Al-Masʿūdī
Meadows of Gold
947 CE
translated by Jason Colavito
2026
|
NOTE |
The Arab historian and traveler Al-Masʿūdī (896-956 CE) sits among the most famous Islamic historians and is often called the “Herodotus of the Arabs.” He wrote a number of books, many lost, including volumes on geography, history, and religion and philosophy. Some were abridgments of his own longer works. His most famous volume, Kitāb Murūj al-Dhahab wa-Ma’ādin al-Jawhar, or the Meadows of Gold, brought together a lifetime of learning into a historical encyclopedia explaining everything he knew about the world. Al-Masʿūdī purports to give a history of ancient Greece, but his account is simply the life of Alexander the Great, whose father he takes to be the first Greek king and the beginning of Greek history. It is surprising that Al-Masʿūdī seems to have no concept of Greek antiquity or the culture or accomplishments of Greece before Alexander, and that he conflates Greece with Ptolemaic Egypt after Alexander. His account, abridged from a longer one in his lost Historical Annals (Akhbār al-zamān), seems to draw on a version of the Alexander Romance, and the long story he tells about Alexander’s encounter with an Indian philosopher eventually found its way into Neẓāmī’s Sikandar, his epic poem about the life of Alexander the Great, completed around 1200 CE.
Below I have translated chapters 25 and 26 of the Meadows of Gold, which cover the history of Alexander. My translation is made from the 1863 French edition of C. Barbier de Meynard and Pavet de Courteille. As I am not a speaker of Arabic, the reader must forgive me if my transliterations of the Arabic names, despite my best efforts to cross-reference with works by scholars of Arabic sources, are not fully up to current standards. Additional stories about Alexander, ultimately derived from the Alexander Romance, can be found in Al-Masʿūdī's chapter on Alexandria, which I have translated on a separate page. |
THE MEADOWS OF GOLD
CHAPTER XXV.
THE GREEKS; A SUMMARY OF THEIR HISTORY; VARIOUS OPINIONS REGARDING THEIR GENEALOGY.
There is no consensus regarding the origin of the Greeks. Some trace their lineage back to the peoples of Rūm (Rome), positing that they descend from a son of Isaac. Others believe that Yūnan, their progenitor, was a son of Japheth, the son of Noah. Still others claim they originated from a son of Arach, the son of Nawan, the son of Japheth, the son of Noah. According to certain authors, theirs was a nation of singular antiquity among all peoples during the earliest ages. It is erroneous to assert that the Greeks are linked by origin to the peoples of Rūm, or that they descend from Abraham, the progenitor of the latter. This hypothesis is predicated upon the fact that the two peoples inhabited the same land and occupied the same territory and settlements; indeed, there exists an identity of character and doctrine between them, yet it is a gross error to infer from this an identity of origin or a shared ancestry. Such is the reality in the eyes of scholars; such is the only tenable theory for those who conscientiously seek the truth. In both their language and their literature, the peoples of Rūm are mere imitators of the Greeks; they have never been able to equal their masters, whether in eloquence or in richness of expression. Their language is more impoverished than that of the Greeks; it is less vigorous in its cadence, and less rich in its vocabulary and grammatical forms.
A scholar, deeply versed in the history of ancient times, states that Yūnan was the brother of Kahtan and a descendant of Abir, son of Shalikh; he further notes that it was his separation from his brother that gave rise to all the uncertainties surrounding their shared ancestry. According to this author, Yūnan departed from Yemen accompanied by his children, his allies, and all those who wished to join him. Upon reaching the most remote extremities of the Maghreb, he settled there, and his family multiplied. There, the purity of his language became corrupted, eventually fading away into the barbaric idiom spoken by the Franks and the Rūmis who inhabited those lands. Consequently, all traces of his origins vanished; the memory of his name faded in Yemen, becoming unknown even to those most knowledgeable in matters of genealogy. Yūnan was endowed with great physical strength and an imposing stature; to his physical beauty, he added keen intellect, sound judgment, and noble instincts—qualities that enabled him to attain a high degree of power.
Yaʻqūb ibn ʼIsḥāq al-Kindī, also asserted that Yūnan was the brother of Kahtan. To substantiate this claim, he drew upon legends concerning the origins of the world—tales he cited based on an apocryphal tradition that was neither widely known nor generally recognized. Abūl-Abbas Abd-Allah, son of Mohammed al-Nashi, refuted this claim in a lengthy qasida (ode), specifically addressing the shared ancestry that the aforementioned author sought to establish between Yūnan and Kahtan—a connection we have previously recounted. In this work, he states:
“Father of Joseph, after much searching, I have been unable to find in your work either a tenable opinion or a tenable system.
“You only appeared wise in the eyes of those people whose ideas were completely unrecognizable, even when subjected to rigorous examination.
“Can you then associate impiety with the religion of Muhammad? O brother of ingratitude, you have made a strange error:
“In your blindness, you confuse Yunus with Qatan; I assure you, on my life, that there is a great distance between them!”
When Yūnan’s sons had grown up and multiplied, he set out to traverse the earth, seeking a place to establish his residence. Thus he arrived at a place in the Maghreb and halted in the city of Afeitiyah (Athens)—known in ancient times as the City of Sages. There he settled, along with those of his children who had accompanied him. His lineage multiplied there, and he occupied himself with erecting a vast edifice, until the moment when death came to claim him. Before departing this life, he gave his final instructions to his eldest son, named Barbiūs. He said to him: “O my son, I have now reached the threshold of death and stand close to my fated end. I am about to depart from you; I am about to leave you—you, your brothers, and all your kin. You all dwell in a state of prosperity. I have been for you a sanctuary amidst life’s hardships, a support against sorrows, and a shield against adversity. It is now your turn to practice liberality—that very pivot of empire, that key to governance, that gateway to sovereignty. Strive to win the hearts of men through your benevolence and to reign with rectitude. Take great care never to deviate from the path I have followed—the only path upon which wisdom may securely rely. For whosoever forsakes the promptings of sound judgment and the fruits of reason shall be cast headlong into the abyss and fall prey to the clutches of perdition.” Upon Yūnan’s death, his son assumed power in his stead; gathering his kinsmen and children around him, he put his father’s counsels into practice. As his descendants multiplied, their dominion expanded throughout the Maghreb, extending over the territories of the Franks, the Noukobards (Lombards), the Slavic tribes, and others. The first of their kings was the one whom Ptolemy, in his work, calls Filibos (Phillip)—that is to say, “Lover of Horses.” Others name him Yabis, or even Philikūs. His reign lasted seven years. It is said that when Bokht-Nassar (Nebuchadnezzar) emerged from the East and ravaged Syria, Egypt, and the Maghreb with the sword, the Greeks were subject to the Persians and paid them tribute. This tribute consisted of a specific number of golden eggs, of a weight fixed in advance, and limited additional contributions. After Alexander, the son of Filibos (that very prince of whom we have just spoken, and who, according to Ptolemy, was the first king of the Greeks), had demonstrated the magnitude of his courage immediately upon his accession to the throne, Dareīūs (Darius), King of the Persians, the same who is known by the name of Dara, son of Dara, sent to demand the customary tribute from him. Alexander sent back the reply that he had killed the hen that laid the golden eggs, and that he had eaten it. From this arose wars between these two princes, at the conclusion of which Alexander invaded Syria and Iraq by force of arms, annihilated all the kings found therein, and put to death Dara, son of Dara, King of the Persians. In our Middle-Length History, we have recounted all the circumstances surrounding the slaughter of Dara and the kings of India, as well as the princes of the East who had made common cause with them.
