largest and richest edifice that there was in Rome.

I have made six plates of it.  In the first is the map of the whole edifice, with the back part where were the stairs, which ascending from one to the other led into the courtyard of the temple.  The elevation of this manner of stairs, with the plan, is at the end of my first book, where I deal with various kinds of stairs.  In the second, is the side of the temple from outside.  In the third, is half of the facade of the temple from the outside.  In the fourth, is part of the inside: and in both these plates, a small portion of the ornaments of the courtyard is seen.  In the fifth, is the side of part of it, from the inside.  In the sixth, are the ornaments.

A.  Is the architrave, frieze, and cornice.

C.  Is the base.

E.  The capital of the columns of the portico.

D.  The base of the pilasters corresponding to the columns.

B.  The cornice that is around the courtyard.

F.  Is the acroterion.[2][3]

The depiction of the stairs is to be found in book 1, page 66, and looks like this:

Aurelian’s Temple of the Sun – staircases, as given by Palladio in 1570

Palladio’s text for this picture is:

In the same city, those of the Holy Apostles Church, near Monte Caval, are still very magnificent: these staircases were double, and they have been an example to several who have since imitated them: they led to a temple at the top of the mountain, as we shall see in my book treating of the Temples. And this is the last design of the stairs in this manner.[4]

This is a monster staircase indeed.  How much of it actually still existed in 1570 we cannot say, but of course portions of the walls are extant, nearly indestructible, even now.

UPDATE: In my next post, I discussed how this arrangement of zigzag stairs might really have looked.  It’s not consistent with Palladio’s own plan, after all.  But while searching for 16th century drawings, I found a new plan of the staircase by Sallustio Peruzzi.  This supports Palladio’s plan, and contradicts the picture of zigzag staircases utterly.  It is here.  I draw together the real picture here.

I will give a PDF with the other 5 plates that Palladio gives, in case you want ready access.  They are not exciting; and of course they are reconstructions.  How much was to be seen at that date we may wonder.

I must look further at Palladio.  One thing that I have not been able to work out is his measurements.  In an early plate these appear as “M” or “MO”.  What that might be, I do not know.

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  1. [1]A projecting bracket under the corona of a cornice in the Corinthian and other orders – RP↩
  2. [2]An acroterion or acroterium or akroteria is an architectural ornament placed on a flat base called the acroter or plinth, and mounted at the apex of the pediment of a building in the classical style. – So Google.↩
  3. [3]Slightly modernised, the French reads: “A Monte-Cavallo (anciennement appelle le Mont-Quirinal) on void les vestiges de l’edifice suivant, vers le palais des seigneurs Colonnes, lequel se nomme le Frontispice de Néron. Quelques-uns sont d’opinion que c’etait la tour de Mecenas, & que de là Néron prit plaisir à voir brûler la ville de Rome: mais ils s’abusent, parce que la tour de Mecenas etait au mont Esquilin, allez prés des Thermes de Diocletian: d’autres ont cru que c’etait la maison des Cornelies. Pour moi j’estime que c’aura eté un temple de Jupiter: car me trouvant autrefois à Rome, je vis fouiller dans les fondemens de cét édifice, 0u l’on découvrit quelques chapiteaux d’ordre Ionique, qui servaient sans doute au dedans du temple; & memes on remarquait que c’etaient ceux des angles des loges, parce que la partie du milieu, à mon avis, devait etre découverte. L’aspect de ce temple etait celui que Vitruve nomme Pseudodipteros, c’est à dire, à fausses ailles: sa maniéré Pycnostylos, ou de colonnes pressées: & les colonnes du portique par le dehors, d’ordre Corinthien. Les architrave, frieze & corniche faisaient une quatrième partie de la hauteur des colonnes. La cymaise de l’architrave etait d’une tres-belle invention. Aux deux cotez la frieze etait pleine de feuillages; mais à la face, bien qu’il ne s’y vit plus rien d’entier, on remarquait neanmoins qu’elle avait porté quelque inscription. Les modillons de la corniche sont quarrez, & il s’en rencontre un justement sur le milieu de chaque colonne. Les modillons de la corniche du frontispice sont tous droits à plomb, & c’est ainsi que l’on les doit faire. Au dedans du temple il y avait des portiques, comme je fais voir en mon dessein. Autour de ce temple il y avait un grand cortil orné de colonnes, & de statues: & à la façade etaient ces deux grands chevaux, l’un de la main de Phidias, & l’autre de Praxiteles, lesquels ont donné le nom au lieu où ils sont presentement, qu’on appelle Monte-Cavallo. On montait par des degrez tres-commodes à ce temple, qui, à mon avis, devait etre le plus grand & le plus riche édifice qui fut dans Rome. L’en ai fait six planches.
    Dans la première, est le plan de tout l’edifice, avec la partie de derrière où etaient les escaliers, qui montant de l’un à l’autre conduisaient dans les cortils des costez du temple. L’élevation de cette maniéré d’escaliers, avec le plan, est sur la fin de mon premier livre, où je traitte des diverses sortes d’escaliers.
    Dans la seconde, est le flanc du temple par dehors.
    Dans la troisiéme, est la moitié de la façade du temple par le dehors.
    Dans la quatrième, est la partie du dedans : & en toutes ces deux planches on void une petite partie des ornemens du cortil.
    Dans la cinquième, est le flanc de la partie du dedans.
    Dans la sixiéme, sont les ornemens.
    A. Est l’architrave ,frize, & corniche.
    C. Est la base.
    E. Le chapiteau des colonnes du portique.
    D. La base des pilastres qui respondent aux colonnes.
    B. La corniche qui est autour des cortils.
    F. Est l’acrotere.↩
  4. [4]En la meme Ville, ceux de l’Eglise Sto Apostolo,vers Monte-Caval, sont encore tres-magnifiques: ces escaliers etaient doubles, & ils ont serui d’exemple à plusieurs qui les ont depuis imitez: ils conduisaient a un temple sis au haut du mont, comme on verra en mon livre traittant des Temples. Et c’eft ici le dernier dessein des escaliers de cette maniéré.↩

