[Illustration: HENRY CABOT LODGE]

 THE BEST

 _of the_

 WORLD'S CLASSICS

 RESTRICTED TO PROSE

 HENRY CABOT LODGE

 _Editor-in-Chief_

 FRANCIS W. HALSEY

 _Associate Editor_

 With an Introduction, Biographical and Explanatory Notes, etc. 

 IN TEN VOLUMES

 Vol. I

 GREECE

 FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY

 NEW YORK AND LONDON

 COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY

 FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY

 * * * * *

The Best of the World's Classics

VOL. I

GREECE

484 B. C. --200 A. D. 

 * * * * *

INTRODUCTION

Ever since civilized man has had a literature he has apparently soughtto make selections from it and thus put his favorite passages togetherin a compact and convenient form. Certain it is, at least, that to theGreeks, masters in all great arts, we owe this habit. They made suchcollections and named them, after their pleasant imaginative fashion, a gathering of flowers, or what we, borrowing their word, call ananthology. So to those austere souls who regard anthologies as alabor-saving contrivance for the benefit of persons who like asmattering of knowledge and are never really learned, we can at leastplead in mitigation that we have high and ancient authority for thepractise. In any event no amount of scholarly deprecation has beenable to turn mankind or that portion of mankind which reads books fromthe agreeable habit of making volumes of selections and finding inthem much pleasure, as well as improvement in taste and knowledge. With the spread of education and with the great increase of literatureamong all civilized nations, more especially since the invention ofprinting and its vast multiplication of books, the making of volumesof selections comprizing what is best in one's own or in manyliteratures is no longer a mere matter of taste or convenience as withthe Greeks, but has become something little short of a necessity inthis world of many workers, comparatively few scholars, and stillfewer intelligent men of leisure. Anthologies have been multipliedlike all other books, and in the main they have done much good and noharm. The man who thinks he is a scholar or highly educated because heis familiar with what is collected in a well-chosen anthology, ofcourse, errs grievously. Such familiarity no more makes one a masterof literature than a perusal of a dictionary makes the reader a masterof style. But as the latter pursuit can hardly fail to enlarge a man'svocabulary, so the former adds to his knowledge, increases his stockof ideas, liberalizes his mind and opens to him new sources ofenjoyment. 

The Greek habit was to bring together selections of verse, passagesof especial merit, epigrams and short poems. In the main their examplehas been followed. From their days down to the "Elegant Extracts inVerse" of our grandmothers and grandfathers, and thence on to our owntime with its admirable "Golden Treasury" and "Oxford Handbook ofVerse, " there has been no end to the making of poetical anthologiesand apparently no diminution in the public appetite for them. Poetryindeed lends itself to selection. Much of the best poetry of the worldis contained in short poems, complete in themselves, and capable oftransference bodily to a volume of selections. There are very fewpoets of whose quality and genius a fair idea can not be given by afew judicious selections. A large body of noble and beautiful poetry, of verse which is "a joy forever, " can also be given in a very smallcompass. And the mechanical attribute of size, it must be remembered, is very important in making a successful anthology, for an essentialquality of a volume of selections is that it should be easilyportable, that it should be a book which can be slipt into the pocketand readily carried about in any wanderings whether near or remote. An anthology which is stored in one or more huge and heavy volumes ispractically valueless except to those who have neither books noraccess to a public library, or who think that a stately tome printedon calendered paper and "profusely illustrated" is an ornament to acenter-table in a parlor rarely used except on solemn or officialoccasions. 

I have mentioned these advantages of verse for the purposes of ananthology in order to show the difficulties which must be encounteredin making a prose selection. Very little prose is in small parcelswhich can be transferred entire, and therefore with the very importantattribute of completeness, to a volume of selections. From most of thegreat prose writers it is necessary to take extracts, and the chosenpassage is broken off from what comes before and after. The fame of agreat prose writer as a rule rests on a book, and really to know himthe book must be read and not merely passages from it. Extracts giveno very satisfactory idea of "Paradise Lost" or "The Divine Comedy, "and the same is true of extracts from a history or a novel. It ispossible by spreading prose selections through a series of smallvolumes to overcome the mechanical difficulty and thus make theselections in form what they ought above all things to be--companionsand not books of reference or table decorations. But the spiritual orliterary problem is not so easily overcome. What prose to take andwhere to take it are by no means easy questions to solve. Yet they arewell worth solving, so far as patient effort can do it, for in thisperiod of easy printing it is desirable to put in convenient formbefore those who read examples of the masters which will draw us backfrom the perishing chatter of the moment to the literature which isthe highest work of civilization and which is at once noble andlasting. 

Upon that theory this collection has been formed. It is an attempt togive examples from all periods and languages of Western civilizationof what is best and most memorable in their prose literature. That theresult is not a complete exhibition of the time and the literaturescovered by the selections no one is better aware than the editors. Inexorable conditions of space make a certain degree of incompletenessinevitable when he who is gathering flowers traverses so vast agarden, and is obliged to confine the results of his labors withinsuch narrow bounds. The editors are also fully conscious that, likeall other similar collections, this one too will give rise to thefamiliar criticism and questionings as to why such a passage wasomitted and such another inserted; why this writer was chosen and thatother passed by. In literature we all have our favorites, and even themost catholic of us has also his dislikes if not his pet aversions. Iwill frankly confess that there are authors represented in thesevolumes whose writings I should avoid, just as there are certain townsand cities of the world to which, having once visited them, I wouldnever willingly return, for the simple reason that I would notvoluntarily subject myself to seeing or reading what I dislike or, which is worse, what bores and fatigues me. But no editor of ananthology must seek to impose upon others his own tastes and opinions. He must at the outset remember and never afterward forget that so faras possible his work must be free from the personal equation. He mustrecognize that some authors who may be mute or dull to him have aplace in literature, past or present, sufficiently assured to entitlethem to a place among selections which are intended above all thingselse to be representative. 

To those who wonder why some favorite bit of their own was omittedwhile something else for which they do not care at all has found aplace I can only say that the editors, having supprest their ownpersonal preferences, have proceeded on certain general principleswhich seem to be essential in making any selection either of verse orprose which shall possess broader and more enduring qualities thanthat of being a mere exhibition of the editor's personal taste. Toillustrate my meaning: Emerson's "Parnassus" is extremely interestingas an exposition of the tastes and preferences of a remarkable man ofgreat and original genius. As an anthology it is a failure, for it isof awkward size, is ill arranged and contains selections made withoutsystem, and which in many cases baffle all attempts to explain theirappearance. On the other hand, Mr. Palgrave, neither a very remarkableman nor a great and original genius, gave us in the first "GoldenTreasury" a collection which has no interest whatever as reflectingthe tastes of the editor, but which is quite perfect in its kind. Barring the disproportionate amount of Wordsworth which includes someof his worst things--and which, be it said in passing, was due to Mr. Palgrave's giving way at that point to his personal enthusiasm--the"Golden Treasury" in form, in scope, and in arrangement, as well as inalmost unerring taste, is the best model of what an anthology shouldbe which is to be found in any language. 

Returning now to our questioner who misses some favorite and findssomething else which he dislikes, the only answer, as I have justsaid, is that the collection is formed on certain general principles, as any similar collection of the sort must be. This series is called"The Best of the World's Classics, " and "classics" is used not in thenarrow and technical sense, but rather in that of Thoreau, who definedclassics as "the noblest recorded thoughts of mankind. " Therefore, thefirst principle of guidance in selection is to take examples of thegreat writings which have moved and influenced the thought of theworld, and which have preeminently the quality of "high seriousness"as required by Aristotle. This test alone, however, would limit theselections too closely. Therefore the second principle of choice is tomake selections from writers historically important either personallyor by their writings. The third rule is to endeavor to give selectionswhich shall be representative of the various literatures and thevarious periods through which, the collection ranges. Lastly, and thisapplies, of course, only to passages taken from the writers of Englandand the United States, the effort has been to give specimens of themasters of English prose, of that prose in its development and at itsbest, and to show, so far as may be, what can be accomplished withthat great instrument, and what a fine style really is as exhibited inthe best models. Everything contained in these volumes is there inobedience to one at least of these principles, many in obedience tomore than one, some in conformity to all four. 

No one will become a scholar or a master of any of the greatliteratures here represented by reading this collection. Literatureand scholarship are not to be had so cheaply as that. Yet is theremuch profit to be had from these little volumes. They contain manypassages which merit Dr. Johnson's fine saying about books: "That theyhelp us to enjoy life or teach us to endure it. " To the man ofletters, to the man of wide reading, they will at least serve torecall, when far from libraries and books, those authors who have beenthe delight and the instructors of a lifetime. They will bring atleast the pleasures of memory and that keener pleasure which ariseswhen we meet a poem or a passage of prose which we know as an old andwell-loved friend, remote from home, upon some alien page. 

To that larger public whose lives are not spent among books andlibraries, and for whose delectation such a collection as this isprimarily intended, these volumes rightly read at odd times, in idlemoments, in out-of-the-way places, on the ship or the train, offermuch. They will bring the reader in contact with many of the greatestintellects of all time. They contain some of the noblest thoughts thathave passed through the minds of our weak and erring race. There is noman who will not be the better, for the moment at least, by readingwhat Cicero says about old age, Seneca about death, and Socratesabout love, to go no further for examples than to

 "The glory that was Greece, And the grandeur that was Rome. "

Moreover, the bowing acquaintance which can be formed here may easilyoffer attractions which will lead to a close and intimate friendship, with all that the word implies in the case of a great author or agreat book. It seems to me, for example, as if no one who read herethe too brief extracts from Erasmus or from Cervantes, to take atrandom two writers widely separated in thought, could fail to pursuethe acquaintance thus begun, so potent are the sympathetic charm, thewit, the wisdom and the humor of both these great men. There is, atleast, variety in these little volumes, and while many things in themmay not appeal to us, they may to our neighbors. That which "is dumbto us may speak to him. "

Again, let it be noticed that there is much more than the "highseriousness" which is the test of the greatest prose as of the finestpoetry. Humor and pathos, tragedy and comedy, all find their place andglimpses of the pageant of human history flit through the pages. Itwould seem as if it were impossible to read extracts from Thucydidesand Tacitus and Gibbon and not long to go to their histories and learnall that could be said by such men about the life of man upon earth, about Athens and Rome and the rise and fall of empires. Selections areunsatisfying and the better they are the more unsatisfying theybecome. But this is in reality their great merit. They have muchbeauty in themselves, they awaken pleasant memories, they revive olddelights, but, above all, if rightly read they open the gates to theillimitable gardens whence all the flowers which have here beengathered may be found blooming in radiance, unplucked and unbroken androoted in their native soil. 

