Lucian would have been a satirical cartoonist, or maybe the presenter of one of those TV or radio shows that set out to expose charlatans. It would be the understatement of the millennium to say that Lucian was definitely not one of Alexander’s supporters. Lucian describes him as “a thoroughgoing villain … godlike, handsome and tall with long hair that was partly artificial. He was intelligent and not without talent but he used his gifts wrongly… He was a blend of lies and trickery camouflaged as someone kindly and respectable … He loved to appear magnificent.”
Alexander was apprenticed to a wizard-cum-doctor who sold mysterious healing potions and amulets. At an early age, he went into partnership with Coconnas, another young man who had similar interests. Financed by a rich Macedonian lady, Alexander and Coconnas went into business as travelling magicians. They settled not long after in Abonoteichous, which was Alexander’s hometown. It is proverbial and almost invariably true in practice that UA prophet is not without honour except in his own land and in his own country.” Alexander was the exception that tested that rule, but he survived. He attracted wealthy crowds and prospered like the metaphorical green bay tree.
When it suited him, he would pretend to be insane. In the second century, epilepsy was often looked at as being the result of a visit from one of the many gods. It was thought to give the epileptic the power to prophesy. Alexander discovered that by chewing soapwort he could produce some pretty realistic frothing at the mouth. (Soapwort is an herb that grows up to three feet high and carries attractive pink flowers, and the dark green leaves are very smooth to touch. It was used in the past as a cleaning agent for clothes because when boiled up it produced lather. It has also been used for treating itchy, flaky skin. It has many colourful local names, including “Bouncing Bet.”)
Perhaps one of the main secrets of Alexander’s success was careful preparation. He had noticed that a temple not far from his house was under construction. Water had formed a pool among the excavations the builders were making, and this gave Alexander an idea. He carefully blew a goose egg and inserted a minute live snake into it. The following day, suitably attired as a wild prophet with hair and beard flying characteristically in the wind, he made a public announcement that the god would shortly appear at the temple that was being built in his honour. Not surprisingly, this attracted a large crowd. Alexander offered loud prayers to Aesculapius and Apollo: “O Great Ones, give me evidence of your presence that I may show the people that you are indeed in your temple.” He then took one of the libation vessels from the temple, slid the egg that he had prepared carefully underneath it, and covered the whole thing with mud. When the crowd was pressing around him sufficiently closely, he produced the little snake. The great majority of those present regarded it as a miracle and shouted accordingly. The symbol of Aesculapius, god of healing, was the well-known serpent coiled around a staff, a symbol that was also associated with Apollo. The appearance of their own symbolic snake in the temple that was being built to the gods was enough to convince the crowd watching Alexander that Apollo and Aesculapius were indeed present.
If preparation was part of Alexander’s secret, timing was another. He knew when to act and when to wait quietly and unobtrusively, allowing things to happen. He disappeared for several days, mainly to allow the report of the snake miracle to grow and spread on its own. He then reappeared, lying artistically on a settee with a large snake coiled at his feet, its head tucked underneath one of his arms. He had, needless to say, recently bought a harmless tame serpent from a snake charmer who lived at a safe distance from Abonoteichous so that he could use it as an essential part of his show. He then created his artistic puppet masterpiece. This was a large snake’s head made of painted linen and adorned with a human face. He kept the head of the real snake hidden and made the model look as though it were the genuine article. With a little well-placed horsehair, Alexander managed to open and close the linen snake’s mouth to make it look as if it was speaking — and he also added an impressive forked black tongue.
As the cynical Lucian described the scene, Alexander performed in a small, dimly lit room in front of a very excited mixed crowd who had convinced themselves in advance that they were going to see gods and miracles. From what they had heard of the amazing appearance of the tiny snake in the temple, they were doubly amazed to find it had grown so fast and had been transformed into this vast serpent with a human face — totally under the control of the miraculous prophet Alexander.
Many centuries after Alexander’s time, the famous Barnum and Bailey freak shows used to have a sign that said, “This way to the Egress.” It was Barnum’s way of moving the crowd along before they had time to look at anything in too much detail and begin asking awkward and embarrassing questions. Alexander used a similar technique: in his case, a number of accomplices moved people towards the exit before they could spend too much time looking at the linen snake’s head with its horsehair control mechanism.
This great snake that Alexander had made answered to the name of “Glycon.” It began the performance by crying out, “I am Glycon, bright light to mortal man and Grandson of Zeus himself.” The prophecies cost two copper coins for each prediction — which was roughly equivalent to a day’s wages.
Alexander had devised an interesting technique whereby those who wanted questions answered or specific prophecies spoken on their behalf would write their questions or particular areas of concern on a scroll, which would then be sealed and passed to Alexander. He would promptly disappear into his inner room and return in due time with the seals on the scrolls still — apparently — intact.
Shakespeare’s Hamlet used a similar technique when disposing of the treacherous Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, who were trying to assist his wicked uncle in disposing of him. He found the letter that his usurping uncle, King Claudius, had written to the King of England requesting the recently defeated monarch kill Hamlet, well away from Denmark.
The worthy prince, who was sufficient of a scholar to be adept at such matters, unsealed the murderous letter, erased his own name, and inserted the names of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern instead. A little careful resealing with a hot knife or needle, and the fates of his two so-called friends were sealed as effectively as the letter.
Many of Alexander’s answers were as ambiguous as those of Nostradamus or the Delphic Oracle. One popular format consisted of: “It shall come to pass when I will it — and when Alexander, my great prophet, has been given a generous gift so that he will ask it from me in his prayers.”
Again like the Delphic Oracle’s priests, Alexander knew a considerable amount about the political and social currents of his place and time. Like a skilled political commentator on radio, television, or in the press today, Alexander could often make a shrewd guess as to which way events were likely to develop.
The cruellest of the old rogue’s deceptions concerned the health of the wealthy and credulous patrons who flocked to him. He had invented an ointment referred to as “cymides,” which, according to Alexander, was capable of curing every complaint from housemaid’s knee to myxomatosis. There was actually very little in it apart from bear’s grease and a few spices.
Alexander invariably made the most of his mechanical skills. He was, in his way, quite an artificer. Perhaps the most mysterious object in all of his weird collection was a long speaking tube, which he had made by the simple method of neatly sewing together a number of windpipes from slaughtered cranes and herons. This artfully designed tube led into another room, where one of his accomplices spoke into it like the captain of an old-fashioned ship booming orders down to the engine room. The voice of the “god” that the clients heard — and only the very richest clients could afford it — came down this tube.
One of Alexanders greatest successes came when he moved to Rome and lured the wealthy and influential Rutilinus into
