Alexander could not help but notice that the philosopher combed his hair up from the back of his neck to cover the considerable baldness afflicting the top of his head. Aristotle realized what Alexander was looking at and for an instant his gaze turned icy cold. The Prince immediately lowered his eyes.
The philosopher offered his hand and said, ‘I’m pleased to meet you. I would like you to meet my assistants: my nephew Callisthenes who studies literature and cultivates history, and Theophrastus,’ he added, indicating the companion who stood to his left. ‘You will perhaps already have heard of his ability in zoology and botany. The first time we met your father at Assus, in the Troad, Theophrastus was immediately taken with the fine shafts of the sarissae. And when the King had finished speaking, Theophrastus whispered in my ear, “Cut from a strong cornel tree in August by the light of the new moon – seasoned, polished with pumice and beeswax. What harder and more flexible material can there be in the plant world?” Isn’t that extraordinary?’
‘Indeed it is,’ confirmed Alexander as he let go of Aristotle’s hand and then shook hands with the assistants, first Callisthenes, then Theophrastus, respecting the order in which his tutor had named them.
‘Welcome to Mieza,’ Alexander continued. ‘I would be honoured if you were to have lunch with me.’
Aristotle had not stopped studying the Prince from the first moment he had seen him and he was deeply impressed. ‘Philip’s boy’, as he was known in Athens, had an intense depth to his gaze, a wonderful harmony in his features, and a vibrant, sonorous timbre to his voice. Everything in the young Prince declared a burning desire to live and to learn, a great capacity for commitment and application.
At that moment Peritas’ celebratory barking erupted into the courtyard and the dog began biting at the strings of Alexander’s sandals, interrupting the wordless communication between tutor and pupil.
‘He’s a beautiful puppy,’ Theophrastus remarked.
‘His name is Peritas,’ said Alexander, bending over to pick him up. ‘My uncle gave him to me as a present. A lioness killed his mother in the last hunt we took part in.’
‘He is very fond of you,’ Aristotle noted.
Alexander made no reply and led them to the dining room. He had them all take their places comfortably and then he too stretched out gracefully. Aristotle was opposite him.
A servant brought the jug and basin for washing and passed them a towel as well. Another began serving the meal: hard-boiled quails’ eggs, broth and boiled hen, bread, roast pigeon meat and wine from Thasos. A third servant placed a bowl containing Peritas’ food on the floor near Alexander.
‘Do you really think Peritas is fond of me?’ asked Alexander, watching his puppy happily wagging his tail as he ate eagerly from the bowl.
‘Most certainly,’ replied Aristotle.
‘But wouldn’t that mean then that a dog has feelings and therefore has a soul?’
‘That question is bigger than you,’ remarked Aristotle, peeling an egg. ‘It’s bigger than me too. A question which has no certain answer. Remember one thing, Alexander, a good teacher is one who gives honest answers.
‘I will teach you to recognize the characteristic features of animals and plants, to subdivide them all into their species, to use your eyes, your ears, your hands to recognize the depths of the nature that surrounds you. This means that you must also recognize, as far as is possible, the laws that govern nature.
‘Look at this egg. Your cook has boiled it and thus has put an end to its future, but within this shell there was a potential bird – able to fly, nourish itself, reproduce, migrate distances of tens of thousands of stadia. As an egg it is none of all this, yet it carries within itself all the features of its species, its form we might say.
‘Form works in matter with various results, or consequences. Peritas is one of those consequences, just as you are, just as I am.’
He bit into the egg. ‘Just as this egg would have been had it been allowed to become a bird.’
Alexander looked at Aristotle. The lesson had already begun.
13
‘I’VE BROUGHT YOU A PRESENT,’ announced Aristotle as he entered the library. In his hands he held a wooden box which appeared to be very old.
‘Thank you,’ said Alexander. ‘What is it?’
‘Open it,’ the philosopher suggested as he handed it to him.
Alexander took the box, placed it on a table and opened it: inside were two large scrolls of papyrus, each one complete with a small white card tied to the scroll batons and bearing lettering in red ink.
‘The Iliad and the Odyssey,’ exclaimed Alexander enthusiastically. ‘It’s a wonderful present. Thank you so much. It’s just what I’ve wanted for so long now.’
‘Rather old editions, among the first copies of the Athenian version by Pisistratus,’ explained Aristotle, showing him the headings of the scrolls. ‘When I was at the Academy I had three copies transcribed at my own expense. I am glad to make you a present of one of them.’
The custodian, who was well within earshot, found himself thinking that indeed Aristotle could well afford it with all the money Philip was giving him, but he kept his thoughts to himself as he went on preparing the materials the philosopher had requested for the day’s lessons.
‘To read of the heroes of days gone by and their deeds is an essential part of a young man’s education, and so too are the tragedies,’ Aristotle continued. ‘The reader, or the spectator, cannot help but admire the great and noble deeds as they bear witness to the generous behaviour of those who suffer and even give their lives for their communities and for their ideals, or pay high prices for their own mistakes, or those of their ancestors. Don’t you agree?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Alexander concurred, carefully closing the box. ‘There is one thing, however, which I would like to know from you: why do I have to be educated in the Greek manner? Why can’t I simply be a Macedonian?’
