Alexander the Great and the Painting of Lions
In one of Aesop’s fables, a lion criticizes a portrait of a man slaying a lion. If the painter had been a lion, he insists, the illustration would have turned out very differently.* How are we to interpret this parable? Among other things, it is a reminder that the artist’s perspective and agenda invariably seep into the art. Across the many versions of his life, Alexander seems acutely aware of this propensity for stories to change depending on their teller. Time and again we are presented with evidence of Alexander’s self-consciousness and desire for narrative control. In different traditions, Alexander fixates on different elements of his legacy; however, the overarching fixation is constant. In her article “Poet, Protagonist, and the Epic Alexander in Walter of Châtillon’s Alexandreis,” Sylvia Parsons suggests that by offering these glimpses of Alexander “the image-maker,” authors implicitly frame him as not just the protagonist but also the propagator of his own story (Parsons, 178). Perhaps, however, these moments of self-consciousness actually serve as reminders of how rarely Alexander holds the narrative reins -- reminders that Alexander is a lion forever painted by men.
While the thing Alexander seeks to immortalize varies according to different traditions—his name, his appearance, his deeds—he invariably (at least initially) appears to exercise agency in the immortalization process. The Greek Alexander Romance pays special attention to the naming of Alexandria. At one point, Alexander inquires desperately whether the city “that I have founded in my name will remain, or if my name will be changed into that of another.” An oracle assures Alexander (and the audience) that, like an immovable mountain, Alexander’s name will never be discarded or altered. In a similar testament to self-consciousness, Plutarch relays an anecdote that “it was by [Lysippus] alone that Alexander himself thought it fit that he should be modelled,” because only this artist captured his likeness satisfactorily (Plutarch, 231). Many centuries later, Walter de Châtillon’s Alexandreis depicts Alexander praying that “unenvious fame may extol my triumphs with such great praises when my body is undone” (Châtillon, 1.570). It is in this moment, according to Sylvia Parsons, that “Walter presents Alexander as the commissioner as well as the star of the Alexandreis” (Parsons, 178). Each of these moments, at first glance, seems to demonstrate Alexander’s involvement in creating his own legacy. Even his plea for “great praises” in the Alexandreis, though it opens the door for varied depictions of himself, means that these depictions have his sanction -- in releasing power to future authors, he arguably actually exerts power.
While the thing Alexander seeks to immortalize varies according to different traditions—his name, his appearance, his deeds—he invariably (at least initially) appears to exercise agency in the immortalization process. The Greek Alexander Romance pays special attention to the naming of Alexandria. At one point, Alexander inquires desperately whether the city “that I have founded in my name will remain, or if my name will be changed into that of another.” An oracle assures Alexander (and the audience) that, like an immovable mountain, Alexander’s name will never be discarded or altered. In a similar testament to self-consciousness, Plutarch relays an anecdote that “it was by [Lysippus] alone that Alexander himself thought it fit that he should be modelled,” because only this artist captured his likeness satisfactorily (Plutarch, 231). Many centuries later, Walter de Châtillon’s Alexandreis depicts Alexander praying that “unenvious fame may extol my triumphs with such great praises when my body is undone” (Châtillon, 1.570). It is in this moment, according to Sylvia Parsons, that “Walter presents Alexander as the commissioner as well as the star of the Alexandreis” (Parsons, 178). Each of these moments, at first glance, seems to demonstrate Alexander’s involvement in creating his own legacy. Even his plea for “great praises” in the Alexandreis, though it opens the door for varied depictions of himself, means that these depictions have his sanction -- in releasing power to future authors, he arguably actually exerts power.
One might, however, interpret Alexander’s preoccupation with image and fame as a detail included sardonically, to emphasize just how little power he really has over his legend. For all the cities he named or statues he had commissioned, the vastness of the Alexander literary tradition and the radical way in which authors diverge from one another negate any impression that he might be driving his own narrative. Almost every imaginable facet of his life and personality has been scrutinized and contorted over the centuries. Thus, in Walter de Châtillon’s Alexandreis, when Alexander calls on posterity to “extol my triumphs with such great praises when my body is undone,” this does not read as a reclamation of power. Rather, this moment is tainted with dramatic irony, poking fun at a man who has no idea what he and his legacy are in for.
From one account to the next, we see authors toying with the precise nature of Alexander's relationship to history and fame. While the moments used to highlight this relationship vary, their end goal is the same: to remind us how little of Alexander's story is in his own hands. Thus, our protagonist is the lion (quite literally, for so many of his biographers describe him as lion-like) condemned to eternal memorialization by men.
*Inspired by Mary Carruthers’ “The Wife of Bath and the Painting of Lions,” which introduced me to this fable.
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