FOUR BEASTS IN ONE—THE HOMO-CAMELEOPARD

Chacun a ses vertus.

—_Crébillon’s Xerxes._

Antiochus Epiphanes is very generally looked upon as the Gog of

the prophet Ezekiel. This honor is, however, more properly

attributable to Cambyses, the son of Cyrus. And, indeed, the

character of the Syrian monarch does by no means stand in need of

any adventitious embellishment. His accession to the throne, or

rather his usurpation of the sovereignty, a hundred and

seventy-one years before the coming of Christ; his attempt to

plunder the temple of Diana at Ephesus; his implacable hostility

to the Jews; his pollution of the Holy of Holies; and his

miserable death at Taba, after a tumultuous reign of eleven

years, are circumstances of a prominent kind, and therefore more

generally noticed by the historians of his time than the impious,

dastardly, cruel, silly, and whimsical achievements which make up

the sum total of his private life and reputation.

Let us suppose, gentle reader, that it is now the year of the

world three thousand eight hundred and thirty, and let us, for a

few minutes, imagine ourselves at that most grotesque habitation

of man, the remarkable city of Antioch. To be sure there were, in

Syria and other countries, sixteen cities of that appellation,

besides the one to which I more particularly allude. But ours is

that which went by the name of Antiochia Epidaphne, from its

vicinity to the little village of Daphne, where stood a temple to

that divinity. It was built (although about this matter there is

some dispute) by Seleucus Nicanor, the first king of the country

after Alexander the Great, in memory of his father Antiochus, and

became immediately the residence of the Syrian monarchy. In the

flourishing times of the Roman Empire, it was the ordinary

station of the prefect of the eastern provinces; and many of the

emperors of the queen city (among whom may be mentioned,

especially, Verus and Valens) spent here the greater part of

their time. But I perceive we have arrived at the city itself.

Let us ascend this battlement, and throw our eyes upon the town

and neighboring country.

“What broad and rapid river is that which forces its way, with

innumerable falls, through the mountainous wilderness, and

finally through the wilderness of buildings?”

That is the Orontes, and it is the only water in sight, with the

exception of the Mediterranean, which stretches, like a broad

mirror, about twelve miles off to the southward. Every one has

seen the Mediterranean; but let me tell you, there are few who

have had a peep at Antioch. By few, I mean, few who, like you and

me, have had, at the same time, the advantages of a modern

education. Therefore cease to regard that sea, and give your

whole attention to the mass of houses that lie beneath us. You

will remember that it is now the year of the world three thousand

eight hundred and thirty. Were it later—for example, were it the

year of our Lord eighteen hundred and forty-five, we should be

deprived of this extraordinary spectacle. In the nineteenth

century Antioch is—that is to say, Antioch will be—in a

lamentable state of decay. It will have been, by that time,

totally destroyed, at three different periods, by three

successive earthquakes. Indeed, to say the truth, what little of

its former self may then remain, will be found in so desolate and

ruinous a state that the patriarch shall have removed his

residence to Damascus. This is well. I see you profit by my

advice, and are making the most of your time in inspecting the

premises—in

—satisfying your eyes

With the memorials and the things of fame

That most renown this city.—

I beg pardon; I had forgotten that Shakespeare will not flourish

for seventeen hundred and fifty years to come. But does not the

appearance of Epidaphne justify me in calling it grotesque?

“It is well fortified; and in this respect is as much indebted to

nature as to art.”

Very true.

“There are a prodigious number of stately palaces.”

There are.

“And the numerous temples, sumptuous and magnificent, may bear

comparison with the most lauded of antiquity.”

All this I must acknowledge. Still there is an infinity of mud

huts, and abominable hovels. We cannot help perceiving abundance

of filth in every kennel, and, were it not for the over-powering

fumes of idolatrous incense, I have no doubt we should find a

most intolerable stench. Did you ever behold streets so

insufferably narrow, or houses so miraculously tall? What gloom

their shadows cast upon the ground! It is well the swinging lamps

in those endless colonnades are kept burning throughout the day;

we should otherwise have the darkness of Egypt in the time of her

desolation.

“It is certainly a strange place! What is the meaning of yonder

singular building? See! it towers above all others, and lies to

the eastward of what I take to be the royal palace!”

That is the new Temple of the Sun, who is adored in Syria under

the title of Elah Gabalah. Hereafter a very notorious Roman

Emperor will institute this worship in Rome, and thence derive a

cognomen, Heliogabalus. I dare say you would like to take a peep

at the divinity of the temple. You need not look up at the

heavens; his Sunship is not there—at least not the Sunship adored

by the Syrians. That deity will be found in the interior of

yonder building. He is worshipped under the figure of a large

stone pillar terminating at the summit in a cone or pyramid,

whereby is denoted Fire.

“Hark—behold!—who can those ridiculous beings be, half naked,

with their faces painted, shouting and gesticulating to the

rabble?”