Some useful reconstructions of the vast “Temple of the Sun / Serapis” on the Quirinal

Posted on by Roger Pearse

I have written before about the remains of a huge temple on the Quirinal hill in Rome.  The temple is often referred to as Aurelian’s Temple of the Sun.  Others prefer to say that it was a Temple of Serapis.  I’ve seen a suggestion that it was a Temple of Salus.  In short, nobody knows what it was.

The front of the temple faced what is now the Quirinal palace.  Next door, on the right, was the Baths of Constantine.  But at the back of the temple were a huge set of steps which descended the hill to the Campus Martius below.  The walls of this stairway are still extant, in the gardens of the Colonna palace, and in those of the Gregorian University which adjoins it.  A huge chunk of the rear of the temple was still visible in 1570, towering over the city; and a massive fragment of its entablature is still to be seen in the Colonna gardens.

A correspondent has kindly drawn my attention to some useful plans and images online for this mysterious edifice.  They are rather super!

Let’s start with a map of the area, showing the “Templum Solis” sticking into what is now the piazza outside the Quirinale, and the “scala” or stairs.

Click on the image to get the full size.  I got this from here.

Plan of the Quirinal hill in ancient times showing the Temple of the Sun and the Baths of Constantine.

The temple was square, with wings sticking out either side, and a colonnade.  (We know this from a plan drawn by Palladio, which I must also upload sometime.)

Next, a poor resolution reconstruction, from here.

Another reconstruction now, of a rear view of the monument, from here.  The mini-temple in the middle of the stairs is, apparently, the artist’s imagination.  The excellent drawing seems to be from the new, monster, monstrously expensive Atlas of Ancient Rome by Carandini.

But aside from the imaginary templet, this is a very sound reconstruction.  That said, the inset shows ten columns at the front, while the plan by Palladio definitely shows twelve columns.

Finally another reconstruction from an interesting page on the temple here (image here):

And another from the same site, showing the rear wall:

These are all very useful images.  Let me give also one that I have published before:

This shows the rear corner of the temple, still standing, facing the newly erected Quirinal palace, but looking along the back of the temple down some arcades.  I have never known where this comes from, tho, and the writing is too small to read.