The most important part of the collection is that which givesselections from those writers whose native tongue is English. Notranslation even of prose can ever quite reproduce its original, andas a rule can not hope to equal it. There are many translations, notably the Elizabethan, which are extremely fine in themselves andmemorable examples of English prose. Still they are not the originalwritings. Something escapes in the translation into another tongue, an impalpable something which can not be held or transmitted. TheBible stands alone, a great literary monument of the noblest and mostbeautiful English, which has formed English speech and become a partof the language as it is of the thought and emotion of the people whoread "King James'" version in all parts of the globe. Yet we know thatthe version which the people, so fortunate in its possession, wiselyand absolutely decline to give up in exchange for any revision isneither an accurate nor a faithful reproduction of its original. Therefore, putting aside the English Bible as wholly by itself, it maybe safely said that the soul of a language and the beauties of stylewhich it is capable of exhibiting can only be found and studied in theproductions of writers who not only think in the language in whichthey write, but to whom that speech is native, the inalienablebirthright and heritage of their race or country. In such writers weget not only the thought, the humor, or the pathos, all that can betransferred in a translation, but also the pleasure to the ear akin tomusic, the sense of form, the artistic gratification which formbrings, all those attributes which are possible in the highest degreeto those only to whom the language is native. 

For these reasons, as will be readily understood, in making selectionsfrom those writers whose native tongue is English, specimens have beengiven of all periods from the earliest time and occasionally ofauthors who would not otherwise find a place in such a collection, forthe purpose of tracing in outline the development of English prose andthe formation of an English style which, like all true and greatstyles, is peculiar to the language and can not be reproduced in anyother. This is not the place, nor would it be feasible within anyreasonable limits to narrate the history of English prose. But inthese selections it is possible to follow its gradual advance from thefirst rude and crude attempts through the splendid irregularities ofthe fifteenth and sixteenth centuries to the establishment of astandard of style in the eighteenth and thence onward to themodifications and changes in that standard which extend to our owntime. 

The purpose of this collection is not didactic. If it were it would bea school-book and not an anthology in the Greek sense, where thefirst principle was to seek what was of literary value, artistic inexpression, and noble in thought. Yet the mere bringing together ofexamples of prose from the writings of the great masters of style cannot but teach a lesson never more needed than now. 

I do not mean by this to suggest imitation of any writer. Nothing ismore dangerous, especially when the style of the writer imitated ispeculiar and strongly marked. That which is valuable and instructiveis the opportunity given here for a study of fine English styles, andin this way to learn the capabilities of the language and the generalprinciples which have governed the production of the best Englishprose. We have in the English language an unequaled richness ofvocabulary far surpassing in extent that of any other tongue. Itpossesses a great literature and a body of poetry unrivaled in moderntimes. It is not only one of the strongest bonds of union in theUnited States, but it is the language in which our freedom was won andin which our history and our laws are written. It is our greatestheritage. To weaken, corrupt or deprave it would be a misfortunewithout parallel to our entire people. Yet we can not disguise fromourselves the fact that the fertility of the printing-press, themultiplication of cheap magazines, and the flood of printed wordspoured out daily in the newspapers all tend strongly in thisdirection. This is an era of haste and hurry stimulated by the greatinventions which have changed human environment. Form and style in anyart require time, and time seems the one thing we can neither sparenor wisely economize. Yet, in literature above all arts, to abandonform and style is inevitably destructive and entails misfortunes whichcan hardly be estimated, for loose, weak and vulgar writing is a sureprecursor of loose, weak and vulgar thinking. If form of expression iscast aside, form in thought and in the presentation of thought iscertain to follow. Against all this the fine English prose amplyrepresented in these selections offers a silent and convincing protestto every one who will read it attentively. 

We can begin with the splendid prose of the age of Elizabeth and ofthe seventeenth century. It is irregular and untamed, but exuberantand brilliant, rich both in texture and substance. We find it at itsheight in the strange beauties of Sir Thomas Browne, in the noblepages of Milton, stiff with golden embroidery, as Macaulay says, andin the touching and beautiful simplicity of Bunyan's childlikesentences. Thence we pass to the eighteenth century, when Englishprose was freed from its involutions and irregularities and brought touniformity and to a standard. The age of Anne gave to English prosebalance, precision and settled form. There have been periods ofgreater originality, but the eighteenth century at least lived up toPope's doctrine, set forth in the familiar line:

 "What oft was thought but ne'er so well exprest. "

As there is no better period to turn to for instruction than the ageof Anne, so, if we must choose a single writer there is no bettermaster to be studied than Swift. There have been many great writersand many fine and beautiful styles since the days of the terrible Deanof St. Patrick's, from the imposing and finely balanced sentences ofGibbon to the subtle delicacy of Hawthorne and the careful finish ofRobert Louis Stevenson. But in Swift better than in any one writer canwe find the lessons which are so sorely needed now. He had in thehighest degree force, clearness and concentration all combined with amarvelous simplicity. Swift's style may have lacked richness, but itnever failed in taste. There is not a line of false fine-writing inall his books. Those are the qualities which are so needed now, simplicity and clearness and a scrupulous avoidance of that would-befine writing which is not at all fine but merely vulgar and insincere. 

The writing in our newspapers is where reform is particularly needed. There are great journals here and there which maintain throughout acareful standard of good and sober English. Most of them, unhappily, are filled in the news columns at least with a strange jargon foundnowhere else, spoken by no one and never used in daily life by thosewho every night furnish it to the compositors. It is happilycompounded in about equal parts of turgid fine writing, vulgarjauntiness and indiscriminate slang. 

I can best show my meaning by example. A writer in a newspaper wishedto state that a man who had once caused excitement by a book oftemporary interest and who, after the days of his notoriety were over, lived a long and checkered career, had killed himself. This is the wayhe said it:

 His life's work void of fruition and dissipated into emptiness, his fondest hopes and ambitions crumbled and scattered, shunned as a fanatic, and unable to longer wage life's battle, Hinton Rowan Helper, at one time United States consul general to Buenos Ayres, yesterday sought the darkest egress from his woes and disappointments--a suicide's death. 

 In an unpretentious lodging-house in Pennsylvania avenue, near the Capitol, the man who as much, if not more than any other agitator, is said to have blazed the way to the Civil War, the writer who stirred this nation to its core by his anti-slavery philippics, and the promoter with the most gigantic railroad enterprise projected in the history of the world, was found gript in the icy hand of death. The brain which gave birth to his historic writings had willed the stilling of the heart which for three-quarters of a century had palpitated quick and high with roseate hopes. 

That passage, taken at hazard from a newspaper, is intended, I think, to be fine writing of an imposing and dramatic kind. Why could notthe writer have written it, a little more carefully perhaps, but stillin just the language which he would have used naturally in describingthe event to his wife or friend? Simply stated, it would have been farmore solemn and impressive than this turgid, insincere account withits large words, its forced note of tragedy and its split infinitive. Let me put beneath it another description of a death-bed:

 The blood and spirits of Le Fevre, which were waxing cold and slow, and were retreating to their last citadel, the heart--rallied back, --the film forsook his eyes for a moment, --he looked up wishfully into my Uncle Toby's face, --then cast a look upon his boy, --and that ligament, fine as it was, --was never broken. 

 Nature instantly ebbed again, --the film returned to its place, --the pulse fluttered, --stopt, --went on, --throbbed, --stopt again, --moved, --stopt, --shall I go on? No. 

This famous passage is neither unintentional sentiment nor unaffectedpathos. The art is apparent even in the punctuation. The writer meantto be touching and pathetic and to awaken emotions of tenderness andpity and he succeeded. The description is all he meant it to be. Theextract from the newspaper arouses no emotion, unless it beresentment at its form and leaves us cold and unmoved. The other istouching and pitiful. Observe the manner in which Sterne obtains hiseffect, the perfect simplicity and good taste of every word, thereserve, the gentleness, the utter absence of any straining foreffect. The one description died the day it appeared. The other hasheld its place for a century and a half. Are not the qualities whichproduced such a result worth striving for?

Let me take another haphazard selection from a description of a younggirl entitled as such to every one's kindness, courtesy and respect. In it occurs this sentence: "The college girl is grammatical inspeech, but she has the jolliest, chummiest jargon of slang that everrolled from under a pink tongue. " That articulate sounds come frombeneath the tongue is at least novel and few persons are fortunateenough to be able to talk with that portion of their mouths. But Ihave no desire to dwell either upon the anatomical peculiarities ofthe sentence or upon its abysmal vulgarity. It is supposed to beeffective, it is what is appropriately called "breezy, " it is a formof words which can be heard nowhere in the speech of men and women. Why should it be consigned to print? It is possible to describe ayoung girl attractively and effectively in much simpler fashion. Letme give an example, not a famous passage at all, from another writer:

 She shocked no canon of taste; she was admirably in keeping with herself, and never jarred against surrounding circumstances. Her figure, to be sure--so small as to be almost childlike and so elastic that motion seemed as easy or easier to it than rest--would hardly have suited one's idea of a countess. Neither did her face--with brown ringlets on either side and a slightly piquant nose, and the wholesome bloom, and the clear shade of tan, and the half dozen freckles, friendly remembrancers of the April sun and breeze--precisely give us the right to call her beautiful. But there was both luster and depth in her eyes. She was very pretty; as graceful as a bird and graceful much in the same way; as pleasant about the house as a gleam of sunshine falling on the floor through a shadow of twinkling leaves, or as a ray of firelight that dances on the wall while evening is drawing nigh. 

