Phoenician Myths - Zeljko Prodanovic (ebooks children's books free .TXT) 📗

I have decided to appoint a new consul – my horse. I’ve already sent him to Antioch and told him, once he gets there, to kick that donkey of a consul, Flavius, in the middle of the forehead and kill him on the spot! And then he may quietly rule in the beautiful city of Antioch!’
The Romans were silent again, managing only to shake their heads in wonder. Only our Seneca spoke. He said, ‘Like emperor – like consul!’
When Seneca’s words reached Caligula, he became enraged. ‘Where is that scoundrel of a stoic?’ he shouted. ‘I’ll strangle him with my own hands!’
Caligula would certainly have done it and our story would end here had the news not arrived in Rome that at the gates of Antioch Marco Flavius had killed Caligula’s horse. Instead of confronting Seneca, Caligula hurried to the senate. He did not know, however, that his time under the sun had run out. By the order of the senate, the prefect of the praetorian guard waited there for him, and killed him on the spot.
And so, by the complexity of dramatic circumstances, our Seneca saved his skin. Soon, however, he had to leave Rome. Caligula’s successor, Claudius, banished him from the city – just in case – and he took refuge in Phoenicia.
Seneca spent ten years in Phoenicia, writing plays and fishing. And then, to his big surprise, an invitation came from Rome. He was asked to introduce the young Nero Ahenobarbus to the secrets of stoicism and prepare him for the dangerous vocation of Roman emperor. So, Seneca slung the gentle Phoenician soul over his shoulder and went to Rome.
‘In the centre of the universe shines the great all-seeing eye,’ Seneca said, ‘that rules the universe and, thus, our brittle lives as well. If it is so – and we all know it is – then any fear is unnecessary. So, what would you do, Nero, if by accident Rome was to catch on fire?’
‘I would run to quench it,’ Nero replied.
‘Oh, Nero…’ Seneca sighed. ‘Does it befit the Roman emperor to run about Rome with a bucket in his hands, quenching fires?’
Nero only blinked his eyes.
‘Stoicism is an art, Nero,’ the philosopher continued, ‘and you, as far as I know, want to be an artist, above all.’
‘Oh yes, Seneca!’ Nero shouted. ‘Above all, I would love to be a virtuoso, the best harpist in the world!’
‘Very good,’ Seneca replied. ‘Can you imagine this picture then: Rome is burning in a terrific fire and you are standing on a hill and, with perfect peace of mind, you watch the frightful sight. And in addition to everything, you find the strength to play, like the greatest virtuoso under the sun, your favourite aria. Can you imagine that picture?’
‘I can!’ Nero said and added that a more beautiful example of stoicism certainly did not exist.
‘Yet it does,’ Seneca said. ‘The story of the fire serves as an example for one of the biggest virtues of a stoic, and it is – to look life straight in the eyes. But what would you do, Nero, if by accident you were to find yourself in a hopeless situation?’
‘What do you mean?’ Nero asked.
‘If you, for example, were forced to look death in the eyes.’
‘I don’t know,’ Nero said and blinked his eyes.
‘Here is,’ Seneca continued, ‘what our teacher Zeno did when the great shining eye brought him in a hopeless situation. He looked at the sun and whispered, ‘Good-bye!’ – then took his own life!’
But Nero quickly got bored with both Seneca and stoicism and decided to take matters into his own hands. First, he poisoned Claudius and proclaimed himself emperor. Then he poisoned Claudius’ son Britannicus as well, so preventing the possibility that some day this one should poison him.
When he decided to divorce his wife Octavia, his mother Agrippina opposed it, and he ordered, without hesitation, that she be put to death. Then he got rid of Octavia also (she was thrown in a well), and married the beautiful patrician Sabina. And so on, and so forth…
Nero then decided to build a palace ‘the world had not seen yet’. ‘It will be bigger than Cheops’ pyramid!’ he said. Of course, the senate did not agree, for to make room for such an immense building, half of Rome would have to be destroyed.
Years passed, and then, one day, the senate was debating whether they should plant orange or olive trees in the Ebro valley, in Spain, and whether Marco Flavius was a good consul for Antioch.
‘Just look at those lunatics!’ Nero thought. ‘What they talk about! Now, suddenly, it’s so important to decide whether olive or orange trees should be planted by the Ebro and who will be the consul in Antioch. And for my palace, there is still no room!’
Then he remembered Seneca and stoicism.
That same moment he left the senate and went to his villa. From there he ordered that Rome be – immediately and without delay! – set on fire, and he took his harp and went into the garden. ‘And bring Seneca to me!’ he said.
When Seneca arrived, fires were burning with full force all over Rome, and Nero was playing the harp calmly and with dignity – like a true stoic, he thought.
‘Look, Seneca!’ Nero said with a radiant smile on his face. ‘Rome is burning in a terrific fire and I am sitting here, in my garden, playing the harp!’
‘Blessed be he,’ Seneca said, ‘who managed to surpass his master and in such a magnificent way manifest the virtues of a great stoic.’ He then turned around and left.
He went to the senate and told the senators what he had seen. They decided to ‘bring the comedy to an end’ and ‘get rid of this lunatic, once and for all.’ But Nero uncovered their plot and did what one could have expected. He ordered that the conspirators be put to death and for his former master he had a special punishment – suicide.
‘Well, master…’ Nero said. ‘You’ve seen with your own eyes that the first part of the story of stoicism I mastered brilliantly. But the part about Zeno and the biggest of all virtues – I didn’t understand quite so well. And I thought that you could show me, with your own example, what it looks like when a stoic encounters death and looks her straight in the eyes,’ he said and handed him the shiny Syrian sword.
Seneca smiled. He wanted to tell him something, but what was the use? He had already told him everything, and still this fool understood nothing.
‘Great spring,’ Seneca whispered, ‘Baal’s tear shining on my face for the last time, good-bye!’ And then he thrust the shiny Syrian sword into his gentle heart.
Our story of Seneca ends here, and as for the crazy Nero, he ordered that the building of his palace be started and then went to Greece, to the Olympic games and theatres. When he returned to Rome, he was greeted by the news that the senate had condemned him to death.
When he somehow realized that this was not a joke, he attempted to flee Rome, but soon learned that all the gates were closed. Making the use of his affection for the theatre, he disguised himself as a vagrant and went into hiding in the back streets of southern Rome.
When he was finally caught, he told the prefect of the praetorian guard – the same one that had killed his uncle Caligula – to tell those ‘scoundrels’ from the senate, ‘that they have no idea what a virtuoso and a stoic the world is losing!’
And then, imitating a great actor, he commanded his guard, ‘Kill me centurion!’