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Some notes on a letter of the Coptic St. Pisentius – by Anthony Alcock

Posted on by Roger Pearse

Dr Alcock writes:

Rather than a translation I have decided on a few notes instead.

Here are his notes!

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From my diary

Posted on by Roger Pearse

Last Sunday I drove down to start a new contract on the Monday.  It’s quite interesting adapting back to life on the road.  Sleeping in hotels is an art!  I did manage to get some sleep on Thursday night!  The manager who recruited me to the new client is trying to cheat me, which is not good news.  I also had one of the staff dent the passenger door of my car.  He left no note, so there was no indication who did it.   Sadly for him, earlier that day I had taken a photograph of my car (entirely accidentally) which happened to show his car and the number-plate.  The office manager did the rest and sorted him out.  I suppose the world is full of scoundrels; but every so often we get a reminder.

While I was away, a new copy arrived of Matti Moosa’s translation of the chronicle of Michael the Syrian.  Dr Moosa did send me a complimentary copy, but it went missing in the refurbishment of my house last year.  Reluctantly I bought another.  For when they are sold, they are sold.  I wish that I had bought the copyright.

A little pile of volumes is accumulating on the side, for conversion into PDFs.  Among them is a guidebook to the archaeology of Rome, that ought to be very interesting but is really dull.  Also a few duplicate copies of paperbacks that I already possess, bought for pretty much nothing, which I can dismember and scan.

An unusual query from an Athonite monk; could he do some translation work?  I have replied, and perhaps we will do some more of the St Nicholas of Myra stuff.  I really wish that a complete version of the Life compiled by Simon Metaphrastes was online.  And … it still strikes me as funny that, for a figure venerated worldwide, it is little old me who is funding the translation of the literature.  All the princes, publishers, philanthropists and funding bodies… do nothing.  Perhaps it is ever so.

I ought to do a little shredding.  So very hot here this evening.

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Admin

Posted on by Roger Pearse

Started a new job this week, so no time to blog.  Rather foolishly this evening I updated Jetpack on the site, and the wretched thing is now scattering errors on posts with footnotes.  My apologies.  I will fix this when I know how, and when I have time to find out how.[1]

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  1. [1]Test footnote↩

Who were you, “P.R.”? A flyleaf and its story

Posted on by Roger Pearse

This morning I went into the Treasure Chest second-hand bookshop in Felixstowe.  This is an old-fashioned bookshop, full of 45,000 books, mostly paperbacks, which are available at very reasonable prices, is the very model of a seaside provincial bookshop.  It hasn’t changed in thirty years, as my own shelves testify.

I went straight to the classics section, where I found a row of Greek and Roman authors in the Penguin Classics series of translations.  Most were small, squareish, clad in the smart black covers of the late 70s editions. But a few were taller, and had the mauve strip at the top of the spine that characterised the change of style in the early 80s.  I always preferred the older style.

I came away with but a single volume, the 1981 edition of the Greek Anthology.

Like all the others, it was priced to sell.  I paid a modest £2.50 for it.  And, like most of the others, inside the front cover was a set of initials, “P.R.”, and a year.

The volume is the 1981 edition, so “P.R.” purchased it new.  Clearly these are “P.R.”s books, now being sold for very little in a seaside second-hand bookshop.  They were not there a year ago, so it is a reasonable assumption that the dealer purchased them in the last few months, the winter of 2016-17.

Do others speculate about the mysterious inscriptions on covers and fly-leaves?  Or is it just me?  To me this volume says a number of things.  Maybe I am simply imaginative.

It’s hard to imagine anyone purchasing such a book unless he was doing a classics degree.  For who else, in the normal run of things, would read the Greek Anthology?  So “P.R.” was a student, probably at Oxford or Cambridge, in 1981.  In fact he must have been one of my own contemporaries.  My own set of Penguin Classics displays precisely the same mix of editions; mostly the older ones, but a few of the mauve-band versions. purchased in my last year, or soon after college before the pressures of life meant that idle reading became impossible.  “P.R.” didn’t use the book much.  Indeed it seems almost new and unread.  The only marginalia are two ticks in the bibliography, one each against the poetical versions of Barnstone, and of Bridges.

