by Poe · Cluster: Swords and Weapons · Power and Corruption · Tyrant
Abstract
Satirical sketch of the tyrant Antiochus Epiphanes parading as a beast in ancient Antioch, mocking flattery, tyranny, and mob folly.
Readability (prose)67.7 Flesch ease7.1 FK grade10.4 Fog13% complex13.1 words/sent
Connections
Topoi: World Upside Down Archetypes: Tyrant Motifs: Animals, Blood, City, Crown, Wine and Drink Themes & Concepts: Power and Corruption, Satire of Society, Pride, Grotesque Forms & Genres: Satire, Short Story Historical References: Classical Antiquity, Bible Settings: Orient, Court
Testo integrale / Full text
Chacun a ses vertus.
—Crébillon’s Xerxes.
Antiochus Epiphanes is very generally looked upon as the Gog of
the prophet Ezekiel. This honor is, however, more properly
attributable to Cambyses, the son of Cyrus. And, indeed, the
character of the Syrian monarch does by no means stand in need of
any adventitious embellishment. His accession to the throne, or
rather his usurpation of the sovereignty, a hundred and
seventy-one years before the coming of Christ; his attempt to
plunder the temple of Diana at Ephesus; his implacable hostility
to the Jews; his pollution of the Holy of Holies; and his
miserable death at Taba, after a tumultuous reign of eleven
years, are circumstances of a prominent kind, and therefore more
generally noticed by the historians of his time than the impious,
dastardly, cruel, silly, and whimsical achievements which make up
the sum total of his private life and reputation.
Let us suppose, gentle reader, that it is now the year of the
world three thousand eight hundred and thirty, and let us, for a
few minutes, imagine ourselves at that most grotesque habitation
of man, the remarkable city of Antioch. To be sure there were, in
Syria and other countries, sixteen cities of that appellation,
besides the one to which I more particularly allude. But ours is
that which went by the name of Antiochia Epidaphne, from its
vicinity to the little village of Daphne, where stood a temple to
that divinity. It was built (although about this matter there is
some dispute) by Seleucus Nicanor, the first king of the country
after Alexander the Great, in memory of his father Antiochus, and
became immediately the residence of the Syrian monarchy. In the
flourishing times of the Roman Empire, it was the ordinary
station of the prefect of the eastern provinces; and many of the
emperors of the queen city (among whom may be mentioned,
especially, Verus and Valens) spent here the greater part of
their time. But I perceive we have arrived at the city itself.
Let us ascend this battlement, and throw our eyes upon the town
and neighboring country.
“What broad and rapid river is that which forces its way, with
innumerable falls, through the mountainous wilderness, and
finally through the wilderness of buildings?”
That is the Orontes, and it is the only water in sight, with the
exception of the Mediterranean, which stretches, like a broad
mirror, about twelve miles off to the southward. Every one has
seen the Mediterranean; but let me tell you, there are few who
have had a peep at Antioch. By few, I mean, few who, like you and
me, have had, at the same time, the advantages of a modern
education. Therefore cease to regard that sea, and give your
whole attention to the mass of houses that lie beneath us. You
will remember that it is now the year of the world three thousand
eight hundred and thirty. Were it later—for example, were it the
year of our Lord eighteen hundred and forty-five, we should be
deprived of this extraordinary spectacle. In the nineteenth
century Antioch is—that is to say, Antioch will be—in a
lamentable state of decay. It will have been, by that time,
totally destroyed, at three different periods, by three
successive earthquakes. Indeed, to say the truth, what little of
its former self may then remain, will be found in so desolate and
ruinous a state that the patriarch shall have removed his
residence to Damascus. This is well. I see you profit by my
advice, and are making the most of your time in inspecting the
premises—in
—satisfying your eyes
With the memorials and the things of fame
That most renown this city.—
I beg pardon; I had forgotten that Shakespeare will not flourish
for seventeen hundred and fifty years to come. But does not the
appearance of Epidaphne justify me in calling it grotesque?
“It is well fortified; and in this respect is as much indebted to
nature as to art.”
Very true.
“There are a prodigious number of stately palaces.”
There are.
“And the numerous temples, sumptuous and magnificent, may bear
comparison with the most lauded of antiquity.”
All this I must acknowledge. Still there is an infinity of mud
huts, and abominable hovels. We cannot help perceiving abundance
of filth in every kennel, and, were it not for the over-powering
fumes of idolatrous incense, I have no doubt we should find a
most intolerable stench. Did you ever behold streets so
insufferably narrow, or houses so miraculously tall? What gloom
their shadows cast upon the ground! It is well the swinging lamps
in those endless colonnades are kept burning throughout the day;
we should otherwise have the darkness of Egypt in the time of her
desolation.
“It is certainly a strange place! What is the meaning of yonder
singular building? See! it towers above all others, and lies to
the eastward of what I take to be the royal palace!”