Contrast this with the newspaper sentence and the sensation is one ofpain. Again I say, observe the method by which Hawthorne gets hiseffect, the simplicity of the language, the balance of the sentences, the reserve, the refinement, and the final imaginative touch in thecharming comparison with which the passage ends. 

To blame the hard working men who write for the day which is passingover them because they do not write like Sterne and Hawthorne would beas absurd as it would be unjust. But they ought to recognize thequalities of fine English prose, they ought to remember that they canimprove their readers by giving them good, simple English, pure andundefiled, and they ought not to debauch the public taste by vulgarfine writing and even more vulgar light writing. In short, they oughtto write for the public as they would talk to their wives and childrenand friends; a little more formally and carefully perhaps, but in thesame simple and direct fashion. 

For the prolific authors of the flood of stories, which every monthbears on its broad bosom many tons of advertisements, no suchallowance need be made. They are not compelled to furnish copy betweendaylight and dark. They need a course of study in English prose morethan anyone else, and they would profit by the effort. As a classthey seem to be like the young man in Du Maurier's picture, who, beingasked if he had read Thackeray, replies, "No. I nevah read novels; Iwrite them. "

In this age of quickening movement and restless haste it is, above allthings, important to struggle against the well-nigh universalinclination to abandon all efforts for form and style. They are thegreat preservers of what is best in literature, the salt which oughtnever to lose its savor. Those who use English in public speech andpublic writing have a serious responsibility too generally forgottenand disregarded. I would fain call attention to it altho no single mancan hope to effect much by any plea he can make in behalf of the useof good English, whether written or spoken. Yet no one, I think, canread the great masterpieces of English prose and not have both lessonand responsibility brought home to him. He would be insensible, indeed, if he did not feel after such reading that he was a sharer ina noble heritage which it behooved him to guard and cherish. If thisseries serves no other purpose, it will exhibit to those who read itsome of the splendors and the beauties of English prose. It will atleast open the gates of literature and perhaps lead its readers toauthors they have not known before, or recall the words of writers whohave entered into their lives and thoughts and thus make them moremindful of the ineffable value to them and their children of the greatlanguage which is at once their birthright and their inheritance. 

HENRY CABOT LODGE. 

_Washington, D. C. , July 15, 1909. _

CONTENTS

VOL. I--GREECE

INTRODUCTION. By Henry Cabot Lodge. 

HERODOTUS--(Born probably in 484 B. C. , died probably in 424. )

I Solon's Words of Wisdom to Croesus. (From Book I of the "History. " Translated by Rawlinson)

II Babylon and Its Capture by Cyrus. (From Book I of the "History. " Translated by Taylor)

III The Pyramid of Cheops. (From Book II of the "History. " Translated by Rawlinson)

IV The Story of Periander's Son. (From Book III of the "History. " Translated by Rawlinson)

THUCYDIDES--(Born about 471 B. C. , died about 401. )

I The Athenians and Spartans Contrasted. (From Book I of the "Peloponnesian War. " Translated by Benjamin Jowett)

II The Plague at Athens. (From Book II of the "Peloponnesian War. " Translated by Benjamin Jowett)

III The Sailing of the Athenian Fleet for Sicily. (From Book VI of the "Peloponnesian War. " Translated by Benjamin Jowett)

IV Completion of the Athenian Defeat at Syracuse. (From Book VII of the "Peloponnesian War. " Translated by Benjamin Jowett)

XENOPHON--(Born about 430 B. C. , died about 357. )

I The Character of Cyrus the Younger. (From the "Anabasis. " Translated by J. S. Watson)

II The Greek Army in the Snows of Armenia. (From the "Anabasis. " Translated by Watson)

III The Battle of Leuctra. (From Book VI of the "Hellenica. " Translated by Watson)

IV Of the Army of the Spartans. (From the treatise on "The Government of Lacedæmon. " Translated by Watson)

V How to Choose and Manage Saddle Horses. (From the treatise on "Horsemanship. " Translated by Watson)

PLATO--(Born about 427 B. C. , died in 347. )

I The Image of the Cave. (From the "Republic. " Translated by Benjamin Jowett)

II Good and Evil. (From the "Protagoras. " Translated by Benjamin Jowett)

III Socrates in Praise of Love. (From the "Symposium. " Translated by Benjamin Jowett)

IV The Praise of Socrates by Alcibiades. (From the "Symposium. " Translated by Benjamin Jowett)

V The Refusal of Socrates to Escape from Prison. (From the "Crito. " Translated by Benjamin Jowett)

VI The Death of Socrates. (From the "Phædo. " Translated by Benjamin Jowett)

ARISTOTLE--(Born in 384 B. C. , died in 322. )

I What Things are Pleasant. (From Book I of the "Rhetoric. " Translated by Buckley)

II The Life Most Desirable. (From Book VII of the "Politics. " Translated by Walford)

III Ideal Husbands and Wives. (From Book I of the "Economics. " Translated by Walford)

IV Happiness as an End of Human Action. (From Book X of the "Nicomachean Ethics. " Translated by Browne)

POLYBIUS--(Born in 204 B. C. , died about 125. )

I The Battle of Cannæ. (From Book IV of the "Histories. " Translated by Shuckburgh)

II Hannibal's Advance on Rome. (From Book IX of the "Histories. " Translated by Shuckburgh)

III The Defense of Syracuse by Archimedes. (From Book VIII of the "Histories. " Translated by Shuckburgh)

PLUTARCH--(Born about 46 A. D. , died in 125. )

I Demosthenes and Cicero Compared. (From the "Lives. " Translated by Sir Thomas North)

II The Assassination of Cæsar. (From the "Lives. " Translated by North)

III Cleopatra's Barge. (From the "Life of Mark Antony. " Translated by North)

IV The Death of Antony and Cleopatra. (From the "Life of Mark Antony. " Translated by North)

EPICTETUS--(Born about the middle of the first century. )

I Of Freedom. (From the "Discourses. " Translated by Thomas Wentworth Higginson)

II Of Friendship. (From the "Discourses. " Translated by Higginson)

III The Philosopher and the Crowd. (From the "Discourses. " Translated by Higginson)

LUCIAN--(Born about 120 A. D. , died about 200. )

I A Descent to the Unknown. (From "Menippus. " Translated by H. W. And F. G. Fowler)

II Among the Philosophers. (From the "Fisher: A Resurrection Piece. " Translated by H. W. And F. G. Fowler)

III Of Liars and Lying. (From the "Liar. " Translated by H. W. And F. G. Fowler)

 * * * * *

GREECE

484 B. C. --200 A. D. 

HERODOTUS

 Born in Asia Minor, probably in 484 B. C. ; died in Italy, probably in 424; commonly called the "Father of History"; assisted in the expulsion of the tyrant Lygdamis from Halicarnassus; traveled in Persia, Egypt, and Greece; lived afterward in Samos and Athens, settling in Thurii, Italy, about 444 B. C. ; his history of the Persian invasion of Greece, extending to 479 B. C. , was first printed in Greek by Aldus Manutius in 1502, but a Latin version had appeared in 1474. [1]

I

SOLON'S WORDS OF WISDOM TO CROESUS[2]

When all these conquests had been added to the Lydian empire, and theprosperity of Sardis[3] was now at its height, there came thither, oneafter another, all the sages of Greece living at the time, and amongthem Solon, the Athenian. He was on his travels, having left Athens tobe absent ten years, under the pretense of wishing to see the world, but really to avoid being forced to repeal any of the laws which atthe request of the Athenians he had made for them. Without hissanction the Athenians could not repeal them, as they had boundthemselves under a heavy curse to be governed for ten years by thelaws which should be imposed on them by Solon. 

On this account, as well as to see the world, Solon set out upon histravels, in the course of which he went to Egypt to the court ofAmasis, [4] and also paid a visit to Croesus at Sardis. Croesusreceived him as his guest, and lodged him in the royal palace. On thethird or fourth day after, he bade his servants conduct Solon over histreasuries and show him all their greatness and magnificence. When hehad seen them all, and so far as time allowed inspected them, Croesus addrest this question to him: "Stranger of Athens, we haveheard much of thy wisdom and of thy travels through many lands, fromlove of knowledge and a wish to see the world. I am curious thereforeto inquire of thee, whom of all the men that thou hast seen thoudeemest the most happy?"

This he asked because he thought himself the happiest of mortals; butSolon answered him without flattery, according to his true sentiments, "Tellus of Athens, sire. " Full of astonishment at what he had heardCroesus demanded sharply, "And wherefore dost thou deem Tellushappiest?" To this the other replied: "First, because his country wasflourishing in his days, and he himself had sons both beautiful andgood, and he lived to see children born to each of them, and thesechildren all grew up; and further, because after a life spent in whatour people look upon as comfort, his end was surpassingly glorious. Ina battle between the Athenians and their neighbors near Eleusis, hecame to the assistance of his countrymen, routed the foe, and diedupon the field most gallantly. The Athenians gave him a public funeralon the spot where he fell, and paid him the highest honors. "

Thus did Solon admonish Croesus by the example of Tellus, enumerating the manifold particulars of his happiness. When he hadended, Croesus inquired a second time, who after Tellus seemed tohim the happiest, expecting that at any rate he would be given thesecond place. "Cleobis and Bito, " Solon answered: "they were of Argiverace; their fortune was enough for their wants, and they were besidesendowed with so much bodily strength that they had both gained prizesat the games. Also, this tale is told of them: There was a greatfestival in honor of the goddess Juno at Argos, to which their mothermust needs be taken in a car. Now, the oxen did not come home from thefield in time; so the youths, fearful of being too late, put the yokeon their own necks, and themselves drew the car in which their motherrode. Five and forty furlongs did they draw her, and stopt before thetemple. This deed of theirs was witnessed by the whole assembly ofworshipers, and then their life closed in the best possible way. Herein, too, God showed forth most evidently how much better a thingfor man death is than life. For the Argive men stood thick around thecar and extolled the vast strength of the youths; and the Argive womenextolled the mother who was blest with such a pair of sons; and themother herself, overjoyed at the deed and at the praises it had won, standing straight before the image, besought the goddess to bestow onCleobis and Bito, the sons who had so mightily honored her, thehighest blessing to which mortals can attain. Her prayer ended, theyoffered sacrifice and partook of the holy banquet, after which the twoyouths fell asleep in the temple. They never woke again, but so passedfrom the earth. The Argives, looking on them as among the best of men, caused statues of them to be made, which they gave to the shrine atDelphi. "

When Solon had thus assigned these youths the second place Croesusbroke in angrily, "What, stranger of Athens! is my happiness then soutterly set at naught by thee that thou dost not even put me on alevel with private men?"