Alas, we can infer something else.  For there is only one way that a batch of books cherished for decades by a single owner come into a dealer’s shop after a winter.  “P.R.” died young.  He perished in the winter.  His relatives cleared his house, and sold his books in a job-lot to the nearest shop.  Perhaps he lived in Felixstowe, for why else would the books be here?  If he was 21 in 1981 – a fair assumption – then he died aged 57, which is young indeed.

Who was he, this classical man who died young?  Did he retire young, to a seaside cottage, after a successful career in the city?  Or was he perhaps a teacher, worn out by the stresses of the modern teaching system, who died in harness?  We cannot say.  He was some mother’s son, some girl’s true love, some child’s “daddy”.  But he is gone, as we must all go some day, into “death’s dateless night”.

Thank you anyway, whoever you were, for loaning me your book.  For of course nothing is permanent.  One day it will be my books on that shelf, being pored over by strangers.  So this purchase is, in reality, only a loan for a few decades.  Then back onto the market it will go!

Should we sign our books, as “P.R.” signed his?

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The Annals of Eutychius of Alexandria (10th c. AD) – chapter 7 – part 5

Posted on by Roger Pearse

We continue the reign of Alexander the Great.  Eutychius believes that Cassander poisoned him.  It is interesting that the evil reputation of Cassander (not named here) persisted after 13 centuries.

16. Alexander won many victories, and among the Greeks, thirteen kings obeyed him.  He founded thirteen cities, some in the west and others in the east.  He waged so many wars and gained so many victories that no king was greater than him.  He founded a city and called it by his name, Alexandria.  He then moved the government from the city of Makidūniya to the city of Alexandria.  He raised the lighthouse of Alexandria and made it a guide for all those who sailed by sea to lead them to the route that went to Alexandria.  After the king had conquered and obtained the empire of the world, he went to Bābil where he was poisoned and died.  This is because Alūmafidā[1], his mother, had written a letter in which she complained about his lieutenant, who commanded Makidūniyah, and as Alexander was angry at him, he had thought of killing him.  But getting wind of this, he sent his son to Alexander with many gifts and presents and with deadly poison, advising him to conduct himself with every kind of gentle wisdom in order to poison Alexander.  The young man came to Alexander, bearing all the gifts he had with him.  He came across, among others, the cupbearer of Alexander, with whom the latter had previously clashed and beaten up.  So, nourishing a great grudge against Alexander, the cupbearer assisted the young man in his intentions. Then one of Alexander’s followers joined them, in their conspiracy.  Now it happened that Alexander gave a banquet to his friends, where everyone ate and drank. Alexander was sitting with his followers and his close friends, cheerful and happy among the diners.  When he asked for a drink, the cupbearer poured the poison into the king’s cup and handed it to him.  Drinking it, the king immediately knew that he would die, and he called a scribe and dictated a letter to his mother in these terms:

“From the servant of God, Alexander, conqueror and lord of the land of the earth yesterday and today his pledge,[2] to his affectionate and merciful mother Alūmafīdā whose nearness he is unable to enjoy. Sincere and great peace to you.  The road that I am now travelling, O my mother, is the same as those have travelled who have fallen asleep before me, and that you and those who survive me will travel.  In this world we are just like the day that chases away the day that came before it.  Do not regret this world for the fact that it deceives its creatures.  You have an example of what you know about King Philip who could not stay with you nor survive.  Arm yourself, then, with sound endurance and remove your anguish and look for solitude.  Order that none should come to you unless they have not seen misfortune, so that you may know better what it is and know better about your condition and you can better care for your own. What I go to is a better and more restful condition than the one in which I lived.  Do good by me and accept this in resignation and endurance so that sorrow does not overcome you.  This letter I send to you on the last day of this life and on the first of the other, with the hope that it will console you and be a source of blessing to  you.  Do not disappoint me and do not sadden my spirit. Peace to you”.

