The Night of the Arsonist: Alexander the Great and the Burning of Persepolis
The night air in 330 BC did not smell of jasmine or rosewater, as was typical for the royal terrace; it smelled of unmixed wine and impending ruin.
In the heart of Parsa, the ceremonial capital of the Achaemenid Empire, a banquet was underway that would alter the trajectory of human history. Alexander III of Macedon—soon to be known as "The Great" to the West and "The Accursed" to the Zoroastrians—was celebrating his total victory over Darius III. The Persian Empire, the largest superpower the ancient world had ever seen, had fallen.
According to the accounts of historians like Diodorus Siculus and Plutarch, the atmosphere was thick with triumph and intoxication. As the wine flowed, Thaïs, an Athenian courtesan accompanying the army, stood before the conqueror. She delivered a speech that was as sharp as a spear tip: if Alexander wished to truly avenge Greece for the burning of the Acropolis by Xerxes I nearly 150 years prior, he should light the torch himself. She urged him to turn the most magnificent palace on earth into a funeral pyre.
It was a moment of drunken hubris. Alexander, swept up in the roar of his generals, grabbed a torch. Thaïs led the way. The procession wound through the silent, colossal halls of the Palace of Xerxes, music playing, torches raised.
When the fire was thrown, it did not merely singe the curtains. It caught the massive cedar beams of the roof, timber brought all the way from the forests of Lebanon. The fire roared through the Persepolis ruins, melting the gold leaf, shattering the pottery, and bringing the roof crashing down. By morning, the heart of the Persian Empire was a smoking shell.
Yet, in a twist of irony, the fire that destroyed the city also preserved it. The collapsing roof buried the exquisite Achaemenid architecture and bas-reliefs under a protective layer of ash and rubble, shielding them from the elements for two thousand years. Today, standing amidst the silence of the Marvdasht plain, one can still almost hear the crackle of that fateful fire.
The Vision of Darius: A Capital for Peace, Not War
To understand the tragedy of its destruction, one must understand the audacity of its creation. Persepolis (known locally as Takht-e Jamshid, or the Throne of Jamshid) was not built to be a fortress, nor was it an administrative hub like Susa or Ecbatana. It was a dream cast in stone.
Founded around 518 BC by Darius the Great, the site was designed specifically for the Persian Empire's most important event: Nowruz, the Persian New Year. This was the spiritual center of the world, a place where the concept of "Empire" was performed not through bloodshed, but through gift-giving.
Darius leveled a massive terrace at the foot of the Kuh-e Rahmat (Mountain of Mercy). His architects designed a complex that would intimidate visitors not with walls, but with beauty. The drainage systems alone were a marvel of engineering, carved through rock to ensure the platform remained dry during the torrential spring rains. This was to be a "Gate of All Nations," a physical manifestation of the Achaemenid ethos: a multicultural empire where distinct languages, religions, and customs were tolerated under the protective shadow of the King of Kings.
The Gate of All Nations: An Architecture of Tolerance
As you approach the ruins today, the first structure that looms over you is the Gate of All Nations. Built by Xerxes I, the son of Darius, the gate served as the primary waiting room for the dignitaries of the known world.
The scale is humbling. Visitors must pass between massive Lamassu—mythical winged bulls with human heads—carved in the Assyrian style but softened by Persian artistry. These guardians were believed to ward off evil. Even in their ruined state, they possess a terrifying grandeur.
High above the visitors, carved into the stone in three languages (Old Persian, Elamite, and Babylonian), is an inscription that still speaks across the millennia:
"I am Xerxes, the Great King, King of Kings, King of countries containing many kinds of men, King in this great earth far and wide..."
This was the "Pax Persica." Unlike the preceding Assyrian or Babylonian empires, which boasted of piles of severed heads and enslaved populations, the Achaemenid inscriptions boast of unity. They acknowledge "many kinds of men." This architectural choice frames the visitor’s experience: you are entering a place where diversity was not just managed, but celebrated.
The Stone Library: Reading the Apadana Reliefs
The true masterpiece of Persepolis is the Apadana Palace. While the 72 columns (of which only 13 stand today) once held up a ceiling 20 meters high, the real treasure is at eye level: the eastern and northern staircases.