"O Croesus, " replied the other, "thou askedst a question concerningthe condition of man, of one who knows that the Power above us isfull of jealousy, and fond of troubling our lot. A long life givesone to witness much, and experience much oneself, that one would notchoose. Seventy years I regard as the limit of the life of man. Inthese seventy years are contained, without reckoning intercalarymonths, twenty-five thousand and two hundred days. Add an intercalarymonth to every other year, that the seasons may come round at theright time, and there will be, besides the seventy years, thirty-fivesuch months, making an addition of one thousand and fifty days. Thewhole number of the days contained in the seventy years will thus betwenty-six thousand two hundred and fifty, whereof not one but willproduce events unlike the rest. Hence man is wholly accident. 

"For thyself, O Croesus, I see that thou art wonderfully rich, andart the lord of many nations; but with respect to that whereon thouquestionest me, I have no answer to give, until I hear that thou hastclosed thy life happily. For assuredly he who possesses great store ofriches is no nearer happiness than he who has what suffices for hisdaily needs, unless it so hap that luck attend upon him, and so hecontinue in the enjoyment of all his good things to the end of life. For many of the wealthiest men have been unfavored of fortune, andmany whose means were moderate have had excellent luck. Men of theformer class excel those of the latter but in two respects; these lastexcel the former in many. The wealthy man is better able to contenthis desires, and to bear up against a sudden buffet of calamity. Theother has less ability to withstand these evils (from which, however, his good luck keeps him clear), but he enjoys all these followingblessings: he is whole of limb, a stranger to disease, free frommisfortune, happy in his children, and comely to look upon. 

"If in addition to all this he ends his life well, he is of a truththe man of whom thou art in search, the man who may rightly be termedhappy. Call him, however, until he die, not happy but fortunate. Scarcely indeed can any man unite all these advantages: as there is nocountry which contains within it all that it needs, but each while itpossesses some things lacks others, and the best country is that whichcontains the most, so no single human being is complete in everyrespect--something is always lacking. He who unites the greatestnumber of advantages, and retaining them to the day of his death, thendies peaceably--that man alone, sire, is in my judgment entitled tobear the name of 'happy. ' But in every matter it behooves us to markwell the end: for oftentimes God gives men a gleam of happiness, andthen plunges them into ruin. "

Such was the speech which Solon addrest to Croesus, a speech whichbrought him neither largess nor honor. The king with much indifferencesaw Solon depart, since the former thought that a man must be anarrant fool who made no account of present good, but bade men alwayswait and mark the end. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: Herodotus, at a certain period in his life, came underthe influence of Pericles and his contemporaries, but it is clear fromhis writings that he received from Attic thought and style littledefinite inspiration. J. P. Mahaffy has likened him to Goldsmith inhis aloofness from his environment. Often ridiculed by his friends forsimplicity, Goldsmith far exceeded his clever critics in directnessand pathos, and thus gained a place in literature which contemporariesnever dreamed would be his. The narrative of Herodotus, adds Mahaffy, gives us more information about the state of the ancient nations andtheir culture than all other Greek historians put together. Hispurpose, as Herodotus himself declares, was to narrate the greatconflict between the Greeks and barbarians, in order that the causesmight be known and glorious deeds might not perish. Readers areimprest by the perfect ease and mastery with which a great variety ofsubjects are dealt with, his story "advancing with epic grandeur toits close. " Mahaffy pronounces Herodotus an Ionic story-writer, whonever became an Attic one--the chief master of Ionic, as Thucydideswas of Attic prose. ]

[Footnote 2: From Book I of the "History. " Translated by GeorgeRawlinson. Croesus reigned from 560 B. C. To 546. The visit of Solonwas made some time before 559. ]

[Footnote 3: The capital of Lydia, in Asia Minor, and a flourishingcity in the time of Croesus. It was several times destroyed, thelast time by Tamerlane. Its site is now a village. ]

[Footnote 4: Amasis came to the Egyptian throne in 569 B. C. , andreigned 44 years. ]

II

BABYLON AND ITS CAPTURE BY CYRUS[5] (538 B. C. )

Assyria contains many large cities; but of these Babylon, to which, after the destruction of Nineveh, the seat of government was removed, is by far the most renowned and the most strongly fortified. Babylonis situated in an extensive plain. Each side of the city, which formsa square, measures one hundred and twenty stadia (about fourteenmiles), making the entire circuit of the city four hundred and eightystadia--such is the magnitude of this city Babylon! and inmagnificence also it surpassed every city of which we have anyknowledge. It is surrounded by a trench, deep, wide, and full ofwater. Within this is a wall, the width of which is fifty royalcubits, and its height two hundred cubits. [6] The royal cubit exceedsthe common measure by three fingers' breadth. 

It is proper I should say in what manner the earth removed from thetrench was disposed of, and how the wall was constructed. The earth, as fast as it was removed from the trench, was converted into bricksand baked in furnaces: when thus prepared, melted bitumen was usedinstead of mortar; and between every thirtieth course of bricks therewas inserted a layer of reeds. The sides of the trench were firstlined with brickwork, and then the wall raised in the mannerdescribed. On the upper edges of the wall, and opposite to oneanother, were constructed turrets; between these turrets a space wasleft wide enough for a chariot and four horses to pass and turn. Inthe walls were one hundred gates, all of brass, with posts and upperlintels of the same. Eight days' journey from Babylon is a city namedIs, near which runs a small river of the same name, discharging itselfinto the Euphrates; this river brings down with its waters clots ofbitumen in large quantities. From this source was derived the bitumenused in cementing the walls of Babylon. 

Such are the fortifications of Babylon. The city is divided into twoportions by the river Euphrates, which runs through the midst of it. This river rises in Armenia, and throughout its course is wide, deep, and swift; it empties itself into the Red sea. [7] Each of the citywalls is extended to the river, where it makes an angle, and, with acoating of burnt bricks, lines the sides of the river. The city isfilled with houses of three or four stories, forming streets instraight lines, and running parallel with one another, the crossstreets opening upon the river through as many smaller brazen gates, placed in the breastwork of the river walls. Within the principal walljust mentioned is a second, not much inferior to the first instrength, tho less in width. 

In the center of each portion of the city is an enclosed space--theone occupied by the royal palace, a building of vast extent and greatstrength; in the other stands the temple of Jupiter Belus, with itsbrazen gates, remaining in my time: it is a square structure; eachside measures two stadia. Within the enclosure is erected a solidtower, measuring a stadium both in width and depth; upon this tower israised another, and then another, and another, making eight in all. The ascent is by a path which is formed on the outside of the towers;midway in the ascent is a resting-place, furnished with easy chairs, in which those who ascend repose themselves. On the summit of thetopmost tower stands a large temple; and in this temple is a greatcouch, handsomely fitted up; and near it stands a golden table: nostatue whatever is erected in the temple, nor does any man ever passthe night there; but a woman only, chosen from the people by the god, as the Chaldeans, who are the priests of the temple affirm. The samepersons say--tho I give no credit to the story--that the god himselfcomes to the temple and reposes on the bed, in like manner as atThebes in Egypt, where also, in the temple of Jupiter, a woman passesthe night. A similar custom is observed at Pataris, in Lycia, wherethere is at times an oracle, on which occasions the priestess is shutup by night in the temple. 

Within the precincts of the temple at Babylon there is a smallersacred edifice on the ground, containing an immense golden statue ofJupiter in a sitting posture: around the statue are large tables, which, with the steps and throne, are all of gold, and, as theChaldeans affirm, contain eight hundred talents of gold. Without thisedifice is a golden altar; there is also another altar of great size, on which are offered full-grown animals: upon the golden altar it isnot lawful to offer sacrifices except sucklings. Once in every year, when the festival of this god is celebrated, the Chaldeans burn uponthe greater altar a thousand talents of frankincense. There was also, not long since, in this sacred enclosure a statue of solid gold, twelve cubits in height; at least so the Chaldeans affirm: I did notmyself see it. This figure Darius Hystaspes would fain have taken, butdared not execute his wishes; however, his son Xerxes not only tookit, but put to death the priests who endeavored to prevent itsremoval. Such was the magnificence of this temple, which containedalso many private offerings. 

Of this Babylon there were several monarchs--as I shall mention in myhistory of the Assyrians--who adorned the city and its temples. Amongthese, two young women must be mentioned. The former, namedSemiramis, [8] reigned five generations before the latter. This queenraised an embankment worthy of admiration through the plain to confinethe river, which heretofore often spread over the level like a lake. The latter of these two queens, named Nitocris, [9] excelled theformer in intelligence: she left monuments, some of which I mustdescribe. Seeing the Medes already possest of extensive empire, andrestlessly extending their power, by taking city after city, amongwhich was Nineveh, she resolved in good time to secure herself againstthem in the best manner possible. In the first place, therefore, asthe river Euphrates ran in a straight course through the city, sheformed excavations at a distance above it, by which means its coursebecame so tortuous that it three times passed a certain town ofAssyria, called Ardericca; travelers from our sea, [10] in descendingthe Euphrates toward Babylon, three times arrive at that town in thecourse of three days. She also raised both banks of the river to anamazing height and thickness. At some distance above Babylon, and nearthe river, she dug a reservoir in the marsh, of such depth as to drainit. The width of this excavation was such as to make its circuit fourhundred and twenty stadia. The earth removed from it was taken toraise the banks of the river; this done, she brought stones, withwhich the sides of the lake were lined. Both these works--thediverting of the river and the reservoir--were formed with theintention of rendering the current less rapid by its many windings, which broke its force, and at the same time made the navigation morecircuitous; so that those who descended toward Babylon by water mighthave to make a long circuit around the lake. These works wereeffective on that side which was exposed to the inroads of the Medes, and where the distance between her dominions and theirs was the least;for she wished to cut off all communication with them, and to keepthem in ignorance of her movements. 