He then commanded his seal put to the letter and for it to be sent secretly to his mother.  He then ordered his minister Fīlīmūn to keep his death secret and to go immediately to Alexandria.  Then he died.  It is said that when Alexander came to Qūmus, he became seriously ill and that his illness grew worse and worse every day.  His mother had told him that a diviner had predicted, when he was born, that he would die in a place whose sky was golden and whose earth was iron.  As ill as he was, Alexander came to Shahrazūr. His illness had become more acute during the journey. Then he stopped, and they put under him two boards with a coating of iron, and he sat down, while a man gave him shade with a shield inlaid with gold.  On seeing this, Alexander remembered the words of his mother, called his minister, dictated a letter to his mother and died.  When his mother received the letter, she ordered a banquet, inviting people to join.  However, she placed custodians at the door, with the order that nobody should enter except those who had not been hit by some misfortune.  The gatekeepers therefore questioned those who came and if they were struck by a disaster they would not let him in.  By doing so they excluded everyone and there was no one who could take part in the banquet.  On seeing this, [Alūmafīdā] accepted her fate in good faith, became strong and was convinced that this was the common fate of the mortals. The minister Fīlīmūn laid the body of Alexander in a golden coffin as an honour. In another text it is said: “He filled it with honey and kept the death secret.” He then led the soldiers to Alexandria, carrying behind the coffin of the [king], and as soon as the death of Alexander was made public in front of the people,  he showed them the coffin and placed it in the centre of the court.  Then the minister Filīmūn ordered the wise men to keep up a funeral elegy, which was a comfort for the friends of the followers, and an education for all the people.

 

 

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  1. [1]I.e. Olympias.↩
  2. [2]I really didn’t understand this: “Dal servo di Dio, Alessandro, conquistatore e signore dei paesi della terra ieri ed oggi suo pegno“.↩

In progress: an online translation of Gelasius of Cyzicus!

Posted on by Roger Pearse

A correspondent writes to tell me of a wonderful thing!  A chap named Nathanael J. Jensen is translating the History of the Council of Nicaea by in 3 books by ps.Gelasius of Cyzicus!  (CPG 6034). Better yet, the results are appearing online!

This work was composed around 475, and contains chunks from earlier, now lost, histories.  Portions of it seem fictional, but it is one of the main untranslated ecclesiastical histories.

The translation is being posted at the Fourth Century website.  Book 1 is already done, book 2 is begun.

You can find what exists so far via here.

I wish we had more of this kind of thing.  Well done, Fourth Century, and Dr J!

UPDATE: I gather this is one of Glen L. Thompson’s projects, and that he is supervising it!  Apologies for not mentioning this.

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The Annals of Eutychius of Alexandria (10th c. AD) – chapter 7 – part 4

Posted on by Roger Pearse

We continue with the story of Alexander.  The Abbasid caliphs, for whom Eutychius wrote, were basically Persians, and so the destruction of the Achaemenids by Alexander – who is treated as the king of the “Rum”! – was obviously sensitive territory.  Eutychius copes with this inconvenience by denying Alexander his military victory, and instead attributing the defeat of Darius to treachery.  One doubts that anyone was fooled, but the flattery doubtless benefited the author.

I notice that Google Translate continues to mistranslate the numerals.  I must recheck all the numbers of years from A to B.

