mud brick or—most oddly—built below ground in narrow earth trenches covered with layers of palm fronds to keep out the melting summer heat, the petrifying winter cold. But it is also true that the palace Darius had recently completed was by far the most splendid building in the world. On its high platform the palace dominates the city in much the same way that Susa is dominated by the snow-striped peaks of the Zagros Mountains.
Susa lies between two rivers in a fertile plain ringed on all sides by mountains. For as long as anyone can remember, the city was the capital of Anshan, a territory subject first to the Elamites, then to the Medes. The southwest corner of Anshan contains the Persian highlands, whose clan leader was Cyrus the Achaemenid, hereditary lord of Anshan. When Cyrus finally broke out of Anshan, he conquered Media and Lydia and Babylon. His son Cambyses conquered Egypt. As a result, the whole world from the Nile to the Indus River is now Persian, thanks to Cyrus and Cambyses; thanks to Darius and to his son Xerxes and to his son, my current master, Artaxerxes. Incidentally, from the accession of Cyrus to the present day, only one hundred and seven years have passed, and for most of this marvelous century I have been alive, and at the court of Persia.
In summer, Susa is so hot that lizards and snakes have been found cooked in the streets at midday. But by then the court has moved two hundred miles north to Ecbatana, where the Median kings had built for themselves the largest and perhaps least comfortable palace in the world; made entirely of wood, this building occupies more than one square mile in a high cool valley. During Susa’s cold months the Great King used to remove the court two hundred and twenty-five miles to the east, to that most ancient and voluptuous of cities, Babylon. But, later, Xerxes preferred Persepolis to Babylon. So the court now winters in the original homeland of the Persians. Old courtiers—like me—very much miss languorous Babylon.
At the gate to Susa we were met by a king’s eye. At any moment there are at least twenty king’s eyes, one for each of the twenty provinces, or satrapies. This official is a sort of general inspector and surrogate for the Great King. It was the task of this particular king’s eye to look after members of the royal family. Reverently he greeted Hystaspes. He then provided us with a military escort, a necessity at Susa, since the streets so twist and turn that a stranger is soon lost—sometimes forever, if he is not attended by guards.
I was delighted by the vast, dusty marketplace. As far as the eye could see there were tents and pavilions, while bright banners marked the start or terminus of this or that caravan. There were merchants from every part of the earth. There were also jugglers, acrobats, soothsayers. Snakes writhed to the music of pipes. Veiled and unveiled women danced. Magicians cast spells, pulled teeth, restored virility. Astonishing colors, sounds, smells ...
The new palace of Darius is approached by a wide straight avenue, lined with huge winged bulls. The palace’s façade is covered with glazed brick on which bas-reliefs depict Darius’ victories from one end of the world to the other. These delicately colored life-size illustrations are modeled in the brick itself, and I have yet to see anything as splendid in a Greek city. Although the figures tend to resemble one another—each is shown in profile, according to the old Assyrian style—one can still identify the features of the various Great Kings as well as those of certain of their close companions.
On the palace’s west wall, near the corner, opposite a monument to some long-dead Median king, there is a portrait of my father at the court of Polycrates in Samos. My father is shown holding a cylindrical message, marked with the seal of Darius. He is facing Polycrates. Just back of the tyrant’s chair is the famous physician Democedes. Lais thinks the resemblance
Susa lies between two rivers in a fertile plain ringed on all sides by mountains. For as long as anyone can remember, the city was the capital of Anshan, a territory subject first to the Elamites, then to the Medes. The southwest corner of Anshan contains the Persian highlands, whose clan leader was Cyrus the Achaemenid, hereditary lord of Anshan. When Cyrus finally broke out of Anshan, he conquered Media and Lydia and Babylon. His son Cambyses conquered Egypt. As a result, the whole world from the Nile to the Indus River is now Persian, thanks to Cyrus and Cambyses; thanks to Darius and to his son Xerxes and to his son, my current master, Artaxerxes. Incidentally, from the accession of Cyrus to the present day, only one hundred and seven years have passed, and for most of this marvelous century I have been alive, and at the court of Persia.
In summer, Susa is so hot that lizards and snakes have been found cooked in the streets at midday. But by then the court has moved two hundred miles north to Ecbatana, where the Median kings had built for themselves the largest and perhaps least comfortable palace in the world; made entirely of wood, this building occupies more than one square mile in a high cool valley. During Susa’s cold months the Great King used to remove the court two hundred and twenty-five miles to the east, to that most ancient and voluptuous of cities, Babylon. But, later, Xerxes preferred Persepolis to Babylon. So the court now winters in the original homeland of the Persians. Old courtiers—like me—very much miss languorous Babylon.
At the gate to Susa we were met by a king’s eye. At any moment there are at least twenty king’s eyes, one for each of the twenty provinces, or satrapies. This official is a sort of general inspector and surrogate for the Great King. It was the task of this particular king’s eye to look after members of the royal family. Reverently he greeted Hystaspes. He then provided us with a military escort, a necessity at Susa, since the streets so twist and turn that a stranger is soon lost—sometimes forever, if he is not attended by guards.
I was delighted by the vast, dusty marketplace. As far as the eye could see there were tents and pavilions, while bright banners marked the start or terminus of this or that caravan. There were merchants from every part of the earth. There were also jugglers, acrobats, soothsayers. Snakes writhed to the music of pipes. Veiled and unveiled women danced. Magicians cast spells, pulled teeth, restored virility. Astonishing colors, sounds, smells ...
The new palace of Darius is approached by a wide straight avenue, lined with huge winged bulls. The palace’s façade is covered with glazed brick on which bas-reliefs depict Darius’ victories from one end of the world to the other. These delicately colored life-size illustrations are modeled in the brick itself, and I have yet to see anything as splendid in a Greek city. Although the figures tend to resemble one another—each is shown in profile, according to the old Assyrian style—one can still identify the features of the various Great Kings as well as those of certain of their close companions.
On the palace’s west wall, near the corner, opposite a monument to some long-dead Median king, there is a portrait of my father at the court of Polycrates in Samos. My father is shown holding a cylindrical message, marked with the seal of Darius. He is facing Polycrates. Just back of the tyrant’s chair is the famous physician Democedes. Lais thinks the resemblance
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