Aristotle sat down. ‘That’s an interesting question, but in order to answer it I have to explain to you what it means to be Greek. Only in this way will you be able to decide whether you really want to apply yourself and to learn from my teaching. To be Greek, Alexander, is the only truly worthy way of life for a human being. Do you know the myth of Prometheus?’
‘Yes . . . he was the Titan who stole fire from the gods to give it to men and free them from their misery.’
‘That’s it, that’s the myth. Now, when mankind freed itself from the darkness, attempts were made to organize life in communities and in essence three ways of doing this developed: with one person only in command, a system which goes under the name of monarchy; with more than one but only a few people in command, known as oligarchy; and then the system by which all citizens exercise power, known as democracy. And this is the greatest manifestation of what it means to be Greek.
‘Here, in Macedon, your father’s word is law; those who govern in Athens, however, have been elected by the majority of the citizens, so that in this way a cobbler or a stevedore can stand up in the assembly and ask that measures already approved by the government of the city be withdrawn, if they find enough people to support their motion.
‘In Egypt, in Persia, and in Macedon too, there is only one free man – the King. All the others are slaves.’
‘But the nobility . . .’ Alexander made an attempt to get a word in.
‘The nobility too. Certainly, they have more privileges, they have more pleasant lives, but they too must obey.’ Aristotle fell silent then because he saw that his words had struck their mark and he wanted to make sure there was sufficient time for them to work their way into the boy’s soul.
‘You have given me the works of Homer as a present,’ Alexander replied eventually, ‘but I already know them in part. And I well remember that Ulysses made a speech in the assembly of the warriors just before Thersites took the floor and offended the gods and earned himself a hiding from Homer’s hero. Ulysses had this to say:
Sh
all we all wield the power of kings? We can not, and many masters are no good at all.
Let there be one commander, one authority, holding his royal staff and precedence from Zeus, the son of crooked-minded Cronos: one to command the rest.
These are Homer’s words.’
‘Yes . . . you are right. But Homer recounts tales of ancient times, when kings were indispensable and they were so because things were different back then. In those times there were continuous attacks from the barbarians, wild beasts and monsters in a natural world that was still wild and primitive. I made you a present of Homer’s poetry so that you might grow by reading and developing your noblest feelings – friendship, value, respect for your word once given. But today’s man, Alexander, is a political animal. There is no doubt of that. The only context in which man can grow is in the polis, in the city as conceived of by the Greeks.
‘It is freedom that allows each and every soul to express itself, to create, to generate greatness. You see, the ideal state would be one in which everyone knows how to lead as they grow old, after having obeyed diligently as young men.’
‘That is what I am doing now and what I will do in the future.’
‘You are just one person,’ replied Aristotle. ‘I am speaking of the many thousands of citizens who live as equals under the protection of law and justice, that protection which grants honour to whoever deserves it, which regulates trade and commerce, which punishes and reforms those who have committed errors. A community like this is held together not by blood ties, but by laws under which all citizens are equal. The law corrects the flaws and the imperfections of individuals, limits conflict and competition, rewards the will to do and to achieve, encourages the strong, supports the weak. In a society like this the shame lies not in being humble and poor, but rather in doing nothing to improve one’s condition.’
Alexander sat in silence, meditating.
‘Now I will give you tangible proof of the things I have told you,’ Aristotle began again. ‘Come with me.’
He went outside through a side door on the external side of the building and walked to a small window that looked into the foundry workshop.
‘Look,’ he said, pointing inside, ‘can you see that man?’
Alexander nodded. In the workshop he saw a man of about forty, wearing a short work tunic and a leather apron; nearby were a couple of assistants, one about twenty, the other about sixteen years of age. All three were busy arranging tools, preparing the large chain that was to hold the crucible, stoking the forge.
‘Do you know who that is?’ asked Aristotle.
‘I have never seen him before.’
‘He is the world’s greatest living artist. He is Lysippus of Sicyon.’
‘The great Lysippus . . . I saw one of his sculptures once in the sanctuary of Hera.’
‘And do you know what he used to be before he became what he is today? A labourer. He worked as a labourer for fifteen years in a foundry, for two obols per day. And can you guess how he became the great Lysippus? Thanks to his city’s system of government. It is the city which makes space for talent, which allows each and every man to grow like a healthy plant.’
Alexander studied the new guest who all told looked quite powerful: wide shoulders, muscled arms and the wide, knobbled hands of a man who has worked hard for a long time.
‘Why is he here?’
‘Come. Let’s meet him and he himself will explain.’
They entered by the main door and Alexander greeted the sculptor.
‘I am Alexander, son of Philip, King of Macedon. Welcome to Mieza, Lysippus. I am honoured to meet you. This is my tutor, Aristotle, son of Nichomachus, from Stagira. In a certain sense he too is Macedonian.’
Lysippus introduced his assistants, Archelaus and Chares, but as he spoke Alexander felt the sculptor’s eyes on his face. Lysippus’ gaze explored the Prince’s features, drawing and redrawing them in his mind.