Thus did this princess raise from the depths a fortification, withinwhich she was included. The city being divided into two portions bythe river in former times, whoever wished to pass from one to theother was obliged to take a boat, which manifestly was a greatinconvenience. This defect she supplied. When she had dug the lake inthe marsh, she availed herself of the occasion to construct anothermonument also, by which her fame will be perpetuated. She causedstones of great magnitude to be hewn, and when they were ready, thelake being empty, she turned the waters of the Euphrates into it;which, as it filled, left the old channel dry. Then she lined bothsides of the river and the descent from the gates with burnt bricks, in like manner as the city walls; and with the stones alreadymentioned she constructed, as near the middle of the city as possible, a bridge, binding the stones together with iron and lead. During theday, planks of wood were extended from pier to pier, so as to form apathway; these were withdrawn at night, to prevent the people frompassing over to plunder one another. This bridge was, as we have said, formed by withdrawing the water of the Euphrates into the artificiallake; when completed, the river was restored to its ancient channel;the propriety of this mode of proceeding then become apparent, bymeans of which the citizens obtained the accommodation of a bridge. 

The same queen also executed the following machination: sheconstructed for herself a tomb, aloft upon a gate in one of the mostfrequented ways of the city; upon the sepulcher she engraved thisinscription: "If any one of my successors, the kings of Babylon, shalllack money, let him open the sepulcher, and take what treasures hepleases. But let him beware of opening it from any other cause thannecessity; for in such a case it shall not turn to his advantage. "This sepulcher remained undisturbed till Darius ascended the throne. To this king it seemed a grievance both that this gate should remainuseless, and that the wealth deposited in it, and which invitedresearch, should not be appropriated. The gate was not used, becauseno one could pass through it without having a dead body over his head. He therefore opened the tomb, in which he found--of treasures indeednothing, but the corpse, and an inscription to this effect: "If thouhadst not been insatiably eager for riches, and greedy of filthylucre, thou wouldst not have opened the depository of the dead. " Somuch for this queen and the reports that have been handed downconcerning her. 

It was against the son of this woman that Cyrus made war; he was named(like his father) Labynetus, and reigned over the Assyrians. When theGreat King[11] goes out to battle, he is attended by ample provisionsand cattle drawn from the home stock; and even water from theChoaspian spring at Susa, [12] of which alone the king drinks, iscarried about for his use; for he can taste no other stream. ThisChoaspian water, after having been boiled, is put into vases ofsilver, which are transported in four-wheeled wagons drawn by mules, following him wherever he goes. 

Cyrus advancing toward Babylon arrived at the river Gyndes, which, rising in the Matienian hills and running through the country of theDardanians (or Darnians), empties itself into the Tigris; and thisriver, passing by the city Opis, discharges its waters into the RedSea. [13] When Cyrus attempted to pass this river Gyndes, which couldonly be done by boats, one of the white horses called sacred, full ofmettle, plunged into the stream and endeavored to reach the oppositebank; but, being submerged in the current, it was carried away. Cyrus, enraged at the river for this injury, threatened to reduce it so lowthat in future women should ford it with ease, not wetting theirknees. Having uttered this threat, he delayed the progress of his armytoward Babylon, and, dividing his forces into two bodies, measured outone hundred and eighty channels to be cut from both banks of theriver, thus diverting the Gyndes on all sides. He enjoined upon hisarmy the work of digging these trenches, and by their numbers theycompleted it; but the whole summer was spent there in the labor. 

Cyrus having in this manner punished the river Gyndes, by distributingits waters into three hundred and sixty trenches, as soon as the nextspring appeared, advanced toward Babylon. The Babylonians, coming outin battle-array, waited his approach; when he drew nigh to the citythey engaged him, but, being defeated, retired within the walls. Sometime before, well knowing the restless intentions of Cyrus, and seeinghim attack one nation after another, they had brought into the city anabundance of corn for many years. They therefore disregarded thesiege. But Cyrus, beset with difficulties, saw a long time pass awaywithout his making any progress toward the accomplishment of hisobject. 

At length, either at the suggestion of some one else or from a thoughtof his own, he resorted to the following means: He disposed the wholeof his army, by placing one part above the city, where the riverenters it, and another part below, where it makes its exit, commandingthem as soon as they should perceive the river to be sufficientlyshallow to enter by that way. This order being given, he himself wentoff with the inferior troops of the army. Arriving at the lake, he didwhat had been done before by the queen of Babylon in the marsh; for, by making a trench from the river to the empty reservoir, he divertedthe water from the ancient channel, till it so far subsided as tobecome fordable. 

As soon as this happened, the Persians who had been appointed for thispurpose entered Babylon by the bed of the river, the water of whichwas little more than knee-deep. If the Babylonians had been beforeapprized of the intentions of Cyrus, or if they had learned at themoment what he was doing, they would not have suffered the Persians toenter the city, nor would the Babylonians have perished soshamefully; for if they had closed all the gates by the river's side, and ascended the walls which ran along it, they might have taken thePersians as in a net. But the Persians came upon their opponents quiteunexpectedly; and from the great extent of the city--as it has beenaffirmed by some of the inhabitants--those who dwelt in the outskirtsof the city were made prisoners before the people in the center ofBabylon knew that the place was taken. But, as it happened, they werecelebrating a festival, and were dancing and feasting when theylearned what had happened. Thus was Babylon the first time taken. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 5: From Book I of the "History. " Translated by Isaac Taylor. Cyrus, after capturing Babylon, did not destroy it; it was DariusHystaspes who razed its walls and towers. Darius Hystaspes was thefather of that Darius who succeeded to the Persian throne after thefailure of male heirs to Cyrus. Xerxes carried further the work ofdestruction at Babylon. Its permanent decay was accelerated still moreby the founding, in its neighborhood, of Seleucia in 300 B. C. In thetime of Pliny it had become a dismal and silent place. ]

[Footnote 6: Equivalents in English feet for these measurements havebeen estimated as eighty-five feet for the width and three hundred andthirty-five feet for the height. ]

[Footnote 7: Now called the Persian Gulf. ]

[Footnote 8: Semiramis is regarded by modern antiquarians as afabulous personage. By some of them she has been identified with thegoddess Astarte. ]

[Footnote 9: Antiquarians have great doubts as to the identity of thisqueen. By some she is thought to have been the wife of Nebuchadnezzar, who began to reign in 604 B. C. , and the mother or grandmother ofBelshazzar, the last of the kings of Babylon. ]

[Footnote 10: That is, from the sea which encircled Greece. ]

[Footnote 11: Herodotus means by this the King of Persia. ]

[Footnote 12: Susa was the capital of Susiana, a country lying at thehead of the Persian Gulf. ]

[Footnote 13: Here again for Red Sea we must read Persian Gulf. ]

III

THE PYRAMID OF CHEOPS[14]

Till the death of Rhampsinitus, the priests said, Egypt wasexcellently governed, and flourished greatly; but after him Cheopssucceeded to the throne, and plunged into all manner of wickedness. Heclosed the temples and forbade the Egyptians to offer sacrifice, compelling them instead to labor, one and all, in his service. Somewere required to drag blocks of stone down to the Nile from thequarries in the Arabian range of hills; others received the blocksafter they had been conveyed in boats across the river, and drew themto the range of hills called the Libyan. A hundred thousand menlabored constantly, and were relieved every three months by a freshlot. It took ten years' oppression of the people to make the causewayfor the conveyance of the stones, a work not much inferior, in myjudgment, to the pyramid itself. This causeway is five furlongs inlength, ten fathoms wide, and in height, at the highest part, eightfathoms. It is built of polished stone, and is covered with carvingsof animals. To make it took ten years, as I said--or rather to makethe causeway, the works on the mound where the pyramid stands, and theunderground chambers, which Cheops intended as vaults for his own use;these last were built on a sort of island, surrounded by waterintroduced from the Nile by a canal. The pyramid itself was twentyyears in building. It is a square, eight hundred feet each way, andthe height the game, built entirely of polished stone, fitted togetherwith the utmost care. The stones of which it is composed are none ofthem less than thirty feet in length. 

The pyramid was built in steps, battlement-wise, as it is called, or, according to others, altar-wise. After laying the stones for the base, they raised the remaining stones to their places by means of machinesformed of short wooden planks. The first machine raised them from theground to the top of the first step. On this there was anothermachine, which received the stone upon its arrival, and conveyed it tothe second step, whence a third machine advanced it still higher. Either they had as many machines as there were steps in the pyramid orpossibly they had but a single machine, which, being easily moved, was transferred from tier to tier as the stone rose--both accounts aregiven, and therefore I mention both. The upper portion of the pyramidwas finished first, then the middle, and finally the part which waslowest and nearest the ground. There is an inscription in Egyptiancharacters on the pyramid which records the quantity of radishes, onions, and garlic consumed by the laborers who constructed it; and Iperfectly well remember that the interpreter who read the writing tome said that the money expended in this way was 1, 600 talents ofsilver. If this then is a true record, what a vast sum must have beenspent on the iron tools used in the work, and on the feeding andclothing of the laborers, considering the length of time the worklasted, which has already been stated, and the additional time--nosmall space, I imagine--which must have been occupied by the quarryingof the stones, their conveyance, and the formation of the undergroundapartments!