Some few are mountebanks. Others more particularly belong to the

race of philosophers. The greatest portion, however—those

especially who belabor the populace with clubs—are the principal

courtiers of the palace, executing as in duty bound, some

laudable comicality of the king’s.

“But what have we here? Heavens! the town is swarming with wild

beasts! How terrible a spectacle!—how dangerous a peculiarity!”

Terrible, if you please; but not in the least degree dangerous.

Each animal if you will take the pains to observe, is following,

very quietly, in the wake of its master. Some few, to be sure,

are led with a rope about the neck, but these are chiefly the

lesser or timid species. The lion, the tiger, and the leopard are

entirely without restraint. They have been trained without

difficulty to their present profession, and attend upon their

respective owners in the capacity of valets-de-chambre. It is

true, there are occasions when Nature asserts her violated

dominions;—but then the devouring of a man-at-arms, or the

throttling of a consecrated bull, is a circumstance of too little

moment to be more than hinted at in Epidaphne.

“But what extraordinary tumult do I hear? Surely this is a loud

noise even for Antioch! It argues some commotion of unusual

interest.”

Yes—undoubtedly. The king has ordered some novel spectacle—some

gladiatorial exhibition at the hippodrome—or perhaps the massacre

of the Scythian prisoners—or the conflagration of his new

palace—or the tearing down of a handsome temple—or, indeed, a

bonfire of a few Jews. The uproar increases. Shouts of laughter

ascend the skies. The air becomes dissonant with wind

instruments, and horrible with clamor of a million throats. Let

us descend, for the love of fun, and see what is going on! This

way—be careful! Here we are in the principal street, which is

called the street of Timarchus. The sea of people is coming this

way, and we shall find a difficulty in stemming the tide. They

are pouring through the alley of Heraclides, which leads directly

from the palace;—therefore the king is most probably among the

rioters. Yes—I hear the shouts of the herald proclaiming his

approach in the pompous phraseology of the East. We shall have a

glimpse of his person as he passes by the temple of Ashimah. Let

us ensconce ourselves in the vestibule of the sanctuary; he will

be here anon. In the meantime let us survey this image. What is

it? Oh! it is the god Ashimah in proper person. You perceive,

however, that he is neither a lamb, nor a goat, nor a satyr,

neither has he much resemblance to the Pan of the Arcadians. Yet

all these appearances have been given—I beg pardon—will be

given—by the learned of future ages, to the Ashimah of the

Syrians. Put on your spectacles, and tell me what it is. What is

it?

“Bless me! it is an ape!”

True—a baboon; but by no means the less a deity. His name is a

derivation of the Greek Simia—what great fools are antiquarians!

But see!—see!—yonder scampers a ragged little urchin. Where is he

going? What is he bawling about? What does he say? Oh! he says

the king is coming in triumph; that he is dressed in state; that

he has just finished putting to death, with his own hand, a

thousand chained Israelitish prisoners! For this exploit the

ragamuffin is lauding him to the skies! Hark! here comes a troop

of a similar description. They have made a Latin hymn upon the

valor of the king, and are singing it as they go:

Mille, mille, mille,

Mille, mille, mille,

Decollavimus, unus homo!

Mille, mille, mille, mille, decollavimus!

Mille, mille, mille,

Vivat qui mille mille occidit!

Tantum vini habet nemo

Quantum sanguinis effudit!(*1)

Which may be thus paraphrased:

A thousand, a thousand, a thousand,

A thousand, a thousand, a thousand,

We, with one warrior, have slain!

A thousand, a thousand, a thousand, a thousand.

Sing a thousand over again!

Soho!—let us sing

Long life to our king,

Who knocked over a thousand so fine!

Soho!—let us roar,

He has given us more

Red gallons of gore

Than all Syria can furnish of wine!

“Do you hear that flourish of trumpets?”

Yes—the king is coming! See! the people are aghast with

admiration, and lift up their eyes to the heavens in reverence.

He comes!—he is coming!—there he is!

“Who?—where?—the king?—do not behold him—cannot say that I

perceive him.”

Then you must be blind.

“Very possible. Still I see nothing but a tumultuous mob of

idiots and madmen, who are busy in prostrating themselves before

a gigantic cameleopard, and endeavoring to obtain a kiss of the

animal’s hoofs. See! the beast has very justly kicked one of the

rabble over—and another—and another—and another. Indeed, I cannot

help admiring the animal for the excellent use he is making of

his feet.”

