THE modern world knows little of the beauty and grandeur of ancient Anshan, the home of Cyrus, or of the province of Fars and its cities. Mountains shut off from them the hot winds of the Persian Gulf and of the northern deserts. The high valleys lying between the mountain ranges that extend across it like huge dikes are of surpassing loveliness. Romantic woodlands, dells, lakes, canyons, murmuring brooks, rushing rivers, far vistas, plains, mountains, and hills delight the soul. In the valleys, flowers perfume the air all the year, and vegetation, where irrigation is practiced, is luxuriant. On the high hills and mountain tops winter holds sway during three or more months and the seasons are well-marked as in the temperate zones. It is the land of Omar, of Firdusi, and of many lesser poets; the land of an ancient white race, whose rugged virtues made them lords of much of the earth, but whose descendants have degenerated by admixture with lower grades of humanity and have suffered much to maintain even their own independence.
The celebrated plain of Mervdasht is between two parallel ranges of mountains, one of which lies to the west between it and the low hot lands of the gulf-coast and the other to the east between it and the vale of Murghab, or ancient Anshan. A river comes down from the northern mountains through the midst of this plain and empties into a lake. It is a perennial stream, but fordable save in the winter when the rains fall. It has been variously named, anciently the Araxes, later the Kur or river of Cyrus, and again the Bendamir. Another river of less volume but more celebrated, the Pulwar, comes down to join it through the mountains from northeast table-lands. This passes by the vale of Murghab, where a little stream of that name, coming from the east, flows into it. In this vale was ancient Anshan, the capital of the Achæmenian line of kings, a city also known as Pasargadæ. The tortuous bed of the Pulwar connects the vale of Murghab with the valley of Mervdasht, having cut for itself a deep gorge through the mountains. A royal road, passing through this gorge or canyon, connected the ancient capital with a more modern city, Persepolis.
Persepolis, or the city of the Persians, ancient Parsa, lay close to the mouth of the mighty canyon of the Pulwar, where it opened into the vale of Mervdasht. The city lay principally on the northern banks of the river. On the southern bank was a great park; and in this on a plateau extending from the base of low mountains that border the eastern side of the plain, were the palaces of the Kings of Iran. King Hystaspis and his great son, Darius, and his grandson, Xerxes, each erected magnificent palaces of dark-gray marble on this natural platform. The great size and magnificent architecture of these buildings were among the wonders of the ancient world. Their majestic ruins yet testify to the power, the love of art, and the learning of those masters of men.
King Hystaspis, content to rule Iran as a nominal vassal of Cyrus and under the shadow of his mighty arm, laid out for himself in the valley of Merv a new city and there placed his loved friends and retainers. He brought artisans from Egypt, Canaan, Syria, Phœnicia, and distant Greece, and built for himself a great palace. It is said that he or his son formulated a new alphabet for his language and caused the books of Zoroaster to be translated therein.
Orchards of apple, peach, and apricot, vineyards where grape and berry grew, fields of vegetables and grain, covered the fertile valley and its surrounding hills. On the day when the Imperial Guard, escorting the body of the Great Cyrus, halted on the summit of the western ridge bounding the valley and looked down upon the peaceful scene, autumn was touching all with the signs of harvest and the coming winter-rest. On that day, while the funeral car halted, Prince Bardya, his sisters, and the Prince of Iran rode forward to a bluff jutting out from the ridge; and from this position they looked down into a paradise,—so it seemed to them, weary with dusty roads and desert lands. There, where the Pulwar entered the plain from the narrow gorge in the western mountains, Cyrus had drawn up his Persian patriots to fight a last battle for liberty from the Medean yoke, having been driven to bay by the vast army of stern old Astyages, his grandfather. That decisive battle not only gave liberty to his own province but gave Astyages to him as a prisoner and the crown of Medea for his own head. From that victory Cyrus had gone forth to conquer the world. But now, conquered by the last enemy, Death, he was returning there to his final rest. The heart of the Prince of Iran was stirred by strong emotions, as he looked across the beautiful vale. He could see afar the great portico of his father’s palace where, he knew, his mother stood watching for the coming of her son. Uncovering his head, he extended his hands towards heaven, saying:
“To thee, O Ahura-Mazda, Ruler of Heaven, Giver of Life, Lover of Truth, and Protector, we give thanks! For thou hast brought us home!”
“Amen and amen!” exclaimed Bardya, uncovering his head.