Here, carved in incredibly preserved dark grey limestone, is the "Procession of Nations." It is perhaps the most sophisticated political propaganda in ancient history. The reliefs depict 23 separate delegations from across the empire arriving to pay tribute to the King.
If you visit Shiraz Iran and take a tour here, a guide will point out the stunning attention to detail that allows historians to identify each nationality:
- The Ethiopians carry ivory tusks and an okapi.
- The Indians carry bags of gold dust and lead donkeys.
- The Scythians wear pointed hats and carry bows.
- The Lydians bring vases and metalwork.
The most poignant detail, however, is the body language. In the art of other ancient empires, subject nations are depicted groveling, bound in chains, or being trampled by the king’s chariot. In the Apadana reliefs, the Persian ushers hold the hands of the visiting delegates. They touch them gently on the shoulder or hold their fingers. It is a depiction of dignity. The bas-reliefs suggest an empire held together by mutual cooperation rather than mere brute force—a narrative Alexander would shatter in a single night.
The Homa and the Griffin: Myth in Limestone
Scattered across the ground of the site are the remnants of the column capitals—massive, intricate carvings that once topped the soaring pillars. Among the most iconic is the Homa bird.
The Homa is a legendary creature in Persian mythology, often equated with the griffin. It is a bird of paradise that never touches the ground; to even see its shadow is to be blessed with happiness and royalty. The Achaemenid architects combined the Homa with double-headed bulls and lions to create capitals that could support the immense weight of the cedar roof beams.
The engineering required to hoist these stones, some weighing over 40 tons, to a height of 20 meters remains a subject of awe. Without modern cranes, they used a system of earth ramps and pulleys, a testament to the labor force that built Persepolis. Crucially, the Persepolis fortification tablets (clay administrative records found on site) reveal that these workers were paid. Unlike the pyramids of Egypt or the monuments of Rome, Persepolis was not built by slave labor, but by paid artisans, including women who sometimes served as supervisors.
The Sack of Persepolis: Gold, Fire, and Ash
When the fire died down in 330 BC, the looting began. The wealth stored in the treasury of Persepolis was incomprehensible by modern standards.
Historical sources claim that Alexander the Great in Persia seized approximately 120,000 talents of silver and gold. To put this into perspective, the annual revenue of the wealthiest Greek city-state, Athens, was rarely more than 1,000 talents.
Plutarch writes that Alexander required 20,000 mules and 5,000 camels to transport the treasure away from the burning city. This wealth would fund his subsequent campaigns into Central Asia and India, effectively monetizing the destruction of the Persian heartland.
As the Macedonians departed, they left behind a shell. The cedar roofs had collapsed, sealing the staircases and the floor in a tomb of ash. Over the centuries, windblown dust from the plains covered the ruins. The site was largely forgotten, visited only by local shepherds who gazed at the strange faces protruding from the dirt.
Silence and Rediscovery: The "Forty Minarets"
For centuries, the true identity of the ruins was lost to the local population. The name "Persepolis" (City of the Persians) is Greek; the Persians themselves had forgotten the builders.
By the medieval Islamic period, locals referred to the site as Chehel Minar ("Forty Minarets") due to the standing columns, or Takht-e Jamshid ("The Throne of Jamshid"), attributing the cyclopean masonry to Jamshid, a mythical king from the Shahnameh (Book of Kings) who could command demons to lift heavy stones.
It wasn't until the early 20th century, specifically during excavations led by the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago in the 1930s, that the site was scientifically cleared. The ash was swept away, revealing the Procession of Nations in startling clarity, looking almost as fresh as the day the carvers put down their chisels.
The 1971 Party: The Feast of the Century
If Alexander the Great represents the first tragedy of Persepolis, the second tragedy is far more modern. In October 1971, Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, the last Shah of Iran, decided to use the ruins as the stage for the 2,500 Year Celebration of the Persian Empire.
The Shah aimed to link his Pahlavi dynasty directly to Cyrus and Darius, bypassing the intervening centuries of Islamic history. The result was a display of extravagance that bordered on the surreal.
A tent city was erected in the desert next to the ruins. These were not ordinary tents; they were air-conditioned prefabricated apartments designed by Jansen of Paris, draped in blue and gold cloth. The logistics were staggering:
- Food: 18 tons of food were flown in from Maxim’s in Paris.