That is the new Temple of the Sun, who is adored in Syria under
the title of Elah Gabalah. Hereafter a very notorious Roman
Emperor will institute this worship in Rome, and thence derive a
cognomen, Heliogabalus. I dare say you would like to take a peep
at the divinity of the temple. You need not look up at the
heavens; his Sunship is not there—at least not the Sunship adored
by the Syrians. That deity will be found in the interior of
yonder building. He is worshipped under the figure of a large
stone pillar terminating at the summit in a cone or pyramid,
whereby is denoted Fire.
“Hark—behold!—who can those ridiculous beings be, half naked,
with their faces painted, shouting and gesticulating to the
rabble?”
Some few are mountebanks. Others more particularly belong to the
race of philosophers. The greatest portion, however—those
especially who belabor the populace with clubs—are the principal
courtiers of the palace, executing as in duty bound, some
laudable comicality of the king’s.
“But what have we here? Heavens! the town is swarming with wild
beasts! How terrible a spectacle!—how dangerous a peculiarity!”
Terrible, if you please; but not in the least degree dangerous.
Each animal if you will take the pains to observe, is following,
very quietly, in the wake of its master. Some few, to be sure,
are led with a rope about the neck, but these are chiefly the
lesser or timid species. The lion, the tiger, and the leopard are
entirely without restraint. They have been trained without
difficulty to their present profession, and attend upon their
respective owners in the capacity of valets-de-chambre. It is
true, there are occasions when Nature asserts her violated
dominions;—but then the devouring of a man-at-arms, or the
throttling of a consecrated bull, is a circumstance of too little
moment to be more than hinted at in Epidaphne.
“But what extraordinary tumult do I hear? Surely this is a loud
noise even for Antioch! It argues some commotion of unusual
interest.”
Yes—undoubtedly. The king has ordered some novel spectacle—some
gladiatorial exhibition at the hippodrome—or perhaps the massacre
of the Scythian prisoners—or the conflagration of his new
palace—or the tearing down of a handsome temple—or, indeed, a
bonfire of a few Jews. The uproar increases. Shouts of laughter
ascend the skies. The air becomes dissonant with wind
instruments, and horrible with clamor of a million throats. Let
us descend, for the love of fun, and see what is going on! This
way—be careful! Here we are in the principal street, which is
called the street of Timarchus. The sea of people is coming this
way, and we shall find a difficulty in stemming the tide. They
are pouring through the alley of Heraclides, which leads directly
from the palace;—therefore the king is most probably among the
rioters. Yes—I hear the shouts of the herald proclaiming his
approach in the pompous phraseology of the East. We shall have a
glimpse of his person as he passes by the temple of Ashimah. Let
us ensconce ourselves in the vestibule of the sanctuary; he will
be here anon. In the meantime let us survey this image. What is
it? Oh! it is the god Ashimah in proper person. You perceive,
however, that he is neither a lamb, nor a goat, nor a satyr,
neither has he much resemblance to the Pan of the Arcadians. Yet
all these appearances have been given—I beg pardon—will be
given—by the learned of future ages, to the Ashimah of the
Syrians. Put on your spectacles, and tell me what it is. What is
it?
“Bless me! it is an ape!”
True—a baboon; but by no means the less a deity. His name is a
derivation of the Greek Simia—what great fools are antiquarians!
But see!—see!—yonder scampers a ragged little urchin. Where is he
going? What is he bawling about? What does he say? Oh! he says
the king is coming in triumph; that he is dressed in state; that
he has just finished putting to death, with his own hand, a
thousand chained Israelitish prisoners! For this exploit the
ragamuffin is lauding him to the skies! Hark! here comes a troop
of a similar description. They have made a Latin hymn upon the
valor of the king, and are singing it as they go:
Mille, mille, mille,
Mille, mille, mille,
Decollavimus, unus homo!
Mille, mille, mille, mille, decollavimus!
Mille, mille, mille,
Vivat qui mille mille occidit!
Tantum vini habet nemo
Quantum sanguinis effudit!(*1)
Which may be thus paraphrased:
A thousand, a thousand, a thousand,
A thousand, a thousand, a thousand,
We, with one warrior, have slain!
A thousand, a thousand, a thousand, a thousand.
Sing a thousand over again!
Soho!—let us sing
Long life to our king,
Who knocked over a thousand so fine!
Soho!—let us roar,
He has given us more
Red gallons of gore
Than all Syria can furnish of wine!
“Do you hear that flourish of trumpets?”
Yes—the king is coming! See! the people are aghast with
admiration, and lift up their eyes to the heavens in reverence.
He comes!—he is coming!—there he is!
“Who?—where?—the king?—do not behold him—cannot say that I
perceive him.”
Then you must be blind.
“Very possible. Still I see nothing but a tumultuous mob of
idiots and madmen, who are busy in prostrating themselves before
a gigantic cameleopard, and endeavoring to obtain a kiss of the
animal’s hoofs. See! the beast has very justly kicked one of the
rabble over—and another—and another—and another. Indeed, I cannot
help admiring the animal for the excellent use he is making of
his feet.”