The Prince of Iran then addressed his companions: “I welcome you to the home of King Hystaspis. This valley and yonder city are his property, ceded to him as a home for the Achæmenian family, when he consented to remove hither from Bactra. I bid you rest at our palace yonder this night. The road from Parsa to Anshan is rough and ought to be traveled only by day. My mother is at the door to welcome you.”
“We gladly accept!” assented Bardya, heartily. “Do I not love that mother almost as much as you? Do you remember the happy days when we hunted on yonder hills and swam in the Pulwar and the Araxes? Do you remember the day we were almost drowned? We will go to that deep water-hole again to-morrow and swim there as boys again. Our troopers should rest a day while we send a message to Cambyses at Anshan to inform him of our coming.”
Athura added: “It will be delightful to accept the hospitality of your mother. I shall return after going to Anshan and shall stay long with her and rest. My sister is much in need of rest. The long journey has made her ill.”
“After we shall have accomplished our mission,” said the Prince of Iran, “we shall enjoy many pleasant days there. The hunting is good. We shall enjoy the royal sport!”
“Unless Ahriman interfere!” added Bardya, waving his hand towards Anshan, where his brother now awaited their coming. “I propose to stay a month at least. I suppose he awaits us impatiently at Anshan.”
Athura said reprovingly to her brother: “Speak not of the King of Kings thus! He has sent us courteous messages, even if he would not await us at Hamadan or march with us here. Perhaps it was best that he should go on ahead to prepare the tomb and to arrange for the ceremonies. Be advised, brother! Remember to show him the deference due to his station. His anger was ever terrible! Now he has no one to restrain him.”
Bardya laughed and tossed his head, as he answered: “Fear not for me! I shall treat him with all due respect. Am I not on the ground my father gave me in his will? The Persian lords will not permit him to oppress us. When I see that King of Kings, I will demand of him that he publish the full terms of my father’s will. If he refuse to observe that—Well, it may be that he will cease to reign!”
The Prince of Iran said nothing, but his countenance was somber. He feared that the impetuous Bardya would precipitate trouble. He foresaw civil war.
Descending into the valley, they approached Persepolis. A vast throng of people came out to meet them and stood on either side of the road weeping and wailing aloud as the funeral car passed. A company of guards led by an aged veteran met them at the entrance of the city.
Prince Darius greeted the leader warmly: “Ho, Orobates, our beloved High Chamberlain! How fares my royal mother?”
“All hail, Prince of Iran!” cried the stately old man, kissing the Prince’s cheeks as the latter bent down to greet him. “God’s blessing of long life and happiness be upon you! How good it is to behold you once more! Your mother, our most gracious Queen, is well and awaits you at the palace. She begs that you will prevail upon the royal Bardya and his sisters to honor her house with their presence. All things are prepared. The best of the herds, the finest game from the mountains, the daintiest fruits and flowers,—all are ready!”
“They have consented to honor us, Orobates. Has my mother good health and is she happy?”
“Excellent health, gracious Prince; but she sighs much for you and the King.”
“Did Cambyses, the Great King, honor our house with his presence?”
“He refused our bidding on the plea that he was in haste to reach Anshan on state business. But he sent a gracious greeting to your mother.”
The Prince led the caravan into the city, nodding and waving greeting to many whom he had known when a child. Crossing the Araxes over a magnificent stone bridge, the cortège marched into Persepolis and encamped in a great open field on the shore of the Pulwar. The funeral car was driven into the sacred enclosing wall of a temple and there rested till a messenger went to Cambyses and returned.
Leaving the cares of the encampment to subordinates, the Prince of Iran, accompanied by Gobryas and some of his chief officers, conducted Bardya and his sisters across the Pulwar over a beautiful stone bridge of one great arch and through the park to his father’s palace. The limpid stream, the great oaks, elms, walnuts, and plane trees, whose foliage was tinged with gold and red, the flowering shrubs, the fountains, and the greensward, smiled a joyful welcome to the weary travelers. Broad steps, leading up to the great plateau or bench on which the palace stood, gleamed white through the tree-limbs. Slender gray columns adorned the portico. On the stairs stood a group of women, and among them a stately dame, who waved her hand in welcome. Prince Darius galloped on ahead to the foot of the steps and, leaving his horse in charge of an attendant, ran up into the embrace of his mother.