- Wine: 2,500 bottles of champagne, 1,000 bottles of Bordeaux, and 1,000 bottles of Burgundy were imported.
- Guests: The guest list included kings, queens, and presidents from around the world (including Prince Charles, Grace Kelly, and Marshal Tito).
Critically, the Iranian people were excluded. The perimeter was secured by the Imperial Guard. While the global elite feasted on quail eggs stuffed with caviar within sight of the Gate of All Nations, surrounding villages in the Fars province were suffering from poverty. The party is widely cited by historians as a turning point that galvanized public sentiment against the monarchy, framing the Shah as a ruler disconnected from his people, fueling the fires of the 1979 Revolution.
The Aftermath: Hubris and Revolution
The hangover from the 1971 party was severe. When the Islamic Revolution swept the country in 1979, Persepolis was viewed by many hardliners not as a national treasure, but as a symbol of the hated monarchy ("Taghut").
The opulence of the tent city (which eventually rotted away, though the metal skeletons remain visible today) tainted the ancient stones by association. For a brief, terrifying window, the very existence of Persepolis was in danger. The site had survived Alexander, the Mongols, and the ravages of time—but it now faced the wrath of modern ideology.
The Bulldozer Threat: Khalkhali vs. The People
In the chaotic early days of the Islamic Republic, Sadegh Khalkhali—a hardline cleric and judge known for his summary executions—announced his intention to bulldoze Persepolis. He viewed the pre-Islamic ruins as idolatrous and a shrine to despotic kingship.
Khalkhali reportedly set out for Marvdasht with a convoy of bulldozers. What happened next is a testament to the enduring power of Persian identity. The residents of Shiraz and the people of Marvdasht, along with local nomads, rushed to the site. They formed a human shield around the ruins. Some accounts suggest the local governor threatened to have the bulldozers fired upon if they breached the perimeter.
The people prevailed. They successfully argued that Persepolis was not just a monument to kings, but a monument to Iranian art, culture, and history. The bulldozers retreated. Today, the Islamic Republic has embraced the site as a pivotal part of Iranian heritage, though the tension between the pre-Islamic and Islamic identities of the nation remains a subtle undercurrent during any visit.
The Modern Experience: Arrival at Marvdasht
To visit Persepolis today is to undertake a pilgrimage to the soul of Iran. Most travelers base themselves in Shiraz, the city of poets and nightingales, located about 60 kilometers to the southwest.
As your taxi crosses the Marvdasht plain, the site appears suddenly. It is not hidden in mountains but sits on a massive terrace cut out of the skirt of the Kuh-e Rahmat. The first thing you notice is the color—the stones are sun-bleached grey, stark against the deep blue of the desert sky.
You enter via the Grand Staircase. These dual sets of stairs were built with an unusually shallow rise (only about 10cm high). Guides will explain that this was intentional: it allowed dignitaries in long, flowing robes to ascend the terrace with a regal, gliding motion, without having to lift their knees high. As you climb them today, you are forced into that same slow, respectful rhythm.
Walking the Ruins: Sensory Details and VR
Once on the terrace, the lack of shade is absolute. The sun beats down on the stone, radiating heat upwards. In the summer months, the temperature can easily exceed 40°C (104°F), making the stone touch-hot.
The silence is profound, broken only by the wind whistling through the remaining columns. Standing beneath the Gate of All Nations, you feel infinitesimally small. It is a sensory experience of scale—the columns of the Apadana seem to hold up the sky.
For those struggling to visualize the wooden roofs and colorful drapery that once adorned these skeletons, technology has stepped in. Virtual Reconstruction is now a part of the onsite experience. Visitors can rent VR headsets (or download augmented reality apps) that overlay the ruins with their original glory. Through the lens, the grey stone bursts into color: the columns are painted in vibrant reds, blues, and yellows; the empty halls are filled with Persian rugs and hanging tapestries; and the wooden roof of the Hall of 100 Columns blocks out the blinding sun. It is a ghostly glimpse into the world Alexander destroyed.
Naqsh-e Rustam: The Necropolis of Kings
No visit to Persepolis is complete without the short 6-kilometer drive to Naqsh-e Rustam. If Persepolis is the palace of the living, this is the palace of the dead.