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 14: From Book II of the "History. " Translated by GeorgeRawlinson. The Pyramid of Cheops was built about 3, 500 B. C. Cheops, according to Herodotus, reigned fifty years. ]

IV

THE STORY OF PERIANDER'S SON[15]

After Periander had put to death his wife Melissa, it chanced that onhis first affliction a second followed of a different kind. His wifehad borne him two sons, and one of them had now reached the age ofseventeen, the other of eighteen years, when their mother's father, Procles, tyrant of Epidaurus, [16] asked them to his court. They went, and Procles treated them with much kindness, as was natural, considering they were his own daughter's children. At length, when thetime for parting came, Procles as he was sending them on their waysaid, "Know you now, my children, who it was that caused your mother'sdeath?" The elder son took no account of this speech, but the younger, whose name was Lycophron, was sorely troubled at it--so much so thatwhen he got back to Corinth, looking upon his father as his mother'smurderer, he would neither speak to him nor answer when spoken to norutter a word in reply to all his father's questionings. So Periander, at last growing furious at such behavior, banished his son from hishouse. 

The younger son gone, he turned to the elder and asked him what it wasthat their grandfather had said to them. Then the son related in howkind and friendly a fashion the grandfather had received them; but, not having taken any notice of the speech which Procles had uttered atparting, he quite forgot to mention it. Periander insisted that it wasnot possible this should be all--their grandfather must have giventhem some hint or other--and he went on pressing his son till at lasthe remembered the parting speech and told it. Periander, after he hadturned the whole matter over in his thoughts and felt unwilling togive way at all, sent a messenger to the persons who had opened theirhouses to his outcast son and forbade them to harbor him. Then theboy, when he had been driven from one friend, sought refuge withanother, but was forced from shelter to shelter by the threats of hisfather, who menaced all those that took him in, and commanded them toshut their doors against him. Still, as fast as he was forced to leaveone house he went to another, and was received by the inmates; for hisacquaintances, altho in no small alarm, yet gave him shelter, as hewas Periander's son. 

At last Periander made proclamation that whoever harbored his son, oreven spoke to him, should forfeit a certain sum of money to Apollo. Onhearing this no one any longer liked to take him in, or even to holdconverse with him, and he himself did not think it right to seek to dowhat was forbidden; so, abiding by his resolve, he made his lodging inthe public porticoes. When four days had passed in this way, Periander, seeing how wretched his son was, that he neither washed nortook any food, felt moved with compassion toward him; wherefore, foregoing his anger, he approached the lad, and said, "Which isbetter, oh, my son, to fare as now thou farest or to receive my crownand all the good things that I possess, on the one condition ofsubmitting thyself to thy father? See, now, tho my own child, and lordof this wealthy Corinth, thou hast brought thyself to a beggar's life, because thou must resist and treat with anger him whom it leastbehooves thee to oppose. If there has been a calamity, and thoubearest me ill will on that account, bethink thee that I too feel it, and am the greater sufferer, inasmuch as it was by me that the deedwas done. For thyself, now that thou knowest how much better a thingit is to be envied than pitied, and how dangerous it is to indulgeanger against parents and superiors, come back with me to thy home. "With such words as these did Periander chide his son; but the lattermade no reply except to remind his father that he was indebted to thegod in the penalty for coming and holding converse with him. ThenPeriander knew there was no cure for the youth's malady, nor means ofovercoming it; so he prepared a ship and sent him away out of hissight to Corcyra, [17] which island at that time belonged to him. Asfor Procles, Periander, regarding him as the true author of all hispresent troubles, went to war with him as soon as his son was gone, and not only made himself master of his kingdom, Epidaurus, but alsotook Procles himself, and carried him into captivity. 

As time went on, and Periander came to be old, he found himself nolonger equal to the oversight and management of affairs. Seeingtherefore in his elder son no manner of ability, but knowing him to bedull and blockish, he sent to Corcyra and recalled Lycophron to takethe kingdom. Lycophron, however, did not even deign to ask the bearerof this message a question. But Periander's heart was set upon theyouth, so he sent again to him, this time by his own daughter, thesister of Lycophron, who would, he thought, have more power topersuade him than any other person. Then the daughter, when she hadreached Corcyra, spoke thus with her brother: "Dost thou wish thekingdom, brother, to pass into strange hands, and our father's wealthto be made a prey rather than thyself return to enjoy it? Come backhome with me, and cease to punish thyself. It is scant gain, thisobstinacy. Why seek to cure evil by evil? Mercy, remember, is by manyset above justice. Many, also while pushing their mother's claims haveforfeited their father's fortune. Power is a slippery thing--it hasmany suitors; and he is old and stricken in years--let not thy owninheritance go to another. "

Thus did the sister, who had been tutored by Periander what to say, urge all the arguments most likely to have weight with her brother. He, however, made answer that so long as he knew his father to bestill alive, he would never go back to Corinth. When the sisterbrought Periander this reply, he sent to his son a third time by aherald, and said he would come himself to Corcyra, and let his sontake his place at Corinth, as heir to his kingdom. To these termsLycophron agreed; and Periander was making ready to pass into Corcyraand his son to return to Corinth, when the Corcyreans, being informedof what was taking place, to keep Periander away, put the young man todeath. For this reason it was that Periander took vengeance on theCorcyreans. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 15: From Book III of the "History. " Translated by GeorgeRawlinson. Periander was tyrant of Corinth, succeeding to power about625 B. C. He is believed to have reigned forty years. ]

[Footnote 16: A city on the coast of Argolis, one of the states ofsouthern Greece. ]

[Footnote 17: Now known as Corfu, an island lying off the westerncoast of Greece, adjacent to Epirus. ]

THUCYDIDES

 Born in Athens about 471 B. C. ; died about 401; celebrated as a historian; claimed blood relationship with Miltiades and Cimon; possest an ample fortune; in 424 commanded an expedition against Brasidas, but failing in it went into exile, returning to Athens twenty years later; did not live to finish his "History of the Peloponnesian War, " the narrative ending seven years before the war closed; the Greek text first printed by Aldus at Venice in 1502. [18]

I

THE ATHENIANS AND SPARTANS CONTRASTED[19]

Such were the causes of ill feeling which at this time existed betweenthe Athenians and Peloponnesians;[20] the Corinthians complaining thatthe Athenians were blockading their colony of Potidæa, which wasoccupied by a Corinthian and Peloponnesian garrison; the Atheniansrejoining that the Peloponnesians had excited to revolt a state whichwas an ally and tributary of theirs, and that they had now openlyjoined the Potidæans, and were fighting on their side. ThePeloponnesian war, however, had not yet broken out; the peace stillcontinued; for thus far the Corinthians had acted alone. 

But now, seeing Potidæa[21] besieged, they bestirred themselves inearnest. Corinthian troops were shut up within the walls, and theywere afraid of losing the town; so without delay they invited theallies to meet at Sparta. There they inveighed against the Athenians, whom they affirmed to have broken the treaty and to have wronged thePeloponnesians. .. . The Megarians alleged, among other grounds ofcomplaint, that they were excluded from all harbors within theAthenian dominion and from the Athenian market, contrary to thetreaty. The Corinthians waited until the other allies had stirred upthe Lacedæmonians; at length they came forward, and, last of all, spoke as follows:

"The spirit of trust, Lacedæmonians, which animates your own politicaland social life makes you distrust others who, like ourselves, havesomething unpleasant to say, and this temper of mind, tho favorable tomoderation, too often leaves you in ignorance of what is going onoutside your own country. Time after time we have warned you of themischief which the Athenians would do to us, but instead of taking ourwords to heart, you chose to suspect that we spoke only frominterested motives. And this is the reason why you have brought theallies to Sparta, too late, not before but after the injury has beeninflicted, and when they are smarting under the sense of it. Which ofthem all has a better right to speak than ourselves, who have theheaviest accusations to make, outraged as we are by the Athenians, andneglected by you? If the crimes which they are committing againstHellas were being done in a corner, then you might be ignorant, and weshould have to inform you of them; but now, what need of many words?Some of us, as you see, have been already enslaved; they are at thismoment intriguing against others, notably against allies of ours; andlong ago they had made all their preparations in expectation of war. Else why did they seduce from her allegiance Corcyra, which they stillhold in defiance of us, and why are they blockading Potidæa, thelatter a most advantageous post for the command of the Thracianpeninsula, the former a great naval power which might have assistedthe Peloponnesians?

"And the blame of all this rests on you; for you originally allowedthem to fortify their city after the Persian war, and afterward tobuild their Long Walls;[22] and to this hour you have gone ondefrauding of liberty their unfortunate subjects, and are nowbeginning to take it away from your own allies. For the true enslaverof a people is he who can put an end to their slavery, but has no careabout it; and all the more, if he be reputed the champion of libertyin Hellas. And so we have met at last, but with what difficulty! andeven now we have no definite object. By this time we ought to havebeen considering, not whether we are wronged, but how we are to berevenged. The aggressor is not now threatening, but advancing; he hasmade up his mind, while we are resolved about nothing. And we know toowell how by slow degrees and with stealthy steps the Atheniansencroach upon their neighbors. While they think that you are too dullto observe them, they are more careful; but, when they know that youwilfully overlook their aggressions, they will strike you and notspare. Of all Hellenes, Lacedæmonians, you are the only people whonever do anything; on the approach of an enemy, you are content todefend yourselves against him, not by acts, but by intentions, andseek to overthrow him, not in the infancy but in the fulness of hisstrength. How came you to be considered safe? That reputation ofyours was never justified by facts. We all know that the Persian madehis way from the ends of the earth against Peloponnesus before youencountered him in a worthy manner; and now you are blind to thedoings of the Athenians, who are not at a distance, as he was, butclose at hand. Instead of attacking your enemy, you wait to beattacked, and take the chances of a struggle which has been deferreduntil his power is doubled. And you know that the barbarian miscarriedchiefly through his own errors, and that we have oftener beendelivered from these very Athenians by blunders of their own than byany aid from you. Some have already been ruined by the hopes which youinspired in them; for so entirely did they trust you that they took noprecautions themselves. These things we say in no accusing or hostilespirit--let that be understood--but by way of expostulation. For menexpostulate with erring friends; they bring accusations againstenemies who have done them a wrong. 