Age had not greatly affected the beauty of the Queen of Iran nor dimmed her blue eyes. Her gray hair was gathered in a net at the back of her head and was encircled by a golden band set with sparkling gems. Her dress was an ample purple robe reaching to her feet and encircled at the waist with a silken sash. Its loose sleeves revealed arms still shapely and adorned with bracelets of gold. The gracious majesty of her countenance, the sweetness of her smile, and the soft accents of her voice were celebrated in Iran.
That was an age when wife and mother were not slaves or prisoners. Recognized as the equal of men, their virtues and loveliness made homes where men were grown. Not yet had Cambyses, aping the manners and customs of the dwellers in Mesopotamia, Syria, and Arabia, degraded women to the seclusion of harems; nor had custom forbidden women to appear before friends unveiled, though veils were commonly worn in public places. Polygamy was almost unknown in Iran, though its practice had crept into Medea. The wife was queen of the home and ruled in the heart of her husband.
The Prince knelt at his mother’s feet, and her arms encircled his neck while her lips kissed his brow. “Welcome home, beloved son!” she exclaimed. “Long days have intervened since you waved farewell to me from yonder bridge; but no day has passed that I did not think of you!”
She raised him up and stood proudly at his side, leaning on his arm, while she welcomed Prince Bardya and his sisters. To Bardya she said as he bent his knee before her: “The blessing of Ahura-Mazda be upon you, O Prince of the World! Arise! It is not meet that you kneel to me! Welcome to the palace of my lord, the King of Iran!”
“Gracious Queen,” replied Bardya as he arose, “I kneel to you as to my mother! Next to her, who lives only in my memory, do I love and reverence the mother of my friend, the Prince of Iran. Have we not, in years past, stood together at your knee and received your instruction? Now that we are indeed orphans we come to you for consolation.”
Tears filled the great lady’s eyes. She embraced Athura and Artistone tenderly; and, leaving the men to the care of her son, she took the girls with her to her own apartments and personally saw that they were made comfortable. While they are removing the dust of the road and enrobing themselves for dinner, we may wander in spirit through this typical palace of the Achæmenian kings and observe its grandeur.
From the portico which extended the full breadth of the palace front, an entrancing view of valley and mountain, of river and park, could be had. Sixteen slender, fluted, marble pillars supported the massive wooden roof of the portico. Their capitals were winged bulls; their bases were bell-shaped and carved to imitate lotus buds. A high, narrow door gave entrance from the front through the thick stone walls into a hall, on either side of which were rooms where the palace-guards had their abode. The hall led into a reception room fully fifty feet square, whose walls were pierced by a dozen narrow windows and whose ceiling of heavy carved timbers was upheld by slender wooden pillars covered with silver plates. The stone walls were hidden by beaten silver plates and the windows and doors were hung with tapestries of fine crimson and purple fabrics. Wooden shutters were fitted to the windows, but were now open to admit air and light. Later, when winter should come with its rains and frost, the windows would be closed by semi-transparent oiled silk. Red and purple rugs lay on the tiled floor, partially covering the various patterns worked out in colored tiles. A throne, shining with gold plate, occupied a raised platform at the end of the room opposite the entrance. Cushioned chairs, divans, and couches, tables of polished wood, mirrors of polished silver and bronze, lamps of many patterns fastened to the pillars and walls, and a cabinet of dark inlaid wood comprised the furniture. The cabinet held a collection of books, rolls, and tablets, the library and the special treasure of the King of Iran.
Doors at the right of the throne led into the apartments of the men; at the left, into the apartments of the women; and, immediately at the rear, into a small open court, beyond which were the servants’ quarters. Banquets of state were held in the throne room, but ordinarily the tables were laid in the small open court. The various apartments were furnished with couches, and with blankets and rugs of skillful weaving and of that fineness and texture for which the woven products of Iran have ever been famous. All the conveniences of an advanced civilization, which power and wealth could provide or gather from the many nations over which the Persians held sway, were here. Baths and toilets fed by water piped from the hills, and drained into the Pulwar below, ornamental cabinets, containing scents and cosmetics for adorning the person, wardrobes full of costly dresses made of silk and fine linen, mirrors, combs, and brushes—even the modern homes of many so-called civilized people could boast no better.