According to some, Alexander’s genealogy was as follows: he was the son of Filibos, son of Modar, son of Hermes, son of Mardak, son of Manzur, son of Rumi, son of Labbat, son of Yunap, son of Japheth, son of Noah. Others trace his lineage back to Esau, son of Isaac, son of Abraham. A third opinion states that Alexander was the son of Barkah, son of Serhun, son of Rumi, son of Barbat, son of Navvfel, son of Rumi, son of Asfar, son of Bar, son of Esau, son of Isaac, son of Abraham. There is also disagreement about his identification with Dhul Qarnayn; some confirm it, others dispute it. The epithet Dhul Qarnayn itself has been the subject of much debate. Some believe that it was bestowed upon him because of his expeditions to the ends of the earth, and that it was the prince in charge of guarding Mount Kal who thus nicknamed Alexander. According to others, this title came to him from the Angels. The first opinion is attributed to Omar ibn al-Khattab, while the second belongs to Ibn Abbas. According to another explanation, whose author is Ali ibn Abu Talib, Alexander owed this nickname to two golden locks of hair. There are many other systems on this subject. For the moment, we will limit ourselves to discussing the dissidence between the two doctrines held by the People of the Book (the Jews and the Christians).
One of the tubbāʿs (kings of Yemen) spoke of Alexander in his poetry and took pride in his kinship with this prince, whom he claims descended from Khatan. According to a tradition, one of the tubbāʿs seized a city in the land of Rūm and populated it with colonists who came from the Yemen; it is from these Arabs, who remained in that city, that Dhul Qarnayn, that is to say Alexander, descends. God alone knows what the truth of the matter is.
After the death of the King of the Persians, whose empire he seized and whose daughter he married, Alexander marched toward the Sind and India; he completely subjugated the princes of these lands, who brought him gifts and paid him tribute. Only Porus, the most powerful of the kings of India, resisted him with force of arms. After a fierce struggle, Alexander slew his adversary in single combat. Afterward, he turned his course toward China and Tibet. There, too, the kings acknowledged his suzerainty through gifts and tribute. Then he ventured into the deserts of the Turks, taking the route through Khorasan, having first reduced the local princes to submission and installed men and governors within the principalities he had conquered. Thus, he established garrisons of his soldiers in Tibet and China. He created administrative districts in Khorasan and founded cities throughout the entire course of his expeditions.
His tutor was Aristotle, the wisest among the Greeks, the author of the works on Logic and Metaphysics, and the disciple of Plato, who was himself a disciple of Socrates. These scholars strove to rigorously define the principles upon which rest the science of natural phenomena, the science of the soul, and all other branches of philosophy. They determined the relationships existing between philosophy and the science of divine matters; they established general classifications, demonstrated the truth of their theories through solid proofs, and rendered them intelligible even to minds least capable of grasping them.
However, Alexander, having returned from his expedition in the East, headed toward the Maghreb. Upon arriving at the city of Shahr-e Zur—or, according to other accounts, at Nisibis in the district of the Rabīʿa; or, according to a third opinion, in Iraq—and feeling gravely ill, he designated Ptolemy to represent him in the command of the troops. As soon as it was known that Alexander was dead, the sages who had accompanied him—Greeks, as well as Persians, Indians, and others from every nation—whom he was accustomed to gather and consult, never deciding anything without seeking their counsel, assembled around his remains. The body, coated in pitch that bound all the limbs together, was laid in a hard casket encrusted with precious stones. The one who held the foremost rank among the sages spoke: “Let each of you utter a word that may serve as a consolation to the great and a warning to the people.” Then, rising and placing his hand upon the casket, he said: “He who took others was not long in being taken himself.” The second sage rose and said: “This Alexander, who buried gold, is now himself buried within the gold.” The third said: “What could be more humble in its desires than this lifeless body? Behold within this casket the most ambitious of all men!” The fourth said: “O wonder of wonders! The strong has been subdued, while the weak find solace and rejoice.” The fifth said: “O you who believed that death lay in the distant future, and that your desires would be fulfilled immediately. Why did you not delay the arrival of your fatal end, so as to grant yourself the time to partially attain the object of your desires? Or rather, why did you not vindicate the legitimacy of your hopes by rendering yourself impervious to the blows of destiny?” The sixth said: “O you who squandered all your strength in rapine, you amassed a treasure, yet it failed you in your hour of need; its heavy burden deceived you; the happy days it promised you have fled far away; others will enjoy them, while you alone shall bear the penalty.” The seventh said: “Of all the lessons you taught us, the most eloquent is that of your death: let him who possesses understanding, therefore, understand; let him who is capable of learning, therefore, learn.” The eighth said: “Many who once hid from you dared not even stand behind you, yet today they present themselves right before you.” The ninth said: “Many longed to see you silenced back when your lips never ceased moving; now that you will speak no more, they will grow hungry for your words.” The tenth said: “How many efforts did this soul expend to escape death, and yet, behold, it has died nonetheless.” The eleventh, who had authored works on philosophy, said: “You commanded me never to stray from your side; yet today, I find it impossible to draw near to your person.” The twelfth said: “This is a day rich in profound lessons; its catastrophe has brought happiness to that which was wretched, and wretchedness to that which was happy.” “May those who weep over the fall of kings shed their tears for you.” The thirteenth said: “O greatest of kings! Your power has vanished as the shadow of a cloud vanishes, and the traces of your grandeur have faded like the faint imprint left behind by a fly.” The fourteenth said: “O you for whom the world was too narrow in both length and breadth, would that I might truly grasp the state to which you are now reduced, as a few inches of earth are about to enclose you!” The fifteenth said: “Behold this man, who was destined for such lofty heights; ah, how he would wish now to gather the scattered fragments of his being and reassemble his remains, consumed as they are by decay!” The sixteenth said: “O you, who form a solid body and an elite assembly, do not desire that which yields only fleeting pleasure and transient delights; how could you now confuse the path of righteousness and integrity with error and corruption?” The seventeenth said: “Behold how the dream of the sleeper has vanished, and how the shadow of the clouds has dissipated.” The eighteenth, who was one of the sages of India, said: “O you whose wrath was a sentence of death, how is it that you did not make Death itself feel the weight of your anger?” The nineteenth said: “All of you who are gathered here, you have seen this king who exists no more; O you, his survivors, take heed of this lesson.” The twentieth said: “He who traversed the world in every direction now lies stretched out at full length.” The twenty-first said: “He whom all ears listened to with reverence has fallen silent; let all those who once held their tongues speak freely today.” The twenty-second said: “You shall be followed by those whom your death fills with joy, just as you have joined all those whose deaths once brought you delight.” The twenty-third said: “Why, then, did you not save at least one of your limbs from the grasp of death—you who reigned as absolute master over the face of the earth? How is it that you did not cast aside, as beneath your dignity, this narrow prison in which you now find yourself—you whom the very immensity of the universe could not satisfy?” The twenty-fourth, who was one of the devout men and sages of India, said: “Such, then, is the end of the greatness of this world! Ah! How truly worthy is piety of being sought above all else!” The twenty-fifth man, who was his majordomo, said: “The pillows are arranged, the cushions are stacked, the tables are set; yet I see not the one who presides over the banquet.” The twenty-sixth, who was the administrator of the public treasury, said: “You commanded me to amass and to hoard; to whom shall I now entrust all these riches?” The twenty-seventh, who was one of his treasurers, said: “Here are the keys to your treasuries; who shall take them before I myself am held accountable for whatever may have been removed from them without my knowledge?” The twenty-eighth among the sages said: “Of this earth, so vast in its length and breadth, you now occupy but seven spans; and had you known the fate that awaited you, you would not have burdened yourself with the weight of such perilous expeditions.” The twenty-ninth person to speak was Alexander’s wife, Roxana, daughter of Darius, son of Darius, King of the Persians: “I would never have believed,” she said, “that the conqueror of the great King Darius could, in turn, be conquered himself. O sages gathered here, the words I have heard you utter are rife with insulting irony; for, after all, the King has merely drunk from the cup from which all men must drink.” The thirtieth utterance spoken on this occasion is attributed to Alexander’s mother, who, upon learning of his death, is said to have expressed herself thus: “If I must resign myself to never seeing my son again, at least his memory shall never fade from my heart.”
Alexander was only thirty-six years old when he died. His reign had lasted nine years when he put to death Dara, the son of Dara, and continued for another six years thereafter, from the moment he extended his dominion over all kings. He had ascended the throne at the age of twenty-one, in the land of Macedonia or Egypt. Before dying, he had exacted a promise from his successor, Ptolemy, son of Lagus, that he would send his body to his mother in Alexandria. Furthermore, he had instructed him to write to this princess, bidding her that, upon receiving the funereal tidings, she should have a great feast prepared and proclaim throughout the entire extent of the provinces she administered that no one was to be excused from attending, save only those who were mourning the death of a mistress or a friend. Thus, this joyous ceremony was to serve as the mourning rite for Alexander, whereas for other men, mourning is marked by sadness and tears.