"And surely we have a right to find fault with our neighbors if anyone ever had. There are important interests at stake to which, as faras we can see, you are insensible. And you have never considered whatmanner of men are these Athenians with whom you will have to fight, and how utterly unlike yourselves. They are revolutionary, equallyquick in the conception and in the execution of every new plan; whileyou are conservative--careful only to keep what you have, originatingnothing, and not acting even when action is most necessary. They arebold beyond their strength; they run risks which prudence wouldcondemn; and in the midst of misfortune they are full of hope. Whereasit is your nature, tho strong, to act feebly; when your plans are mostprudent, to distrust them; and when calamities come upon you, to thinkthat you will never be delivered from them. They are impetuous, andyou are dilatory; they are always abroad, and you are always at home. For they hope to gain something by leaving their homes; but you areafraid that any new enterprise may imperil what you have already. Whenconquerors, they pursue their victory to the utmost; when defeated, they fall back the least. Their bodies they devote to their country astho they belonged to other men; their true self is in their mind, which is most truly their own when employed in her service. When theydo not carry out an intention which they have formed, they seem tohave sustained a personal bereavement; when an enterprise succeeds, they have gained a mere instalment of what is to come; but if theyfail, they at once conceive new hopes and so fill up the void. Withthem alone to hope is to have, for they lose not a moment in theexecution of an idea. This is the lifelong task, full of danger andtoil, which they are always imposing upon themselves. None enjoy theirgood things less, because they are always seeking for more. To dotheir duty is their only holiday, and they deem the quiet of inactionto be as disagreeable as the most tiresome business. If a man shouldsay to them, in a word, that they were born neither to have peacethemselves nor to allow peace to other men, he would simply speak thetruth. 

"In the face of such an enemy, Lacedæmonians, you persist in doingnothing. You do not see that peace is best secured by those who usetheir strength justly, but whose attitude shows that they have nointention of submitting to wrong. Justice with you seems to consist ingiving no annoyance to others and in defending yourselves only againstpositive injury. But this policy would hardly be successful, even ifyour neighbors were like yourselves; and in the present case, as wepointed out just now, your ways compared with theirs areold-fashioned. And, as in the arts, so also in politics, the new mustalways prevail over the old. In settled times the traditions ofgovernment should be observed; but when circumstances are changing andmen are compelled to meet them, much originality is required. 

"The Athenians have had a wider experience, and therefore theadministration of their state has improved faster than yours. But herelet your procrastination end; send an army at once into Attica andassist your allies, especially the Potidæans, to whom your word ispledged. Do not allow friends and kindred to fall into the hands oftheir worst enemies, or drive us in despair to seek the alliance ofothers; in taking such a course we should be doing wrong either beforethe gods who are witnesses of our oaths or before men whose eyes areupon us. For the true breakers of treaties are not only those who, when forsaken, turn to others, but those who forsake allies whom theyhave sworn to defend. We will remain your friends if you choose tobestir yourselves; for we should be guilty of an impiety if wedeserted you without cause; and we shall not easily find alliesequally congenial to us. Take heed then; you have inherited from yourfathers the leadership of Peloponnesus; see that her greatness suffersno diminution at your hands. "

Thus spake the Corinthians. Now there happened to be staying atLacedæmon an Athenian embassy which had come on other business, andwhen the envoys heard what the Corinthians had said, they felt boundto go before the Lacedæmonian assembly, not with the views ofanswering the accusations brought against them by the cities, but theywanted to put before the Lacedæmonians the whole question, and makethem understand that they should take time to deliberate and not berash. They desired also to set forth the greatness of their city, reminding the elder men of what they knew, and informing the youngerof what lay beyond their experience. They thought that their wordswould sway the Lacedæmonians in the direction of peace. So they cameand said that, if they might be allowed, they too would like toaddress the people. The Lacedæmonians invited them to come forward, and they spoke as follows:

"We were not sent here to argue with your allies, but on a specialmission; observing, however, that no small outcry has arisen againstus, we have come forward, not to answer the accusations which theybring (for you are not judges before whom either we or they have toplead), but to prevent you from lending too ready an ear to their badadvice and so deciding wrongly about a very serious question. Wepropose also, in reply to the wider charges which are raised againstus, to show that what we have acquired we hold rightfully. 

"Of the ancient deeds handed down by tradition and which no eye of anyone who hears us ever saw, why should we speak? But of the Persianwar, and other events which you yourselves remember, speak we must, altho we have brought them forward so often that the repetition ofthem is disagreeable to us. When we faced those perils we did so forthe common benefit; in the solid good you shared, and of the glory, whatever good there may be in that, we would not be wholly deprived. Our words are not designed to deprecate hostility, but to set forth inevidence the character of the city with which, unless you are verycareful, you will soon be involved in war. We tell you that we, firstand alone, dared to engage with the barbarian at Marathon, [23] andthat, when he came again, being too weak to defend ourselves by land, we and our whole people embarked on shipboard and shared with theother Hellenes in the victory of Salamis. [24] Thereby he was preventedfrom sailing to the Peloponnesus and ravaging city after city; foragainst so mighty a fleet how could you have helped one another? Hehimself is the best witness of our words; for when he was oncedefeated at sea, he felt that his power was gone and quickly retreatedwith the greater part of his army. 

"The event proved undeniably that the fate of Hellas depended on hernavy. And the three chief elements of success were contributed by us;namely, the greatest number of ships, the ablest general, the mostdevoted patriotism. The ships in all numbered four hundred, and ofthese, our own contingent amounted to nearly two-thirds. To theinfluence of Themistocles, our general, it was chiefly due that wefought in the strait, which was confessedly our salvation; and forthis service you yourselves honored him above any stranger who evervisited you. Thirdly, we displayed the most extraordinary courage anddevotion; there was no one to help us by land; for up to our frontierthose who lay in the enemy's path were already slaves; so wedetermined to leave our city and sacrifice our homes. Even in thatextremity we did not choose to desert the cause of the allies whostill resisted, and by dispersing ourselves to become useless to them;but we embarked and fought, taking no offense at your failure toassist us sooner. We maintain then that we rendered you a service atleast as great as you rendered us. The cities from which you came tohelp us were still inhabited and you might hope to return to them;your concern was for yourselves and not for us; at any rate, youremained at a distance while we had anything to lose. But we wentforth from a city which was no more, and fought for one of which therewas small hope; and yet we saved ourselves, and bore our part insaving you. If, in order to preserve our land, like other states, wehad gone over to the Persians at first, or afterward had not venturedto embark because our ruin was already complete, it would have beenuseless for you with your weak navy to fight at sea, but everythingwould have gone quietly just as the Persian desired. 

"Considering, Lacedæmonians, the energy and sagacity which we thendisplayed, do we deserve to be so bitterly hated by the other Hellenesmerely because we have an empire? That empire was not acquired byforce; but you would not stay and make an end of the barbarian, andthe allies came of their own accord and asked us to be their leaders. The subsequent development of our power was originally forced upon usby circumstances; fear was our first motive; afterward ambition, andthen interest stept in. And when we had incurred the hatred of most ofour allies, when some of them had already revolted and beensubjugated, and you were no longer the friends to us which you oncehad been, but suspicious and ill-disposed, how could we without greatrisk relax our hold? For the cities as fast as they fell away from uswould have gone over to you. And no man is to be reproached who seizesevery possible advantage when the danger is so great. 

"At all events, Lacedæmonians, we may retort that you, in the exerciseof your supremacy, manage the cities of Peloponnesus to suit your ownviews, and that if you, and not we, had persevered in the command ofthe allies long enough to be hated, you would have been quite asintolerable to them as we are, and would have been compelled, for thesake of your own safety, to rule with a strong hand. An empire wasoffered to us: can you wonder that, acting as human nature alwayswill, we accepted it, and refused to give it up again, constrained bythree all powerful motives, ambition, fear, interest? We are not thefirst who have aspired to rule; the world has ever held that theweaker must be kept down by the stronger. And we think that we areworthy of power; and there was a time when you thought so too; but nowwhen you mean expediency you talk about justice. Did justice everdeter any one from taking by force whatever he could? Men who indulgethe natural ambition of empire deserve credit if they are in anydegree more careful of justice than they need be. How moderate we arewould speedily appear if others took our place; indeed, our verymoderation, which should be our glory, has been unjustly convertedinto a reproach. 

"For because in our suits with our allies, regulated by treaty, we donot even stand upon our rights, but have instituted the practise ofdeciding them at Athens and by Athenian law, we are supposed to belitigious. None of our opponents observes why others, who exercisedominion elsewhere and are less moderate than we are in their dealingswith their subjects, escape this reproach. Why is it? Because men whopractise violence have no longer any need of law. But we are in thehabit of meeting our allies on terms of equality, and, therefore, ifthrough some legal decision of ours, or exercise of our imperialpower, contrary to their own ideas of right, they suffer ever solittle, they are not grateful for our moderation in leaving them somuch, but are far more offended at their trifling loss than if we hadfrom the first plundered them in the face of day, laying aside allthought of law. For then they would themselves have admitted that theweaker must give way to the stronger. Mankind resents injustice morethan violence, because the one seems to be an unfair advantage takenby an equal, the other is the irresistible force of a superior. Theywere patient under the yoke of the Persian, who inflicted on them farmore grievous wrongs; but now our dominion is odious in their eyes. And no wonder: the ruler of the day is always detested by hissubjects. And should your empire supplant ours, may not you lose thegood-will which you owe to the fear of us? Lose it you certainly will, if you mean again to exhibit the temper of which you gave a specimenwhen, for a short time, you led the confederacy against the Persian. For the institutions under which you live are incompatible with thoseof foreign states; and further, when any of you goes abroad, herespects neither these nor any other Hellenic laws. 