A narrow stair led up from the inner court to the flat roof, where the occupants of the palace, reclining on soft divans, under canopies or sunshades, could pass the warmer hours of the day, breathe the cool mountain air, and enjoy the lovely scenes. Looking down from it, one could see the royal stables five hundred paces to the south in the park, where scores of graceful horses were kept; and farther on was the inclosure where cattle and sheep, driven in from the mountain pastures, were ready to furnish the royal table with meat or milk. A canal led from the Pulwar above the palace through the park to the stables below and thence into luxuriant gardens where servants toiled to supply their master’s table with vegetables. Fowls, dogs, horses, and cattle enlivened the barnyard scene. Servants in gay tunics, loose, fringed trousers, and with sandaled feet went hither and thither on their duties. Guards in shining armor walked their beats through the park or lazily stood leaning on their spears at the palace steps.
While the guests were removing the dust and stains of travel, servants busily prepared the banquet. Tables of walnut, plated with silver and bound together by golden bands fastened with copper nails, were set in the great audience hall. Platters of beautiful porcelain or of beaten silver, piled high with fruits and bread, were placed on them, and plates of silver and cups of gold were also brought forth. Low seats whereon the guests could either sit or recline were set in order. A major-domo in gorgeous livery saw that all things were made ready. Then the guests were called. The men were seated at one table; the women, at another. Prince Darius sat at the head of the former; his mother at the head of the latter. Servants brought on, in regular courses, fish, steaming loads of venison and fowl, and bountiful supplies of vegetables and pastry. Water, milk, and wine of Helbon were the drinks, the latter being used sparingly. With appetites sharpened by a long day’s journey in the bracing air of the mountains, the guests did full justice to the viands. While they ate, the soft music of harps, played with considerable skill by musicians in the court, floated in through the open doors.
The banquet hour having passed, the officers and nobles returned to the camp, while Prince Bardya and his sisters accompanied Prince Darius and his mother to a room adjacent to the dining-hall, used by the King of Iran when at home as an office. A large fireplace in one corner of the room was filled with a cheerful blaze. Gathered about the fire, guests and hosts felt much at home and spent a pleasant hour in conversation.
“Now that Cambyses passed through your city with scant courtesy,” Bardya said, somewhat warmed by the wine he had imbibed and by his genial surroundings, so that he felt called upon to express his indignation towards his brother, “what think you of such a king?” He addressed Queen Hystaspis.
“I marvel not at his action,” she replied quietly. “He was never kindly disposed towards us. But it is not for us to find fault. I should have met him in person and given the invitation to stop with us. I would have so done, had I not heard that he believes, with the Medes, that women have no place in the affairs of men. He passed through our city in a closed litter, not even deigning to see our messengers. He made reply through his chamberlain that the King of Kings was indisposed and pressed for time and would not rest till he should arrive at his palace in Anshan.”
“He has ever been ill-natured!” continued Bardya, bitterly. “He believes himself heaven-born! He will end by declaring himself a god and appointing set times to worship him! What think you the nobles of Persia will say of his manners? It is said he has determined to decree a law of polygamy, and, like the Arabs, fill a harem with many wives. He is a follower of the Magi; but I doubt if he believes in the gods. I know he will never abide by our father’s will. As I have ridden from Bactra hither, I have thought much; and I have concluded that the kingdom will be his who can strike first!”
The Prince had never before spoken his inmost thoughts. The Prince of Iran and his mother, though much disturbed, remained silent. Athura said reprovingly: “Brother, is it right to have such thoughts before our father’s body is entombed? Wisdom demands silence on your part until you see the King! As King he may act justly. If you stir up trouble, civil war may be the result. Let us be wise and discreet until we return to Bactra, from which you ought never to have departed! Then, if he act unjustly, the people of Iran will stand justly with you.”
“What say you, my brother?” demanded Bardya, turning to the Prince.
The latter answered at once and without hesitation: “The words of your sister are wise. Cambyses is King of Kings by right of birth and by the will of Cyrus. I am bound by an oath to support him in that right. It is not wise to plan against the will of Cyrus, nor is it even wise to discuss the matter. While we are safe here, an unwise word uttered at another place, and overheard, may cause great trouble. As for me, I shall ask of Cambyses, the King, two favors,—first that I may receive the reward that Cyrus, the Great King, promised; second, that I may accompany you to Bactra after my father returns here.”
Athura smiled and blushed, as the Prince mentioned his promised reward and turned his ardent gaze upon her. Bardya arose and paced back and forth.
“Alas! that my father should bind you and the powerful King, your father, with an oath!” he cried. “My way would otherwise be clear! Yes! let us be wise and patient! You shall come with me to Bactra, and together we shall extend the empire even as far as the great river of India and beyond the roof of the world where the slant-eyed Tourans dwell! King Hystaspis shall rule Iran in peace, while you and I lead victorious armies to the ends of the earth! Then we shall see who ought to be overlord of the world!”