When the news of Alexander’s death reached his mother, and the coffin had been laid before her, she summoned all her subjects, just as she had been instructed; yet no one showed any eagerness to answer her call. Then she said to the officers surrounding her: “Why, then, does no one answer my call?” They replied: “You alone are the cause of this.” — “Why so?” — “Because you have excluded from your invitation all those who were grieving for a mistress, or who had lost a friend, or who were separated from a loved one dear to their hearts; and there is not a single one of your subjects who has not fallen victim to one of these misfortunes.” Upon hearing these words, the queen looked inward and felt a great weight lifted from her soul. Then she said: “My son has secured for me the most powerful of consolations,” and she added: “O Alexander, your end has proven worthy of your beginning!” Then she had his remains placed in a marble sarcophagus, after they had been coated with a pitch that bound all its parts together. She did not wish for them to remain within the golden casket, for she knew full well that kings—whom greed would draw from afar to this land—would not leave them within such a precious casing. The sarcophagus was raised upon a foundation of stones and blocks of marble—both white and of other hues—stacked one upon another. This sort of marble pedestal can still be seen today, in the year 332 (944 CE), within the territory of Alexandria in Egypt, where it is known as the Tomb of Alexander. As for the city of Alexandria and its wonders, for Egypt, for the curiosities it holds, and for its river (God willing) we shall speak of them in broad outline further on in this work, when the time is right.
A scholar, deeply versed in the history of ancient times, states that Yūnan was the brother of Kahtan and a descendant of Abir, son of Shalikh; he further notes that it was his separation from his brother that gave rise to all the uncertainties surrounding their shared ancestry. According to this author, Yūnan departed from Yemen accompanied by his children, his allies, and all those who wished to join him. Upon reaching the most remote extremities of the Maghreb, he settled there, and his family multiplied. There, the purity of his language became corrupted, eventually fading away into the barbaric idiom spoken by the Franks and the Rūmis who inhabited those lands. Consequently, all traces of his origins vanished; the memory of his name faded in Yemen, becoming unknown even to those most knowledgeable in matters of genealogy. Yūnan was endowed with great physical strength and an imposing stature; to his physical beauty, he added keen intellect, sound judgment, and noble instincts—qualities that enabled him to attain a high degree of power.
Yaʻqūb ibn ʼIsḥāq al-Kindī, also asserted that Yūnan was the brother of Kahtan. To substantiate this claim, he drew upon legends concerning the origins of the world—tales he cited based on an apocryphal tradition that was neither widely known nor generally recognized. Abūl-Abbas Abd-Allah, son of Mohammed al-Nashi, refuted this claim in a lengthy qasida (ode), specifically addressing the shared ancestry that the aforementioned author sought to establish between Yūnan and Kahtan—a connection we have previously recounted. In this work, he states:
“Father of Joseph, after much searching, I have been unable to find in your work either a tenable opinion or a tenable system.
“You only appeared wise in the eyes of those people whose ideas were completely unrecognizable, even when subjected to rigorous examination.
“Can you then associate impiety with the religion of Muhammad? O brother of ingratitude, you have made a strange error:
“In your blindness, you confuse Yunus with Qatan; I assure you, on my life, that there is a great distance between them!”
When Yūnan’s sons had grown up and multiplied, he set out to traverse the earth, seeking a place to establish his residence. Thus he arrived at a place in the Maghreb and halted in the city of Afeitiyah (Athens)—known in ancient times as the City of Sages. There he settled, along with those of his children who had accompanied him. His lineage multiplied there, and he occupied himself with erecting a vast edifice, until the moment when death came to claim him. Before departing this life, he gave his final instructions to his eldest son, named Barbiūs. He said to him: “O my son, I have now reached the threshold of death and stand close to my fated end. I am about to depart from you; I am about to leave you—you, your brothers, and all your kin. You all dwell in a state of prosperity. I have been for you a sanctuary amidst life’s hardships, a support against sorrows, and a shield against adversity. It is now your turn to practice liberality—that very pivot of empire, that key to governance, that gateway to sovereignty. Strive to win the hearts of men through your benevolence and to reign with rectitude. Take great care never to deviate from the path I have followed—the only path upon which wisdom may securely rely. For whosoever forsakes the promptings of sound judgment and the fruits of reason shall be cast headlong into the abyss and fall prey to the clutches of perdition.” Upon Yūnan’s death, his son assumed power in his stead; gathering his kinsmen and children around him, he put his father’s counsels into practice. As his descendants multiplied, their dominion expanded throughout the Maghreb, extending over the territories of the Franks, the Noukobards (Lombards), the Slavic tribes, and others. The first of their kings was the one whom Ptolemy, in his work, calls Filibos (Phillip)—that is to say, “Lover of Horses.” Others name him Yabis, or even Philikūs. His reign lasted seven years. It is said that when Bokht-Nassar (Nebuchadnezzar) emerged from the East and ravaged Syria, Egypt, and the Maghreb with the sword, the Greeks were subject to the Persians and paid them tribute. This tribute consisted of a specific number of golden eggs, of a weight fixed in advance, and limited additional contributions. After Alexander, the son of Filibos (that very prince of whom we have just spoken, and who, according to Ptolemy, was the first king of the Greeks), had demonstrated the magnitude of his courage immediately upon his accession to the throne, Dareīūs (Darius), King of the Persians, the same who is known by the name of Dara, son of Dara, sent to demand the customary tribute from him. Alexander sent back the reply that he had killed the hen that laid the golden eggs, and that he had eaten it. From this arose wars between these two princes, at the conclusion of which Alexander invaded Syria and Iraq by force of arms, annihilated all the kings found therein, and put to death Dara, son of Dara, King of the Persians. In our Middle-Length History, we have recounted all the circumstances surrounding the slaughter of Dara and the kings of India, as well as the princes of the East who had made common cause with them.
According to some, Alexander’s genealogy was as follows: he was the son of Filibos, son of Modar, son of Hermes, son of Mardak, son of Manzur, son of Rumi, son of Labbat, son of Yunap, son of Japheth, son of Noah. Others trace his lineage back to Esau, son of Isaac, son of Abraham. A third opinion states that Alexander was the son of Barkah, son of Serhun, son of Rumi, son of Barbat, son of Navvfel, son of Rumi, son of Asfar, son of Bar, son of Esau, son of Isaac, son of Abraham. There is also disagreement about his identification with Dhul Qarnayn; some confirm it, others dispute it. The epithet Dhul Qarnayn itself has been the subject of much debate. Some believe that it was bestowed upon him because of his expeditions to the ends of the earth, and that it was the prince in charge of guarding Mount Kal who thus nicknamed Alexander. According to others, this title came to him from the Angels. The first opinion is attributed to Omar ibn al-Khattab, while the second belongs to Ibn Abbas. According to another explanation, whose author is Ali ibn Abu Talib, Alexander owed this nickname to two golden locks of hair. There are many other systems on this subject. For the moment, we will limit ourselves to discussing the dissidence between the two doctrines held by the People of the Book (the Jews and the Christians).
One of the tubbāʿs (kings of Yemen) spoke of Alexander in his poetry and took pride in his kinship with this prince, whom he claims descended from Khatan. According to a tradition, one of the tubbāʿs seized a city in the land of Rūm and populated it with colonists who came from the Yemen; it is from these Arabs, who remained in that city, that Dhul Qarnayn, that is to say Alexander, descends. God alone knows what the truth of the matter is.