Rabble, indeed!—why these are the noble and free citizens of

Epidaphne! Beasts, did you say?—take care that you are not

overheard. Do you not perceive that the animal has the visage of

a man? Why, my dear sir, that cameleopard is no other than

Antiochus Epiphanes, Antiochus the Illustrious, King of Syria,

and the most potent of all the autocrats of the East! It is true,

that he is entitled, at times, Antiochus Epimanes—Antiochus the

madman—but that is because all people have not the capacity to

appreciate his merits. It is also certain that he is at present

ensconced in the hide of a beast, and is doing his best to play

the part of a cameleopard; but this is done for the better

sustaining his dignity as king. Besides, the monarch is of

gigantic stature, and the dress is therefore neither unbecoming

nor over large. We may, however, presume he would not have

adopted it but for some occasion of especial state. Such, you

will allow, is the massacre of a thousand Jews. With how superior

a dignity the monarch perambulates on all fours! His tail, you

perceive, is held aloft by his two principal concubines, Elline

and Argelais; and his whole appearance would be infinitely

prepossessing, were it not for the protuberance of his eyes,

which will certainly start out of his head, and the queer color

of his face, which has become nondescript from the quantity of

wine he has swallowed. Let us follow him to the hippodrome,

whither he is proceeding, and listen to the song of triumph which

he is commencing:

Who is king but Epiphanes?

Say—do you know?

Who is king but Epiphanes?

Bravo!—bravo!

There is none but Epiphanes,

No—there is none:

So tear down the temples,

And put out the sun!

Well and strenuously sung! The populace are hailing him ‘Prince

of Poets,’ as well as ‘Glory of the East,’ ‘Delight of the

Universe,’ and ‘Most Remarkable of Cameleopards.’ They have

encored his effusion, and do you hear?—he is singing it over

again. When he arrives at the hippodrome, he will be crowned with

the poetic wreath, in anticipation of his victory at the

approaching Olympics.

“But, good Jupiter! what is the matter in the crowd behind us?”

Behind us, did you say?—oh! ah!—I perceive. My friend, it is well

that you spoke in time. Let us get into a place of safety as soon

as possible. Here!—let us conceal ourselves in the arch of this

aqueduct, and I will inform you presently of the origin of the

commotion. It has turned out as I have been anticipating. The

singular appearance of the cameleopard and the head of a man,

has, it seems, given offence to the notions of propriety

entertained, in general, by the wild animals domesticated in the

city. A mutiny has been the result; and, as is usual upon such

occasions, all human efforts will be of no avail in quelling the

mob. Several of the Syrians have already been devoured; but the

general voice of the four-footed patriots seems to be for eating

up the cameleopard. ‘The Prince of Poets,’ therefore, is upon his

hinder legs, running for his life. His courtiers have left him in

the lurch, and his concubines have followed so excellent an

example. ‘Delight of the Universe,’ thou art in a sad

predicament! ‘Glory of the East,’ thou art in danger of

mastication! Therefore never regard so piteously thy tail; it

will undoubtedly be draggled in the mud, and for this there is no

help. Look not behind thee, then, at its unavoidable degradation;

but take courage, ply thy legs with vigor, and scud for the

hippodrome! Remember that thou art Antiochus Epiphanes. Antiochus

the Illustrious!—also ‘Prince of Poets,’ ‘Glory of the East,’

‘Delight of the Universe,’ and ‘Most Remarkable of Cameleopards!’

Heavens! what a power of speed thou art displaying! What a

capacity for leg-bail thou art developing! Run, Prince!—Bravo,

Epiphanes! Well done, Cameleopard!—Glorious Antiochus!—He

runs!—he leaps!—he flies! Like an arrow from a catapult he

approaches the hippodrome! He leaps!—he shrieks!—he is there!

This is well; for hadst thou, ‘Glory of the East,’ been half a

second longer in reaching the gates of the Amphitheatre, there is

not a bear’s cub in Epidaphne that would not have had a nibble at

thy carcase. Let us be off—let us take our departure!—for we

shall find our delicate modern ears unable to endure the vast

uproar which is about to commence in celebration of the king’s

escape! Listen! it has already commenced. See!—the whole town is

topsy-turvy.

“Surely this is the most populous city of the East! What a

wilderness of people! what a jumble of all ranks and ages! what a

multiplicity of sects and nations! what a variety of costumes!

what a Babel of languages! what a screaming of beasts! what a

tinkling of instruments! what a parcel of philosophers!”

Come let us be off.

“Stay a moment! I see a vast hubbub in the hippodrome; what is

the meaning of it, I beseech you?”

That?—oh, nothing! The noble and free citizens of Epidaphne

being, as they declare, well satisfied of the faith, valor,

wisdom, and divinity of their king, and having, moreover, been

eye-witnesses of his late superhuman agility, do think it no more

than their duty to invest his brows (in addition to the poetic

crown) with the wreath of victory in the footrace—a wreath which

it is evident he must obtain at the celebration of the next

Olympiad, and which, therefore, they now give him in advance.

Footnotes—Four Beasts

(*1) Flavius Vospicus says, that the hymn here introduced was

sung by the rabble upon the occasion of Aurelian, in the Sarmatic

war, having slain, with his own hand, nine hundred and fifty of

the enemy.