The Last Psalm

Some time ago, I visited my old friend Lucian of Syria and asked him to write for our chronicle of Phoenicians a few words about himself. First he refused, saying that in Baalbek there were many people more interesting than him, but in the end he agreed. So, here is what he wrote…

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‘My name is, or more precisely – my name was, Aranzabal ha-Nophri, and I come from the famous city of Samosata in Syria. My name (Aran-za-Baal or the guardian of the first rhyme) can even today be found in Phoenician descendants from the Basque Country, and my ancestors were Orpheus, the greatest poet of Phoenicia, and Nephertari, ‘the one for whom the sun rises’. Otherwise, the students of the ancient literature know me by the name of Lucian.
‘As for my life, I have nothing to say in particular, except perhaps for the banal fact that it lasted 66 years and that I devoted it to the most beautiful of all illusions – literature. After all, the most interesting things in my life happened only after my death.
‘So, in short… I spent my childhood in native Samosata, on the banks of the Euphrates, and my youth in Asia Minor, wandering Greek cities as a rhapsode. I was forty years old when, tired of wandering, I decided to settle somewhere and start doing something pleasant and useful. So, I went to Athens and devoted myself to the most beautiful of all trades – writing.
‘I wrote some sixty books and I can say that all of them were written with my own blood and with the greatest of all goals – to change the world with a quill. But, as I said, it was all a long time ago and I don’t remember my books any more. After all, the subject of this story is something quite different: the book that I am writing right now – the Last Psalm.
‘When I realized that my time under the sun was running out, I went to Alexandria and, like the famous Apollonius of Rhodes, found refuge in the most sacred of all temples – the Alexandrian library. And while I waited for death, surrounded by books and with perfect peace of mind, Baalzebub, the famous satyr from Phoenicia, who had the power to travel through time, came one day to Alexandria. And what did he tell me?
‘Believe or not, he told me that the Christians would, in two centuries time, burn the Alexandrian library to the ground! At first I laughed, then realized that this was quite possible. I remembered that the Romans had already done it, about two centuries earlier. ‘But that’s not all,’ the satyr added. ‘Of course, the library will be rebuilt, but several centuries later the ‘Prophet’s robbers’ will burn it again.’
‘And while I was listening to him in disbelief, the satyr as- ked me to come to Baalbek after my death and set up a new library there. As you may have guessed, I accepted and when my time ran out, I moved to Baalbek. And when my Greek friends heard of this, they gave me — out of envy, of course — the nickname ‘satirist’, that