After the death of the King of the Persians, whose empire he seized and whose daughter he married, Alexander marched toward the Sind and India; he completely subjugated the princes of these lands, who brought him gifts and paid him tribute. Only Porus, the most powerful of the kings of India, resisted him with force of arms. After a fierce struggle, Alexander slew his adversary in single combat. Afterward, he turned his course toward China and Tibet. There, too, the kings acknowledged his suzerainty through gifts and tribute. Then he ventured into the deserts of the Turks, taking the route through Khorasan, having first reduced the local princes to submission and installed men and governors within the principalities he had conquered. Thus, he established garrisons of his soldiers in Tibet and China. He created administrative districts in Khorasan and founded cities throughout the entire course of his expeditions.
His tutor was Aristotle, the wisest among the Greeks, the author of the works on Logic and Metaphysics, and the disciple of Plato, who was himself a disciple of Socrates. These scholars strove to rigorously define the principles upon which rest the science of natural phenomena, the science of the soul, and all other branches of philosophy. They determined the relationships existing between philosophy and the science of divine matters; they established general classifications, demonstrated the truth of their theories through solid proofs, and rendered them intelligible even to minds least capable of grasping them.
However, Alexander, having returned from his expedition in the East, headed toward the Maghreb. Upon arriving at the city of Shahr-e Zur—or, according to other accounts, at Nisibis in the district of the Rabīʿa; or, according to a third opinion, in Iraq—and feeling gravely ill, he designated Ptolemy to represent him in the command of the troops. As soon as it was known that Alexander was dead, the sages who had accompanied him—Greeks, as well as Persians, Indians, and others from every nation—whom he was accustomed to gather and consult, never deciding anything without seeking their counsel, assembled around his remains. The body, coated in pitch that bound all the limbs together, was laid in a hard casket encrusted with precious stones. The one who held the foremost rank among the sages spoke: “Let each of you utter a word that may serve as a consolation to the great and a warning to the people.” Then, rising and placing his hand upon the casket, he said: “He who took others was not long in being taken himself.” The second sage rose and said: “This Alexander, who buried gold, is now himself buried within the gold.” The third said: “What could be more humble in its desires than this lifeless body? Behold within this casket the most ambitious of all men!” The fourth said: “O wonder of wonders! The strong has been subdued, while the weak find solace and rejoice.” The fifth said: “O you who believed that death lay in the distant future, and that your desires would be fulfilled immediately. Why did you not delay the arrival of your fatal end, so as to grant yourself the time to partially attain the object of your desires? Or rather, why did you not vindicate the legitimacy of your hopes by rendering yourself impervious to the blows of destiny?” The sixth said: “O you who squandered all your strength in rapine, you amassed a treasure, yet it failed you in your hour of need; its heavy burden deceived you; the happy days it promised you have fled far away; others will enjoy them, while you alone shall bear the penalty.” The seventh said: “Of all the lessons you taught us, the most eloquent is that of your death: let him who possesses understanding, therefore, understand; let him who is capable of learning, therefore, learn.” The eighth said: “Many who once hid from you dared not even stand behind you, yet today they present themselves right before you.” The ninth said: “Many longed to see you silenced back when your lips never ceased moving; now that you will speak no more, they will grow hungry for your words.” The tenth said: “How many efforts did this soul expend to escape death, and yet, behold, it has died nonetheless.” The eleventh, who had authored works on philosophy, said: “You commanded me never to stray from your side; yet today, I find it impossible to draw near to your person.” The twelfth said: “This is a day rich in profound lessons; its catastrophe has brought happiness to that which was wretched, and wretchedness to that which was happy.” “May those who weep over the fall of kings shed their tears for you.” The thirteenth said: “O greatest of kings! Your power has vanished as the shadow of a cloud vanishes, and the traces of your grandeur have faded like the faint imprint left behind by a fly.” The fourteenth said: “O you for whom the world was too narrow in both length and breadth, would that I might truly grasp the state to which you are now reduced, as a few inches of earth are about to enclose you!” The fifteenth said: “Behold this man, who was destined for such lofty heights; ah, how he would wish now to gather the scattered fragments of his being and reassemble his remains, consumed as they are by decay!” The sixteenth said: “O you, who form a solid body and an elite assembly, do not desire that which yields only fleeting pleasure and transient delights; how could you now confuse the path of righteousness and integrity with error and corruption?” The seventeenth said: “Behold how the dream of the sleeper has vanished, and how the shadow of the clouds has dissipated.” The eighteenth, who was one of the sages of India, said: “O you whose wrath was a sentence of death, how is it that you did not make Death itself feel the weight of your anger?” The nineteenth said: “All of you who are gathered here, you have seen this king who exists no more; O you, his survivors, take heed of this lesson.” The twentieth said: “He who traversed the world in every direction now lies stretched out at full length.” The twenty-first said: “He whom all ears listened to with reverence has fallen silent; let all those who once held their tongues speak freely today.” The twenty-second said: “You shall be followed by those whom your death fills with joy, just as you have joined all those whose deaths once brought you delight.” The twenty-third said: “Why, then, did you not save at least one of your limbs from the grasp of death—you who reigned as absolute master over the face of the earth? How is it that you did not cast aside, as beneath your dignity, this narrow prison in which you now find yourself—you whom the very immensity of the universe could not satisfy?” The twenty-fourth, who was one of the devout men and sages of India, said: “Such, then, is the end of the greatness of this world! Ah! How truly worthy is piety of being sought above all else!” The twenty-fifth man, who was his majordomo, said: “The pillows are arranged, the cushions are stacked, the tables are set; yet I see not the one who presides over the banquet.” The twenty-sixth, who was the administrator of the public treasury, said: “You commanded me to amass and to hoard; to whom shall I now entrust all these riches?” The twenty-seventh, who was one of his treasurers, said: “Here are the keys to your treasuries; who shall take them before I myself am held accountable for whatever may have been removed from them without my knowledge?” The twenty-eighth among the sages said: “Of this earth, so vast in its length and breadth, you now occupy but seven spans; and had you known the fate that awaited you, you would not have burdened yourself with the weight of such perilous expeditions.” The twenty-ninth person to speak was Alexander’s wife, Roxana, daughter of Darius, son of Darius, King of the Persians: “I would never have believed,” she said, “that the conqueror of the great King Darius could, in turn, be conquered himself. O sages gathered here, the words I have heard you utter are rife with insulting irony; for, after all, the King has merely drunk from the cup from which all men must drink.” The thirtieth utterance spoken on this occasion is attributed to Alexander’s mother, who, upon learning of his death, is said to have expressed herself thus: “If I must resign myself to never seeing my son again, at least his memory shall never fade from my heart.”
Alexander was only thirty-six years old when he died. His reign had lasted nine years when he put to death Dara, the son of Dara, and continued for another six years thereafter, from the moment he extended his dominion over all kings. He had ascended the throne at the age of twenty-one, in the land of Macedonia or Egypt. Before dying, he had exacted a promise from his successor, Ptolemy, son of Lagus, that he would send his body to his mother in Alexandria. Furthermore, he had instructed him to write to this princess, bidding her that, upon receiving the funereal tidings, she should have a great feast prepared and proclaim throughout the entire extent of the provinces she administered that no one was to be excused from attending, save only those who were mourning the death of a mistress or a friend. Thus, this joyous ceremony was to serve as the mourning rite for Alexander, whereas for other men, mourning is marked by sadness and tears.
When the news of Alexander’s death reached his mother, and the coffin had been laid before her, she summoned all her subjects, just as she had been instructed; yet no one showed any eagerness to answer her call. Then she said to the officers surrounding her: “Why, then, does no one answer my call?” They replied: “You alone are the cause of this.” — “Why so?” — “Because you have excluded from your invitation all those who were grieving for a mistress, or who had lost a friend, or who were separated from a loved one dear to their hearts; and there is not a single one of your subjects who has not fallen victim to one of these misfortunes.” Upon hearing these words, the queen looked inward and felt a great weight lifted from her soul. Then she said: “My son has secured for me the most powerful of consolations,” and she added: “O Alexander, your end has proven worthy of your beginning!” Then she had his remains placed in a marble sarcophagus, after they had been coated with a pitch that bound all its parts together. She did not wish for them to remain within the golden casket, for she knew full well that kings—whom greed would draw from afar to this land—would not leave them within such a precious casing. The sarcophagus was raised upon a foundation of stones and blocks of marble—both white and of other hues—stacked one upon another. This sort of marble pedestal can still be seen today, in the year 332 (944 CE), within the territory of Alexandria in Egypt, where it is known as the Tomb of Alexander. As for the city of Alexandria and its wonders, for Egypt, for the curiosities it holds, and for its river (God willing) we shall speak of them in broad outline further on in this work, when the time is right.