Here, four colossal crosses are carved high into the sheer vertical face of a cliff. These are the tombs of the Achaemenid kings: Darius the Great, Xerxes I, Artaxerxes I, and Darius II. They are suspended in the rock, midway between earth and sky, safe (they hoped) from grave robbers.
Below these Achaemenid tombs are carvings from a much later dynasty, the Sassanians (224–651 AD). The most famous relief depicts the Sassanian King Shapur I on horseback, triumphing over the Roman Emperors Valerian and Philip the Arab. It is a stunning piece of political continuity: the Sassanians carved their victories below the Achaemenid tombs to legitimize their rule, linking their power to the ancient kings of old.
Pasargadae: The Tomb of Cyrus
For the complete "History of the Persian Empire" circuit, travelers often extend their trip another 40 kilometers north to Pasargadae. Compared to the ornamental complexity of Persepolis, Pasargadae is shockingly simple.
The main attraction is the Tomb of Cyrus, a modest, house-like structure atop a six-tiered ziggurat base. It stands alone on a windswept plain. There are no reliefs, no guards, no gold. It reflects the character of Cyrus the Great—a conqueror known for his humility and his charter of human rights. It was here, during the 1971 celebration, that the Shah delivered a speech to the dead king, saying, "Cyrus, sleep comfortably, for we are awake." A decade later, the Shah was in exile, and the tomb remained, stoic and solitary.
Logistics & Ethics: The Moral Dilemma of Visiting
While Persepolis remains one of the world’s most significant archaeological sites, visiting it today presents a profound ethical dilemma. A trip to the ruins is no longer just a journey into the past; it is a transaction with the present.
Travelers must grapple with the reality that tourism in Iran takes place under the auspices of an authoritarian regime widely condemned for severe human rights abuses, the violent suppression of its own citizens (most notably during the "Woman, Life, Freedom" movement), and the support of destabilizing conflicts globally. There is no way to decouple the experience of the ancient site from the modern political apparatus. Visa fees, entrance tickets, and tourism taxes inevitably funnel hard currency into state coffers.
For this reason, The Dark Atlas does not currently suggest or encourage visiting Iran. While we believe in the power of cultural heritage to bridge divides, the moral cost of supporting a system that actively oppresses the descendants of Cyrus and Darius is too high. The preservation of history should not come at the expense of the living.
For now, Persepolis is best experienced from afar. The "stone library" of the Apadana and the soaring columns of the Gate of All Nations must be studied through documentaries, academic archives, and virtual reconstruction tools. We await a time when the "Gate of All Nations" can once again live up to its name—welcoming the world to a free and open Persia. Until then, the ruins stand in silence, hostage to the politics of the present.
Conclusion: The Resilience of Stone
As we look back at the history of the site, we are left with a sense of historical melancholy. Persepolis is a testament to the fragility of power. Alexander the Great, in his drunken fury, thought he could erase the Achaemenids by burning their heart. He failed. The Shah, in his opulence, thought he could buy legitimacy by hosting a party in the ruins. He failed.
The stone columns of Persepolis have witnessed the rise and fall of the world's greatest superpowers. They have survived fire, looting, and neglect. They now stand as silent witnesses to a modern tragedy. But history suggests that while regimes and conquerors eventually turn to dust, the culture—carved deep into the rock and living in the hearts of the people—endures. We look forward to the day we can return to see it.
Sources & References
- UNESCO World Heritage Centre: Persepolis - World Heritage List
- The Oriental Institute (University of Chicago): Persepolis and Ancient Iran - Archaeological Archives
- Encyclopedia Iranica: Persepolis: History and Archaeology
- Livius.org: Ancient History of Persepolis and Alexander's Fire
- British Museum: The Cyrus Cylinder and Ancient Persia
- BBC News: The Party That Ruined a Monarchy (1971 Celebration)
- Lonely Planet: Iran Travel Guide & Persepolis
- The Metropolitan Museum of Art: The Art of the Achaemenid Empire
- UK Foreign, Commonwealth & Development Office: Iran Travel Advice
- US Department of State: Iran Travel Advisory
- History Today: The Burning of Persepolis
- Travel Weekly: Visiting Iran: A Modern Guide