‘Your father has commissioned me to make a portrait sculpture of you in bronze. I would like to know when you will be able to pose for me.’
Alexander looked towards Aristotle, who smiled and said, ‘Whenever you want, Lysippus. I can easily teach while you create his likeness . . . that is if I am not a distraction to you.’
‘Not at all,’ replied Lysippus, ‘it will be a privilege for me to listen to you.’
‘What do you think of the lad?’ the philosopher asked after Alexander had left the foundry to show the rest of the building to Archelaus and Chares.
‘He has the countenance and the features of a god.’
14
LIFE IN MIEZA was marked by extremely regular rhythms. Alexander and his companions were woken every morning before sunrise. Breakfast consisted of raw eggs, honey, grated cheese, wine and flour, a mixture they called ‘Nestor’s cup’ which came from an ancient recipe described in the Iliad. Then they went out with their riding instructor for an hour or two.
After the riding lesson the young men worked with their weapons instructor who trained them in wrestling, running, fencing, archery, spear-work and javelin throwing. The rest of their time was then spent with Aristotle and his assistants.
Sometimes the arms master, rather than instructing them in the usual things, took them hunting together with the house guests. The surrounding woods were rich in wild boar, stags, roe-deer, wolves, bears, lynxes and even lions.
One day, on their return from a hunt, Aristotle met them at the entrance dressed in a strange way – he was wearing high leather boots that came halfway up his legs and an apron with a bib. He inspected the animals they had killed and chose a female boar that was obviously pregnant.
‘Please have that brought to my laboratory,’ he said to the chief huntsman and nodded to Alexander to follow him. This meant that the lesson about to take place was for the Prince alone.
The tutor’s orders were immediately carried out and the boar was placed on a table alongside which Theophrastus had arranged a series of surgical instruments, all perfectly sharpened and polished.
Aristotle asked for a scalpel and turned to the young Prince, ‘If you’re not too tired I’d like you to help with this operation. You’ll learn many important things. Over there are the materials necessary for writing,’ he added, pointing to pen, ink and some sheets of papyrus on a lectern, ‘that way you’ll be able to take notes and remember everything you see during the dissection.’
Alexander put his bow and quiver down in a corner, took up the pen and the papyrus and moved towards the table.
The philosopher made an incision along the sow’s belly and, inside the animal’s uterus, there appeared six small boars. He measured them one by one.
‘Two weeks from being born,’ he observed. ‘Here, this is the uterus, or the matrix where the fetuses take form. This internal sack here is the placenta.’
Alexander managed to control his initial repugnance for the smell and the sight of the bloody innards and began to take notes and even to draw.
‘You see? The organs of a pig or a boar, which is the same thing, are very similar to those of a human being. Look: these are the lungs, the bellows that allow us to breathe, and this membrane which separates the upper part of the innards, the nobler part, from the lower part is the phren and the ancients believed that this housed the soul. In our language all the words that indicate the activity of thought or of reasoning or even madness, which is the degeneration of thought, derive from the term phren. A membrane.’
Alexander would have liked to ask what moved the phren, what regulated its rhythmic rising and falling, but he already knew the answer – ‘There are no simple answers to complex problems.’ And he chose to say nothing.
‘Now this is the heart: a pump like the one used to empty the bilges on ships, but infinitely more complicated and efficient. This is the home of feeling and intellect because its movement accelerates if a man is under the influence of anger or love, or simple lust. In truth, my heart’s movement accelerates even if I simply walk
up the stairs, and this demonstrates that it is the centre of all functions in the life of man.’
‘Indeed,’ Alexander agreed, staring in bewilderment at his tutor’s bloody hands as they rooted through the innards of the boar.
‘A plausible hypothesis might be that when life’s intensity increases it is necessary for the blood to circulate more quickly. And there are two systems of circulation – the one that comes from the heart and the one that goes back to the heart, completely separate, as you can see. In this respect,’ he added, placing the scalpel on the tray, ‘we are very much like animals. But there is one thing in which we are clearly different,’ he added.
‘Hammer and chisel,’ he then said to Theophrastus who immediately handed over the instruments, and with a few sharp, expert blows Aristotle opened the animal’s skull. ‘The brain. Our brain is much larger. I have always thought that all those twists and turns were to help disperse body heat, but man does not seem to produce any more heat than any of the animals. It is a problem I will have to give some thought to . . .’
Aristotle had finished and he passed the instruments to Theophrastus to clean. He then washed his hands and asked Alexander for his notes and sketches.
‘Excellent!’ he said. ‘I couldn’t have done better myself. Now you may consign this beast to the butcher. I am very partial to sausage and offal, but unfortunately for some time now I haven’t been able to digest them very well. Have them grill me some chops for supper, if you don’t mind.’
On another occasion Alexander found Aristotle intent on the same operation, but this time with a much smaller subject – a ten-day-old hen’s egg.
‘My sight isn’t what it used to be and so I have to ask Theophrastus for help. Pay attention because one day you’ll have to help me.’
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