CHAPTER XXVI.
A BRIEF HISTORY OF ALEXANDER’S EXPEDITION TO INDIA.
After having slain Porus, one of the kings of India and ruler of the city of Mankir, Alexander, as we have noted earlier, saw all the kings of those regions submit to him, vying with one another to offer him gifts and pay him tribute. He then learned that, in the most remote extremities of India, there dwelt a king, a man of profound wisdom, an excellent administrator, a practitioner of piety, and a ruler who dealt equitably with his subjects. He had lived for several centuries and was deemed superior to all the philosophers and sages of India. His name was Kand. Ever the master of himself, he knew how to mortify the ardor of concupiscence, anger, and other passions, passions over which he maintained complete dominion thanks to a noble nature and the constant practice of every virtue.
Alexander wrote him a letter in which, after the customary greetings, he declared: “When this letter reaches you, if you are standing, do not sit down; and if you are marching, do not turn your head, otherwise, I shall shatter your empire and send you to join the kings of India who are no more.” Upon receiving this message, Kand replied to Alexander in the most courteous terms, addressing him by the title of “King of Kings.” Furthermore, he informed him that he possessed certain things that no one else could boast of having gathered together. These were, he said: a young maiden whose equal in beauty the sun had never beheld; a philosopher capable of anticipating, through his answers, every question one might wish to ask him—so profound was his mental acuity, so noble his nature, so perfect the harmony of all his faculties, and so vast the scope of his knowledge; and a physician in whose care one need fear neither sickness nor injury, save only the onslaught of death and destruction which, swooping down upon the edifice of our life, severs every bond forged by the Architect and Creator of this sentient body; for indeed, the edifice of the human body, and the form in which it is clad, remains, in this world, perpetually exposed to the assaults of misfortune, to decay, and to afflictions of every kind. “In addition to these things,” he added, “I also possess a cup of such a nature that, should you fill it, your entire army could drink from it without the liquid it contains ever diminishing; and whatever you pour into it, it shall never overflow. It is my desire, therefore, to send all these wonders to the King, and to go myself to meet him.”
When Alexander had read this letter and fully grasped its contents, he said: “To possess these four treasures, and to see this sage escape my wrath, seems to me preferable to his remaining with me only to perish.” Alexander therefore dispatched sages from Greece and Rūm, accompanied by a large escort, and issued his instructions in these terms: “If this prince has spoken the truth in what he wrote to me, bring me these wonders and leave him in peace in his own domain; but if you discover that the matter stands entirely otherwise, that he has submitted false reports to us, contrary to reality, then, having strayed beyond the bounds of wisdom, bring him before me.” The delegation thus set forth.
Upon their arrival in the States of Kand, the Prince came to receive them in the most flattering manner and assigned them the most sumptuous lodgings. On the third day, he wished to grant the ambassadors a private audience, from which the warriors accompanying them were to be excluded. Now, the sages said among themselves: “If he has spoken the truth regarding the first of the wonders he claims to possess, it is certain that he has not deceived us regarding the other three.” Each of them therefore took his seat according to his rank, and the session began. The King began by conversing with them on the principles of philosophy, and discoursed upon physics and the divine sciences. A group of indigenous sages and philosophers stood to his left. They spoke at length regarding the origin of the world; then each defended his own opinion, and the discussion, ranging over the various systems of scholars and the theories of philosophers, proceeded without constraint until they had reached the very limits of their knowledge. Then the King summoned the young woman. When she appeared before them, they devoured her with their eyes. No sooner had they cast a glance upon one of the parts of her body that she left exposed than they found it impossible to tear their gaze away to contemplate, in all its radiance, the totality of her beauty, the perfection of her person, and the harmonious proportion of her form. After fearing they might lose their wits, so profound was the impression this ravishing creature made upon them, they regained their composure and succeeded in subduing the power of their passions and the stirrings of nature. The King, having shown them all that he had initially promised to reveal, dismissed them and sent them on their way, accompanied by the philosopher, the young woman, the physician, and the cup. He himself escorted them for a certain distance within his own domains. When the ambassadors returned to the presence of Alexander, that prince assigned lodgings to the physician and the philosopher.
No sooner had he laid eyes upon the young girl than he was struck by her beauty, the brilliance of which dazzled his reason, and he ordered the keeper of his slaves to look after her. Next, his attention turned to the philosopher and his knowledge, as well as to the physician’s expertise and the standing he held in the practice of medicine and hygiene. The ambassadors then recounted to Alexander their discussion with the Indian king and spoke to him of the philosophers and sages by whom this prince was surrounded. Greatly astonished, Alexander carefully considered the manner in which his representatives had expounded their ideas and defended their theses, and he gauged the intellectual ground they had covered in the realm of science. He then examined the arguments by which the Indians had defended the flawed aspects of their systems, comparing them with the hypotheses proposed by the Greeks, specifically, those truths they held to be certain and which were grounded in the principles they had previously set forth.
Having done this, Alexander resolved to test for himself the veracity of what had been reported to him regarding the philosopher. Stepping aside, he allowed his thoughts to wander freely in every direction until an idea occurred to him, a concept by means of which he proposed to conduct his experiment. He then requested a cup and filled it to the very brim with butter, so full, in fact, that it was impossible to add even a single atom more, and handed it to a messenger with these instructions: “Take this cup to the philosopher, but do not utter a single word to him.” When the messenger had delivered the cup and presented it to the philosopher, the latter, employing the full power of his intellect, which he habitually used to discern the truth and attain inner certainty, said to himself: “Why has this wise king sent me this butter?” He then set his mind in motion to unravel the riddle that now occupied his thoughts. Finally, he requested a thousand needles; he inserted the tips of these needles into the butter and sent them back to Alexander.
This prince ordered that they be melted down, had them fashioned into a perfectly spherical ball, and sent it back to the philosopher. The latter, having attentively examined Alexander’s handiwork, ordered that the ball be flattened and shaped into a mirror, which he then had polished and burnished in his presence. He thus obtained a gleaming object whose pure and flawless surface reflected every object placed before it; it was then carried back to Alexander. The prince gazed into the mirror and saw that it faithfully reproduced the beauty of his features. He then called for a basin, placed the mirror within it, and had water poured over it until it was completely submerged; in this state, he sent it back to the philosopher. Upon seeing it, the philosopher ordered that the mirror be transformed into a drinking vessel—shaped like those known as tarjehareh—placed it back in the basin atop the water, where it floated, and ordered that it be returned to Alexander. The king had the vessel filled with fine earth and sent it back to the philosopher. At this sight, the philosopher’s complexion changed; his features grew distorted, and sorrow was etched upon every line of his face. Tears streamed down his cheeks; deep sighs escaped his chest, broken by long groans and sobs. He remained in this state of utter prostration throughout the entire day. Eventually, recovering from this weakness, he made a violent effort to compose himself and, speaking aloud as if in self-reproach, cried out: “Woe unto you, O my soul! Who has cast you into the darkness? Who has led you into this abyss of cares? Who has brought you to this profound night? Did you not roam freely within the realm of light? Did you not walk serenely in the lofty regions, awaiting the arrival of the dawning radiance, blossoming in the world from which the day springs forth—until you were cast down into the empire of darkness and rebellion, of injustice and perversity, where you became the prey of captors and the plaything of storms? Behold, you are now stripped of your knowledge of hidden things; behold, you have fallen from your place in that blessed abode! Behold, you are now beset by every hardship! You have left far behind you all that was desirable. Where now are your beginnings, once encompassed by such happiness? Where is that felicity which nothing could mar? You dwell now within bodies, unable to escape the tyranny of existence and perversity. O my soul! You abide amidst ferocious beasts that slay, amidst venomous serpents, devastating torrents, devouring fires, and tempestuous winds. Your life flows on within these coarse casings, where you behold only the heedless and the ignorant—those who show caution toward the good, yet are insatiable in their greed for all that is evil.” Then, lifting his eyes toward the heavens and beholding the twinkling stars, he cried out in a loud voice: “O wandering star! O luminous body! You rose in a noble realm; why, then, have you fallen from your dignity? You trace your origins to a sublime world—a world whose souls inhabit the highest regions, where they find their rest within sacred sanctuaries. Ah, how soon you have departed from your celestial homeland!”