14 And when he came to the king, the messenger told him what Alexander had done.  Then Alexander gathered together his compatriots and his men, and said to them, “There are three ways to accomplish things:  with great forethought, with the ability to realize them, and with the implementation of both with a firm intention. Whoever of you is of this opinion will get what he wants and, whoever shares this will join with me, but whoever is not of the same opinion should stay away from me.” They replied, “God has united these three things in our king, while we have some who own one and some who own another, but no one is able to effectively implement what he has.”  Alexander was fully satisfied with their words.  Then he made all the arrangements and went out against Dāriyūs.  They met at al-Gazirah[1] and the war was protracted on both sides for forty days.  Dāriyūs had five trenches dug, and he placed in each of them a general (“isbahid”) at the head of twelve thousand men and every man went out to fight every five days.  Dāriyūs then ordered his men to bring him two heads of Rūm every day.  And in fact, two heads of the Rūm or one only were delivered to him daily.  Alexander was saddened at that in his heart and his rage reached its peak. He then sent to Dāriyūs: “We are almost annihilating each other. I therefore propose a way that allows us and you to come out of this; that is, that you deploy your men with a gap, so that I can take the way through your troops on the side where you are, and so can go back to my country.  We, indeed, have no intention of fleeing in the face of deployed troops, because such a thing would be a dishonour that could never be washed away, a spot that could never be purified and an unforgivable ignominy.”  Dāriyūs replied, “We do not think it appropriate to give you what you ask for, or see the reason for it.”  When he saw this, Alexander was thoughtful, with his head in his hands, looking for a way out.  Then he said to his men: “O Rūm, this means we are feeble and with little strength to win.  If there is any one among you, or among the Persians, who can suggest some stratagem in this matter in order to get us out of such anguish, he will have half the realm of the Persians and the Rūm and half of what is at the junction [of the whole territory]”.  The words of Alexander were heard by Khisnisf and Adarshīst[2], the sons of Adarbakht, the captains of the guard of Dāriyūs.  In another text it is said “of the armies”.  When it came to arms, they fell on Dāriyūs with their swords and struck him to the ground. The Persians were put to flight, and many were killed on the field.  It happened then that Alexander came to Dāriyūs, and saw him in that state, and he dismounted from his horse, rested his head on his chest, washed his face, bended his wounds, kissed him and wept, said, “Praise God who has not given it to any of my men to kill you. What we now see was already written in the foreknowledge of God.  Ask whatever you want.  For my part I grant you the right to ask three things, but you will also allow me to ask for one.”  Dāriyūs said to him: “I want you not to overthrow the nobles and dignitaries of Fāris, and to guarantee their safety.  I want you to not destroy the temples of fire, and to care for their security.  I want you to do justice on those who killed me, and return him the same, because he will certainly betray your favour if he is released as he has already betrayed mine.”  Alexander assured him that he would do what he had asked, and said, “What I want from you is that you give me your daughter Rūshtaq, and that this is done through you and with your blessing.” Dāriyūs replied, “I grant her to you in marriage, provided that you entrust the kingdom, after you, to a son that you have from her.”  Alexander consented and Dāriyūs gave his daughter to him in marriage.  Then he died.  Alexander then ordered him to be buried, wrapping him in the most precious linen that the king possessed and commanded the soldiers, Greeks and Persians, to march with the weapons [in salute] before his coffin.  Alexander and his most prominent men followed the parade to the place of the burial.  Then Alexander said, “If it had been my task to reduce Dāriyūs to the state in which you saw him, I would have done it because he was in any case my enemy.  Great is therefore the service of he who has spared me such an action and I feel I must reward him.  Come before me, and I swear solemnly in the name of God, that I will exalt him and raise him up above all my men.”  Then Khisnisf and Adarshīst, sons of Adarbakht, went on to him, and said to him, “We are the leaders of the guard of Dāriyūs, who have spared you such an action.  Therefore, give us what you promised us.”  [Alexander] ordered them to be crucified on two great crosses, saying: “These two men deserved to get what I ordered for them, because of their broken promise and for having betrayed their king. If they have not been loyal to their king, they will not be to anyone else.  I gave them what I had promised them and raised them above all my men.”  He then ordered gifts to be made to the mother, wife and daughter of Dāriyūsh, to give them the appropriate clothes to their rank and surround them with all honour.  He then ordered that gifts and clothing should be given to the Persian generals and notables as appropriate to their rank, benefits and expectations and confirmed them in their offices.  For these things they loved him, and held him dear to them.  Then Alexander invited those who wished to follow him in the invasion of India.  They went with him, glad and ready to fight.

15. Alexander thus reigned over seven provinces. From the captivity of Babil to the reign of Alexander 263 years had passed; from the reign of David to that of Alexander, 740; from the exodus of the children of Israel from Egypt to the reign of Alexander, 1,346; from Abraham to the reign of Alexander, 1,853; from Fāliq to the reign of Alexander, 2,394; from the flood to the reign of Alexander, 2,925; from Adam to the reign of Alexander, 5,181.  The teacher of Alexander was Aristātālis, the philosopher.  Also in the city of Athinah was a wise man named Diyūğānūs [3].

 

 

 

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  1. [1]I.e. in Mesopotamia.↩
  2. [2]Arrian in the Anabasis III, 21, calls them “Satibarzan and Barsaente.”↩
  3. [3]Aristotle and Diogenes.↩