The Prince of Iran now sought to change the subject by suggesting that before leaving for Bactra they must hunt a lion in the jungles of Lake Baktigan. Plans for a hunting-trip to that wild region superseded more treasonable subjects. After a while, the guests admitted weariness and retired to rest. But the Prince of Iran threw a cloak about his shoulders and went out to walk in the park now flooded with moonlight. The watchmen respectfully saluted as he passed down the broad steps and went slowly towards the river. How pleasant it seemed after a year of war in desert lands to be at home! He could not retire to rest without standing awhile on the bridge over the Pulwar and looking down at the familiar hurrying waters.
Before he reached the bridge, he was startled by the sound of pursuing footsteps. Turning, he beheld Athura approaching, followed by one of the guards.
“Pardon, Lord Hystaspis!” she exclaimed, as he went back to meet her in wondering haste. “So glorious is the moonlight and so restless am I, that when I saw you come forth, I could not resist an impulse to follow! Let me walk with you.”
“Most happy am I to have you with me, Athura, star of the evening! The light of your eyes surpasses the light of the stars! Your countenance, like the sun, brings warmth to my soul! Glad will that day be, when you shall become my wife; and we shall walk together thereafter forever!”
He dismissed the guard. Then with his strong right arm around the princess and his ample cloak shielding both, they went on together. She laughed happily.
“Indeed, my lord, you have the tongue of a poet!” she said. “What says the great Zoroaster of this land?
“Ahura-Mazda looked upon the desert lands
And with his mighty breath gave life to them;
Where none could dwell before he poured out life,
And Aryans lived and multiplied in peace,
Until their numbers were as desert sands.
Was not his thought inspired by such nights as this?”
“It may have been,” he answered. “But does he not continue:
“Then Angro-mainyus, death’s dark spirit made
That mighty serpent, Winter, with its snow,
To swallow up within its months of cold
The teeming earth, the flowing water-streams,
While storm-clouds cast upon the earth their pestilent shade.”
“You are melancholy, Prince of Iran! Let us not think of Angro-mainyus. Are the days not passing swiftly? When the forty days of mourning shall have passed, shall we not be happy?”
He drew her closely to him. “Most happy, beloved! But I am filled with forebodings of evil. Like some threatening Angro-mainyus, jealously watching the Spirit of Life at his creation and the children of men in their happiness, does the form of the new King of Kings loom up in the sky. I seem to feel even now the malignant hate with which he ever seemed to regard Bardya, and me because I was Bardya’s friend. When I think of the absolute power of life and death vested in him and his opportunity to wreak vengeance upon those he hates, I am troubled. What if he refuse to give you to me? What if he choose to bestow you upon another?”
He felt the small hand now resting in his clench and harden. She looked up into his face as she answered slowly and solemnly:
“As for me, though he inflict death, yet shall he not bend my will! I have chosen you alone of all the world. Your wife I shall be or I shall die. Listen, Prince of Iran! I am moved to say—some spirit prompts my soul to salute you, King of Kings and Lord of Lords. At your side shall I be Queen of the world! Is it not to be so?”
He drew her closer to him and kissed her forehead. “Hush, life of mine!” he replied. “Start no such thoughts in my soul! Am I not oath-bound? If I were not so, should I plunge Iran into bloody civil war that I may wear a crown? Let Ahura-Mazda’s will be done! If Cambyses and Bardya cease to exist, in spite of my loyal support, then shall I deem myself most fortunate to sit on the throne of Cyrus at the side of his daughter. Ah, if only Cambyses had a soul like Athura, what a happy year would this be for the nations!”
Twenty-five centuries have come and gone since they stood on the old stone bridge over the Pulwar and renewed their pledges of undying love and faith. Myriads since then have gazed into each other’s eyes and pledged the same faith, moved by the same love; but the story is ever fresh and the love is ever sacred, sweet, and entrancing. Only traces of the old stone bridge over the Pulwar remain. The tall, slender shafts of marble with which the neighboring palace was adorned are tumbled and broken; and over the ruins of the neighboring city the wild dog wanders and bays at the moon. Perhaps the spirits of those heroic two who stood on the old bridge, listening to the murmur of the waters below, while they murmured to each other, may return there again and again, to live once more in the ecstasy of love. Who knows?