At these words, he approached Alexander’s envoy and, pointing to the earth, which he had not touched, said to him: “Take it, and carry it back to the King.” When the envoy returned to Alexander, he recounted everything he had witnessed. The Prince was utterly astonished, for he knew full well that his own intention, the very core of his thought, had been precisely the transmigration of souls from the higher worlds into this lower realm. The very next morning, he resolved to grant the philosopher a private audience and had him summoned. For he had not yet laid eyes upon him.
When he appeared, the King, casting curious glances upon him, scrutinized his stature and his person. He was a man of lofty height, with a broad brow and well-proportioned features. Alexander said to himself: “Such an outward appearance does not ordinarily accompany the practice of wisdom; if this man unites beauty of body with beauty of mind, he is unique in his age. Indeed, I do not doubt that he possesses both these advantages simultaneously, for he has deciphered all the mysterious messages I sent him and has answered my questions without ever having held a conference, an audience, or a discussion with me. There is certainly no one among his contemporaries who approaches him in wisdom or who could instruct him in matters of science.” For his part, the philosopher, after observing Alexander with close attention, traced a circle around his own face with his index finger, then placed the finger upon the tip of his nose; he then advanced swiftly toward the prince, who was not seated upon his ceremonial throne, and saluted him as one salutes kings.
Alexander signaled for him to sit, which he did immediately. Then he said to him: “Why is it that, after looking at me and casting your eyes upon yourself, you circled your finger around your face and then placed it upon the tip of your nose?” — “O King,” the man replied, “I observed you in the light of my intellect and in the mirror of my mind. Therein I perceived that your thoughts were fixed upon me, and that, while scrutinizing my person, you were saying to yourself: ‘Here is an outward appearance rarely found in conjunction with the practice of wisdom; and since this is so, the one endowed with it must be unique in his age.’ Thus, I circled my finger as if to attest to the truth of your observation, and I offered you a visible sign that seemed to say: ‘Just as there is but one nose upon my face, so too is there not a single man in the entire Empire of the Indies who resembles me—not one to be found who has attained the same degree of wisdom as I have.’“ Alexander said to him: “You have in no way exaggerated when speaking of the merits of your person; indeed, they are combined within you with a lofty intellect whose qualities are precisely as you have described them. But let us set this aside and speak of other matters.”
“When I sent you a bowl filled with butter, what was your intent in thrusting needles into it, and then sending it back to me?” — “O King,” replied the philosopher, “I understood that you meant to convey that knowledge filled my mind just as the butter filled the bowl—such that not a single sage could have added to the sum of my knowledge. Therefore, I declared to the King that my knowledge would add to his and would pierce through it, just as those needles pierced the butter.” — “But,” said Alexander, “when those needles were fashioned into a ball which I sent to you, why did you have it beaten into the shape of a mirror—one that you sent back to me perfectly polished?” — “O Prince, you sought to convey to me that your heart, through the constant shedding of blood and the administration of justice throughout the world, had become as hard as that ball; that, in such a state, it was impervious to the charms of knowledge and little inclined to delve into the depths of study and wisdom. I therefore answered you with an allegory by melting down the ball, and I demonstrated the use to which I had put it: for I had fashioned it into a mirror capable, by virtue of its polish, of reflecting every object placed before it.” — “Very well,” said Alexander, “you have perfectly grasped my meaning. But answer me this: When I placed the mirror in the basin, where it sank to the bottom of the water, why did you send it back to me after having fashioned it into a cup that floated upon the water?” — “You wished to convey to me that life is short, that our mortal end is near, and that a vast amount of knowledge cannot be acquired within so brief a span of time; “I answered you, albeit emblematically, that I would be able to find a way to instill a wealth of knowledge into your heart, and to grant it access to your mind during the brief time allotted to us, just as I had managed to find a way to retrieve the mirror from the depths of the water and make it float upon the surface.” — “That is true,” replied Alexander, “but tell me now: why is it that when I had filled the earthen vessel, you sent it back to me just as it was, without subjecting it to any transformation, as you had done previously?” — “I knew that you wished to convey to me: After life comes death—inevitable death; then the edifice of our being enters into that cold, dry, and heavy element known as the earth; there it vanishes, the various parts that composed it disintegrate, and the spiritual principle—pure, noble, and subtle—breaks free from this perceptible body.” — “All this is true,” said Alexander; “and for your sake, I shall show clemency toward the Indians.”
Thereupon, he assigned him a generous pension and granted him vast estates as fiefs. Then the philosopher said to him: “Had I loved riches, I would not have dedicated myself to knowledge; yet I do not wish to introduce into the sanctuary of knowledge that which is contrary and antithetical to it. Know, O King, that possession entails enslavement, and that one cannot be deemed free or rational if one serves anyone other than oneself, or pursues anything other than that which contributes to the perfection of the soul. For what possesses the power to perfect the soul, if not philosophy, which bestows upon it both luster and sustenance? On the contrary, the indulgence in carnal pleasures and in all created things is utterly antithetical to it. It is universally acknowledged that wisdom is a path leading to the sublime realms; he who is devoid of it shall not draw near to his Creator. Know, furthermore, that the entire order of the world is founded upon justice, such that its constituent parts could not endure amidst injustice; justice is the Creator’s balance, and His wisdom acts as an instrument that purges all blemishes and errors. Of all human deeds, the one most akin to the acts of the Creator is benevolence toward one’s neighbor. As for you, O wise King, you have hitherto governed by the might of your sword; the strength of your authority, the ordering of your affairs, and the entire economy of your administration have rested upon no foundation other than the bodies of your subjects. It is far better to reign over their hearts through your benevolence, your justice, and your equity; for your subjects constitute the true treasure of your empire. If you possess the power of speech, they possess the power of action; be, therefore, circumspect in your words, so that you may have nothing to fear from their deeds. Fortunate is the prince whose power endures as long as his days; wretched is he who sees it overthrown while he yet lives! He who adopts justice as the rule of his conduct shall find his heart resplendent with the gentle radiance of purity.”
Upon seeing that the philosopher did not wish to settle near him, Alexander allowed him to return to his own country. He had engaged in numerous discussions with him concerning every branch of science. Correspondence and messages were also exchanged between Alexander and Kand, the King of India; we have discussed these in detail, citing their most salient thoughts and remarkable features, in our Historical Annals. As for the marvelous cup, Alexander put it to the test by filling it with water and summoning his soldiers to quench their thirst from it; they drank their fill, yet its contents diminished not in the slightest. Now, this cup had been fashioned from materials unique to India, from immaterial substances and perfect principles, in accordance with the precepts of divination and other sciences in which the Indians take great pride. Others claim that it had once belonged to Adam, the father of mankind, in the land of Serendib, a territory subject to India, where he once dwelt. After him, kings inherited it and passed it down through succession until it ultimately fell into the hands of King Kand, by virtue of the magnitude of his power and the lofty degree of wisdom he had attained. There exist yet other traditions regarding this matter, which we have recounted in our previous works. As for the physician, many piquant anecdotes are told concerning his interactions with Alexander, specifically regarding the discussions they held together concerning the fundamental principles of science and the art of medicine, as well as the strides they made together in the detailed study of the physical and other sciences. We shall say nothing of these matters here, lest we become too prolix or stray from the intended scope of this work, which is conceived as an abridgment; moreover, to do so would lead us into a discussion of divination, a discipline whose precepts the Indians pride themselves on observing in the practice of medicine and other arts.