Rabble, indeed!—why these are the noble and free citizens of
Epidaphne! Beasts, did you say?—take care that you are not
overheard. Do you not perceive that the animal has the visage of
a man? Why, my dear sir, that cameleopard is no other than
Antiochus Epiphanes, Antiochus the Illustrious, King of Syria,
and the most potent of all the autocrats of the East! It is true,
that he is entitled, at times, Antiochus Epimanes—Antiochus the
madman—but that is because all people have not the capacity to
appreciate his merits. It is also certain that he is at present
ensconced in the hide of a beast, and is doing his best to play
the part of a cameleopard; but this is done for the better
sustaining his dignity as king. Besides, the monarch is of
gigantic stature, and the dress is therefore neither unbecoming
nor over large. We may, however, presume he would not have
adopted it but for some occasion of especial state. Such, you
will allow, is the massacre of a thousand Jews. With how superior
a dignity the monarch perambulates on all fours! His tail, you
perceive, is held aloft by his two principal concubines, Elline
and Argelais; and his whole appearance would be infinitely
prepossessing, were it not for the protuberance of his eyes,
which will certainly start out of his head, and the queer color
of his face, which has become nondescript from the quantity of
wine he has swallowed. Let us follow him to the hippodrome,
whither he is proceeding, and listen to the song of triumph which
he is commencing:
Who is king but Epiphanes?
Say—do you know?
Who is king but Epiphanes?
Bravo!—bravo!
There is none but Epiphanes,
No—there is none:
So tear down the temples,
And put out the sun!
Well and strenuously sung! The populace are hailing him ‘Prince
of Poets,’ as well as ‘Glory of the East,’ ‘Delight of the
Universe,’ and ‘Most Remarkable of Cameleopards.’ They have
encored his effusion, and do you hear?—he is singing it over
again. When he arrives at the hippodrome, he will be crowned with
the poetic wreath, in anticipation of his victory at the
approaching Olympics.
“But, good Jupiter! what is the matter in the crowd behind us?”
Behind us, did you say?—oh! ah!—I perceive. My friend, it is well
that you spoke in time. Let us get into a place of safety as soon
as possible. Here!—let us conceal ourselves in the arch of this
aqueduct, and I will inform you presently of the origin of the
commotion. It has turned out as I have been anticipating. The
singular appearance of the cameleopard and the head of a man,
has, it seems, given offence to the notions of propriety
entertained, in general, by the wild animals domesticated in the
city. A mutiny has been the result; and, as is usual upon such
occasions, all human efforts will be of no avail in quelling the
mob. Several of the Syrians have already been devoured; but the
general voice of the four-footed patriots seems to be for eating
up the cameleopard. ‘The Prince of Poets,’ therefore, is upon his
hinder legs, running for his life. His courtiers have left him in
the lurch, and his concubines have followed so excellent an
example. ‘Delight of the Universe,’ thou art in a sad
predicament! ‘Glory of the East,’ thou art in danger of
mastication! Therefore never regard so piteously thy tail; it
will undoubtedly be draggled in the mud, and for this there is no
help. Look not behind thee, then, at its unavoidable degradation;
but take courage, ply thy legs with vigor, and scud for the
hippodrome! Remember that thou art Antiochus Epiphanes. Antiochus
the Illustrious!—also ‘Prince of Poets,’ ‘Glory of the East,’
‘Delight of the Universe,’ and ‘Most Remarkable of Cameleopards!’
Heavens! what a power of speed thou art displaying! What a
capacity for leg-bail thou art developing! Run, Prince!—Bravo,
Epiphanes! Well done, Cameleopard!—Glorious Antiochus!—He
runs!—he leaps!—he flies! Like an arrow from a catapult he
approaches the hippodrome! He leaps!—he shrieks!—he is there!
This is well; for hadst thou, ‘Glory of the East,’ been half a
second longer in reaching the gates of the Amphitheatre, there is
not a bear’s cub in Epidaphne that would not have had a nibble at
thy carcase. Let us be off—let us take our departure!—for we
shall find our delicate modern ears unable to endure the vast
uproar which is about to commence in celebration of the king’s
escape! Listen! it has already commenced. See!—the whole town is
topsy-turvy.
“Surely this is the most populous city of the East! What a
wilderness of people! what a jumble of all ranks and ages! what a
multiplicity of sects and nations! what a variety of costumes!
what a Babel of languages! what a screaming of beasts! what a
tinkling of instruments! what a parcel of philosophers!”
Come let us be off.
“Stay a moment! I see a vast hubbub in the hippodrome; what is
the meaning of it, I beseech you?”
That?—oh, nothing! The noble and free citizens of Epidaphne
being, as they declare, well satisfied of the faith, valor,
wisdom, and divinity of their king, and having, moreover, been
eye-witnesses of his late superhuman agility, do think it no more
than their duty to invest his brows (in addition to the poetic
crown) with the wreath of victory in the footrace—a wreath which
it is evident he must obtain at the celebration of the next
Olympiad, and which, therefore, they now give him in advance.
Footnotes—Four Beasts
(*1) Flavius Vospicus says, that the hymn here introduced was
sung by the rabble upon the occasion of Aurelian, in the Sarmatic
war, having slain, with his own hand, nine hundred and fifty of
the enemy.