Countless other details are recounted regarding Alexander’s expeditions, his sojourns within the various provinces, his marches across every known region, the peoples he observed, and the sages who held audiences with him—despite the vast distances and their remoteness from their homelands, and notwithstanding the diversity of their languages, the strangeness of their customs, and the differences in their qualities and character. Accounts also abound concerning the wars and stratagems, the ingenious methods employed by the conqueror, and the monuments he founded. We have treated these matters at length in those of our works previously mentioned, to say nothing of other particulars upon which we have chosen to remain silent here. We have set down the foregoing brief details solely to ensure that this volume does not remain entirely devoid of the legends associated with Alexander, even as we recount his expeditions and the circumstances of his death.
Alexander wrote him a letter in which, after the customary greetings, he declared: “When this letter reaches you, if you are standing, do not sit down; and if you are marching, do not turn your head, otherwise, I shall shatter your empire and send you to join the kings of India who are no more.” Upon receiving this message, Kand replied to Alexander in the most courteous terms, addressing him by the title of “King of Kings.” Furthermore, he informed him that he possessed certain things that no one else could boast of having gathered together. These were, he said: a young maiden whose equal in beauty the sun had never beheld; a philosopher capable of anticipating, through his answers, every question one might wish to ask him—so profound was his mental acuity, so noble his nature, so perfect the harmony of all his faculties, and so vast the scope of his knowledge; and a physician in whose care one need fear neither sickness nor injury, save only the onslaught of death and destruction which, swooping down upon the edifice of our life, severs every bond forged by the Architect and Creator of this sentient body; for indeed, the edifice of the human body, and the form in which it is clad, remains, in this world, perpetually exposed to the assaults of misfortune, to decay, and to afflictions of every kind. “In addition to these things,” he added, “I also possess a cup of such a nature that, should you fill it, your entire army could drink from it without the liquid it contains ever diminishing; and whatever you pour into it, it shall never overflow. It is my desire, therefore, to send all these wonders to the King, and to go myself to meet him.”
When Alexander had read this letter and fully grasped its contents, he said: “To possess these four treasures, and to see this sage escape my wrath, seems to me preferable to his remaining with me only to perish.” Alexander therefore dispatched sages from Greece and Rūm, accompanied by a large escort, and issued his instructions in these terms: “If this prince has spoken the truth in what he wrote to me, bring me these wonders and leave him in peace in his own domain; but if you discover that the matter stands entirely otherwise, that he has submitted false reports to us, contrary to reality, then, having strayed beyond the bounds of wisdom, bring him before me.” The delegation thus set forth.
Upon their arrival in the States of Kand, the Prince came to receive them in the most flattering manner and assigned them the most sumptuous lodgings. On the third day, he wished to grant the ambassadors a private audience, from which the warriors accompanying them were to be excluded. Now, the sages said among themselves: “If he has spoken the truth regarding the first of the wonders he claims to possess, it is certain that he has not deceived us regarding the other three.” Each of them therefore took his seat according to his rank, and the session began. The King began by conversing with them on the principles of philosophy, and discoursed upon physics and the divine sciences. A group of indigenous sages and philosophers stood to his left. They spoke at length regarding the origin of the world; then each defended his own opinion, and the discussion, ranging over the various systems of scholars and the theories of philosophers, proceeded without constraint until they had reached the very limits of their knowledge. Then the King summoned the young woman. When she appeared before them, they devoured her with their eyes. No sooner had they cast a glance upon one of the parts of her body that she left exposed than they found it impossible to tear their gaze away to contemplate, in all its radiance, the totality of her beauty, the perfection of her person, and the harmonious proportion of her form. After fearing they might lose their wits, so profound was the impression this ravishing creature made upon them, they regained their composure and succeeded in subduing the power of their passions and the stirrings of nature. The King, having shown them all that he had initially promised to reveal, dismissed them and sent them on their way, accompanied by the philosopher, the young woman, the physician, and the cup. He himself escorted them for a certain distance within his own domains. When the ambassadors returned to the presence of Alexander, that prince assigned lodgings to the physician and the philosopher.
No sooner had he laid eyes upon the young girl than he was struck by her beauty, the brilliance of which dazzled his reason, and he ordered the keeper of his slaves to look after her. Next, his attention turned to the philosopher and his knowledge, as well as to the physician’s expertise and the standing he held in the practice of medicine and hygiene. The ambassadors then recounted to Alexander their discussion with the Indian king and spoke to him of the philosophers and sages by whom this prince was surrounded. Greatly astonished, Alexander carefully considered the manner in which his representatives had expounded their ideas and defended their theses, and he gauged the intellectual ground they had covered in the realm of science. He then examined the arguments by which the Indians had defended the flawed aspects of their systems, comparing them with the hypotheses proposed by the Greeks, specifically, those truths they held to be certain and which were grounded in the principles they had previously set forth.
Having done this, Alexander resolved to test for himself the veracity of what had been reported to him regarding the philosopher. Stepping aside, he allowed his thoughts to wander freely in every direction until an idea occurred to him, a concept by means of which he proposed to conduct his experiment. He then requested a cup and filled it to the very brim with butter, so full, in fact, that it was impossible to add even a single atom more, and handed it to a messenger with these instructions: “Take this cup to the philosopher, but do not utter a single word to him.” When the messenger had delivered the cup and presented it to the philosopher, the latter, employing the full power of his intellect, which he habitually used to discern the truth and attain inner certainty, said to himself: “Why has this wise king sent me this butter?” He then set his mind in motion to unravel the riddle that now occupied his thoughts. Finally, he requested a thousand needles; he inserted the tips of these needles into the butter and sent them back to Alexander.
This prince ordered that they be melted down, had them fashioned into a perfectly spherical ball, and sent it back to the philosopher. The latter, having attentively examined Alexander’s handiwork, ordered that the ball be flattened and shaped into a mirror, which he then had polished and burnished in his presence. He thus obtained a gleaming object whose pure and flawless surface reflected every object placed before it; it was then carried back to Alexander. The prince gazed into the mirror and saw that it faithfully reproduced the beauty of his features. He then called for a basin, placed the mirror within it, and had water poured over it until it was completely submerged; in this state, he sent it back to the philosopher. Upon seeing it, the philosopher ordered that the mirror be transformed into a drinking vessel—shaped like those known as tarjehareh—placed it back in the basin atop the water, where it floated, and ordered that it be returned to Alexander. The king had the vessel filled with fine earth and sent it back to the philosopher. At this sight, the philosopher’s complexion changed; his features grew distorted, and sorrow was etched upon every line of his face. Tears streamed down his cheeks; deep sighs escaped his chest, broken by long groans and sobs. He remained in this state of utter prostration throughout the entire day. Eventually, recovering from this weakness, he made a violent effort to compose himself and, speaking aloud as if in self-reproach, cried out: “Woe unto you, O my soul! Who has cast you into the darkness? Who has led you into this abyss of cares? Who has brought you to this profound night? Did you not roam freely within the realm of light? Did you not walk serenely in the lofty regions, awaiting the arrival of the dawning radiance, blossoming in the world from which the day springs forth—until you were cast down into the empire of darkness and rebellion, of injustice and perversity, where you became the prey of captors and the plaything of storms? Behold, you are now stripped of your knowledge of hidden things; behold, you have fallen from your place in that blessed abode! Behold, you are now beset by every hardship! You have left far behind you all that was desirable. Where now are your beginnings, once encompassed by such happiness? Where is that felicity which nothing could mar? You dwell now within bodies, unable to escape the tyranny of existence and perversity. O my soul! You abide amidst ferocious beasts that slay, amidst venomous serpents, devastating torrents, devouring fires, and tempestuous winds. Your life flows on within these coarse casings, where you behold only the heedless and the ignorant—those who show caution toward the good, yet are insatiable in their greed for all that is evil.” Then, lifting his eyes toward the heavens and beholding the twinkling stars, he cried out in a loud voice: “O wandering star! O luminous body! You rose in a noble realm; why, then, have you fallen from your dignity? You trace your origins to a sublime world—a world whose souls inhabit the highest regions, where they find their rest within sacred sanctuaries. Ah, how soon you have departed from your celestial homeland!”
At these words, he approached Alexander’s envoy and, pointing to the earth, which he had not touched, said to him: “Take it, and carry it back to the King.” When the envoy returned to Alexander, he recounted everything he had witnessed. The Prince was utterly astonished, for he knew full well that his own intention, the very core of his thought, had been precisely the transmigration of souls from the higher worlds into this lower realm. The very next morning, he resolved to grant the philosopher a private audience and had him summoned. For he had not yet laid eyes upon him.
When he appeared, the King, casting curious glances upon him, scrutinized his stature and his person. He was a man of lofty height, with a broad brow and well-proportioned features. Alexander said to himself: “Such an outward appearance does not ordinarily accompany the practice of wisdom; if this man unites beauty of body with beauty of mind, he is unique in his age. Indeed, I do not doubt that he possesses both these advantages simultaneously, for he has deciphered all the mysterious messages I sent him and has answered my questions without ever having held a conference, an audience, or a discussion with me. There is certainly no one among his contemporaries who approaches him in wisdom or who could instruct him in matters of science.” For his part, the philosopher, after observing Alexander with close attention, traced a circle around his own face with his index finger, then placed the finger upon the tip of his nose; he then advanced swiftly toward the prince, who was not seated upon his ceremonial throne, and saluted him as one salutes kings.
Alexander signaled for him to sit, which he did immediately. Then he said to him: “Why is it that, after looking at me and casting your eyes upon yourself, you circled your finger around your face and then placed it upon the tip of your nose?” — “O King,” the man replied, “I observed you in the light of my intellect and in the mirror of my mind. Therein I perceived that your thoughts were fixed upon me, and that, while scrutinizing my person, you were saying to yourself: ‘Here is an outward appearance rarely found in conjunction with the practice of wisdom; and since this is so, the one endowed with it must be unique in his age.’ Thus, I circled my finger as if to attest to the truth of your observation, and I offered you a visible sign that seemed to say: ‘Just as there is but one nose upon my face, so too is there not a single man in the entire Empire of the Indies who resembles me—not one to be found who has attained the same degree of wisdom as I have.’“ Alexander said to him: “You have in no way exaggerated when speaking of the merits of your person; indeed, they are combined within you with a lofty intellect whose qualities are precisely as you have described them. But let us set this aside and speak of other matters.”
“When I sent you a bowl filled with butter, what was your intent in thrusting needles into it, and then sending it back to me?” — “O King,” replied the philosopher, “I understood that you meant to convey that knowledge filled my mind just as the butter filled the bowl—such that not a single sage could have added to the sum of my knowledge. Therefore, I declared to the King that my knowledge would add to his and would pierce through it, just as those needles pierced the butter.” — “But,” said Alexander, “when those needles were fashioned into a ball which I sent to you, why did you have it beaten into the shape of a mirror—one that you sent back to me perfectly polished?” — “O Prince, you sought to convey to me that your heart, through the constant shedding of blood and the administration of justice throughout the world, had become as hard as that ball; that, in such a state, it was impervious to the charms of knowledge and little inclined to delve into the depths of study and wisdom. I therefore answered you with an allegory by melting down the ball, and I demonstrated the use to which I had put it: for I had fashioned it into a mirror capable, by virtue of its polish, of reflecting every object placed before it.” — “Very well,” said Alexander, “you have perfectly grasped my meaning. But answer me this: When I placed the mirror in the basin, where it sank to the bottom of the water, why did you send it back to me after having fashioned it into a cup that floated upon the water?” — “You wished to convey to me that life is short, that our mortal end is near, and that a vast amount of knowledge cannot be acquired within so brief a span of time; “I answered you, albeit emblematically, that I would be able to find a way to instill a wealth of knowledge into your heart, and to grant it access to your mind during the brief time allotted to us, just as I had managed to find a way to retrieve the mirror from the depths of the water and make it float upon the surface.” — “That is true,” replied Alexander, “but tell me now: why is it that when I had filled the earthen vessel, you sent it back to me just as it was, without subjecting it to any transformation, as you had done previously?” — “I knew that you wished to convey to me: After life comes death—inevitable death; then the edifice of our being enters into that cold, dry, and heavy element known as the earth; there it vanishes, the various parts that composed it disintegrate, and the spiritual principle—pure, noble, and subtle—breaks free from this perceptible body.” — “All this is true,” said Alexander; “and for your sake, I shall show clemency toward the Indians.”
Thereupon, he assigned him a generous pension and granted him vast estates as fiefs. Then the philosopher said to him: “Had I loved riches, I would not have dedicated myself to knowledge; yet I do not wish to introduce into the sanctuary of knowledge that which is contrary and antithetical to it. Know, O King, that possession entails enslavement, and that one cannot be deemed free or rational if one serves anyone other than oneself, or pursues anything other than that which contributes to the perfection of the soul. For what possesses the power to perfect the soul, if not philosophy, which bestows upon it both luster and sustenance? On the contrary, the indulgence in carnal pleasures and in all created things is utterly antithetical to it. It is universally acknowledged that wisdom is a path leading to the sublime realms; he who is devoid of it shall not draw near to his Creator. Know, furthermore, that the entire order of the world is founded upon justice, such that its constituent parts could not endure amidst injustice; justice is the Creator’s balance, and His wisdom acts as an instrument that purges all blemishes and errors. Of all human deeds, the one most akin to the acts of the Creator is benevolence toward one’s neighbor. As for you, O wise King, you have hitherto governed by the might of your sword; the strength of your authority, the ordering of your affairs, and the entire economy of your administration have rested upon no foundation other than the bodies of your subjects. It is far better to reign over their hearts through your benevolence, your justice, and your equity; for your subjects constitute the true treasure of your empire. If you possess the power of speech, they possess the power of action; be, therefore, circumspect in your words, so that you may have nothing to fear from their deeds. Fortunate is the prince whose power endures as long as his days; wretched is he who sees it overthrown while he yet lives! He who adopts justice as the rule of his conduct shall find his heart resplendent with the gentle radiance of purity.”
Upon seeing that the philosopher did not wish to settle near him, Alexander allowed him to return to his own country. He had engaged in numerous discussions with him concerning every branch of science. Correspondence and messages were also exchanged between Alexander and Kand, the King of India; we have discussed these in detail, citing their most salient thoughts and remarkable features, in our Historical Annals. As for the marvelous cup, Alexander put it to the test by filling it with water and summoning his soldiers to quench their thirst from it; they drank their fill, yet its contents diminished not in the slightest. Now, this cup had been fashioned from materials unique to India, from immaterial substances and perfect principles, in accordance with the precepts of divination and other sciences in which the Indians take great pride. Others claim that it had once belonged to Adam, the father of mankind, in the land of Serendib, a territory subject to India, where he once dwelt. After him, kings inherited it and passed it down through succession until it ultimately fell into the hands of King Kand, by virtue of the magnitude of his power and the lofty degree of wisdom he had attained. There exist yet other traditions regarding this matter, which we have recounted in our previous works. As for the physician, many piquant anecdotes are told concerning his interactions with Alexander, specifically regarding the discussions they held together concerning the fundamental principles of science and the art of medicine, as well as the strides they made together in the detailed study of the physical and other sciences. We shall say nothing of these matters here, lest we become too prolix or stray from the intended scope of this work, which is conceived as an abridgment; moreover, to do so would lead us into a discussion of divination, a discipline whose precepts the Indians pride themselves on observing in the practice of medicine and other arts.
Countless other details are recounted regarding Alexander’s expeditions, his sojourns within the various provinces, his marches across every known region, the peoples he observed, and the sages who held audiences with him—despite the vast distances and their remoteness from their homelands, and notwithstanding the diversity of their languages, the strangeness of their customs, and the differences in their qualities and character. Accounts also abound concerning the wars and stratagems, the ingenious methods employed by the conqueror, and the monuments he founded. We have treated these matters at length in those of our works previously mentioned, to say nothing of other particulars upon which we have chosen to remain silent here. We have set down the foregoing brief details solely to ensure that this volume does not remain entirely devoid of the legends associated with Alexander, even as we recount his expeditions and the circumstances of his death.
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Source: Maçoudi, Les Prairies d’Or, vol. 2, ed. and trans. C. Barbier de Meynard and Pavet de Courteille (Paris: L’Imprimerie Impériale, 1863).
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