"Do not then be hasty in deciding a question which is serious; and donot, by listening to the misrepresentations and complaints of others, bring trouble upon yourselves. Realize, while there is time, theinscrutable nature of war; and how when protracted it generally endsin becoming a mere matter of chance, over which neither of us can haveany control, the event being equally unknown and equally hazardous toboth. The misfortune is that in their hurry to go to war, men beginwith blows, and when a reverse comes upon them, then have recourse towords. But neither you nor we have as yet committed this mistake; andtherefore while both of us can still choose the prudent part, we tellyou not to break the peace or violate your oaths. Let our differencesbe determined by arbitration, according to the treaty. If you refuse, we call to witness the gods by whom you have sworn that you are theauthors of the war; and we will do our best to strike in return. "

When the Lacedæmonians had heard the charges brought by the alliesagainst the Athenians, and their rejoinder, they ordered everybody butthemselves to withdraw, and deliberated alone. The majority wereagreed that there was now a clear case against the Athenians, and thatthey must fight at once. [25]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 18: Jowett says Thucydides "stands absolutely alone amonghistorians, not only of Hellas, but of the world, in his impartialityand love of truth. " Macaulay's enthusiasm for him is well known. Mahaffy says his work was intended to be a military history, compiledfrom original documents and from personal observations made by himselfand other eye-witnesses. "There can not be the smallest doubt, " addsMahaffy, "that, in the hands of Thucydides, the art of writing historymade an extraordinary stride and attained a perfection which nosubsequent Hellenic, and few modern writers have attained. " He ispraised for the "lofty dignity" which he imparts to every subject. Histemper is so solemn and severe as to be "strangely un-Attic. " Amonghis great and enduring merits is the fact that he has "taught us toknow more of Greek interpolitical life than all other Greek writersput together. " No historian has been greater than he, not only indignity of language, but in calmness of judgment, in intellectualforce, and in breadth and acuteness of observation. ]

[Footnote 19: From Book I of the "History of the Peloponnesian War. "Translated by Benjamin Jowett. ]

[Footnote 20: The Peloponnesians were the people of the peninsulawhich forms the southern part of Greece, and which is now known asMorea. In ancient times this territory was called the Peloponnesus. Its people comprized the inhabitants of several political domainscalled Achaia, Sicyonia, Corinthia, Argolis, Arcadia, Laconia, Messenia, and Elis. Laconia was otherwise, and quite anciently, knownas Lacedæmon, its capital being the city of Sparta. ]

[Footnote 21: Potidæa, the modern Pinaka, had revolted from Athens in432 B. C. , but did not capitulate until the end of the second year ofthe Peloponnesian war. It was a rich and flourishing town, originallyDorian, but colonized later from Corinth. During one of the Easterninvasions of Greece, it fell into Persian hands. ]

[Footnote 22: These walls connected Athens with its port, the Piræus, and were each about five miles long. They ran parallel and wereseparated from each other by about 500 feet of space. This interveningland was used for a carriage road, on either side of which werehouses. Thus was formed a continuous walled street from Athens to thesea, so that communication in case of war was made secure. ]

[Footnote 23: The battle of Marathon was fought in September, 490. Itended the attempts of Darius to subdue Greece. ]

[Footnote 24: The battle of Salamis took place in September, 480, andwas fought in waters lying between the Piræus and the island ofSalamis. Themistocles commanded the Greeks. The Persian ships werepractically annihilated. Byron's lines on this battle, in his poem"The Isles of Greece, " will be recalled. ]

II

THE PLAGUE AT ATHENS[26] (430--425 B. C. )

They [the enemy] had not been there [in Attica] many days when theplague broke out at Athens for the first time. A similar disorder issaid to have previously smitten many places, particularly Lemnos;[27]but there is no record of such a pestilence occurring elsewhere, or ofso great a destruction of human life. For a while physicians, inignorance of the nature of the disease, sought to apply remedies; butit was in vain, and they themselves were among the first victims, because they oftenest came into contact with it. No human art was ofany avail, and as to supplications in temples, inquiries of oracles, and the like, they were utterly useless, and at last men wereoverpowered by the calamity and gave up all remedies. 

The disease is said to have begun south of Egypt in Ethiopia; thenceit descended into Egypt and Libya, and after spreading over thegreater part of the Persian empire, suddenly fell upon Athens. Itfirst attacked the inhabitants of the Piræus, and it was supposed thatthe Peloponnesians had poisoned the cisterns, no conduits having asyet been made there. It afterward reached the upper city, and then themortality became far greater. As to its probable origin or the causeswhich might or could have produced such a disturbance of nature, everyman, whether a physician or not, will give his own opinion. But Ishall describe its actual course, and the symptoms by which any onewho knows them beforehand may recognize the disorder should it everreappear. For I was myself attacked, and witnessed the sufferings ofothers. 

The season was admitted to have been remarkably free from ordinarysickness; and if anybody was already ill of any other disease, it wasabsorbed in this. Many who were in perfect health, all in a moment, and without any apparent reason, were seized with violent heats in thehead and with redness and inflammation of the eyes. Internally thethroat and the tongue were quickly suffused with blood, and the breathbecame unnatural and fetid. There followed sneezing and hoarseness; ina short time the disorder, accompanied by a violent cough, reached thechest; then fastening lower down, it would move the stomach and bringon all the vomits of bile to which physicians have ever given names;and they were very distressing. An ineffectual retching producingviolent convulsions attacked most of the sufferers; some as soon asthe previous symptoms had abated, others not until long afterward. Thebody externally was not so very hot to the touch, nor yet pale; it wasof a livid color inclining to red, and breaking out in pustules andulcers. But the internal fever was intense; the sufferers could notbear to have on them even the finest linen garment; they insisted onbeing naked, and there was nothing which they longed for more eagerlythan to throw themselves into cold water. And many of those who had noone to look after them actually plunged into the cisterns, for theywere tormented by unceasing thirst, which was not in the leastassuaged whether they drank little or much. They could not sleep; arestlessness which was intolerable never left them. 

While the disease was at its height the body, instead of wasting away, held out amid these sufferings in a marvelous manner, and either theydied on the seventh or ninth day, not of weakness, for their strengthwas not exhausted, but of internal fever, which was the end of most;or, if they survived, then the disease descended into the bowels andthere produced violent ulcerations; severe diarrhea at the same timeset in, and at a later stage caused exhaustion, which finally with fewexceptions carried them off. For the disorder, which had originallysettled in the head, passed gradually through the whole body, and, ifa person got over the worst, would often seize the extremities andleave its mark, attacking the privy parts and the fingers and thetoes; and some escaped with the loss of these, some with the loss oftheir eyes. Some, again, had no sooner recovered than they were seizedwith a forgetfulness of all things and knew neither themselves northeir friends. 

The malady took a form not to be described, and the fury with which itfastened upon each sufferer was too much for human nature to endure. There was one circumstance in particular which distinguished it fromordinary diseases. The birds and animals, which feed on human flesh, altho so many bodies were lying unburied, either never went near themor died if they touched them. This was proved by a remarkabledisappearance of the birds of prey, which were not to be seen eitherabout the bodies or anywhere else; while in the case of the dogs thefact was even more obvious, because they live with man. 

Such was the general nature of the disease; I omit many strangepeculiarities which characterized individual cases. None of theordinary sicknesses attacked any one while it lasted, or, if they did, they ended in the plague. Some of the sufferers died from want ofcare, others equally who were receiving the greatest attention. Nosingle remedy could be deemed a specific; for that which did good toone did harm to another. No constitution was of itself strong enoughto resist or weak enough to escape the attacks; the disease carriedoff all alike and defied every mode of treatment. Most appalling wasthe despondency which seized upon any one who felt himself sickening;for he instantly abandoned his mind to despair and, instead of holdingout, absolutely threw away his chance of life. Appalling too was therapidity with which men caught the infection, dying like sheep if theyattended on one another, and this was the principal cause ofmortality. When they were afraid to visit one another, the sufferersdied in their solitude, so that many houses were empty because therehad been no one left to take care of the sick; or if they venturedthey perished, especially those who aspired to heroism. For they wentto see their friends without thought of themselves and were ashamed toleave them, even at a time when the very relatives of the dying wereat last growing weary and ceased to make lamentations, overwhelmed bythe vastness of the calamity. But whatever instances there may havebeen of such devotion, more often the sick and the dying were tendedby the pitying care of those who had recovered, because they knew thecourse of the disease and were themselves free from apprehension. Forno one was ever attacked a second time, or not with a fatal result. All men congratulated them; and they themselves, in the excess oftheir joy at the moment, had an innocent fancy that they could not dieof any other sickness. 

The crowding of the people out of the country into the city aggravatedthe misery, and the newly arrived suffered most. For, having no housesof their own, but inhabiting, in the height of summer, stifling huts, the mortality among them was dreadful, and they perished in wilddisorder. The dead lay as they had died, one upon another, whileothers hardly alive wallowed in the streets and crawled about everyfountain craving for water. The temples in which they lodged were fullof the corpses of those who had died in them; for the violence of thecalamity was such that men, not knowing where to turn, grew recklessof all law, human and divine. The customs which had hitherto beenobserved at funerals were universally violated, and they buried theirdead each one as best he could. Many, having no proper appliances, because the deaths in their household had been so frequent, made noscruple of using the burial-place of others. When one man had raised afuneral pile, others would come, and throwing on their dead first, setfire to it; or when some other corpse was already burning, before theycould be stopt would throw their own dead upon it and depart. 

There were other and worse forms of lawlessness which the plagueintroduced at Athens. Men who had hitherto concealed their indulgencein pleasure now grew bolder. For, seeing the sudden change--how therich died in a moment, and those who had nothing immediately inheritedtheir property--they reflected that life and riches were aliketransitory, and they resolved to enjoy themselves while they could, and to think only of pleasure. Who would be willing to sacrificehimself to the law of honor when he knew not whether he would everlive to be held in honor? The pleasure of the moment and any sort ofthing which conduced to it took the place both of honor and ofexpediency. No fear of God or law of man deterred a criminal. Thosewho saw all perishing alike thought that the worship or neglect of thegods made no difference. For offenses against human law no punishmentwas to be feared; no one would live long enough to be called toaccount. Already a far heavier sentence had been passed and washanging over a man's head; before that feeling, why should he not takea little pleasure?

Such was the grievous calamity which now afflicted the Athenians;within the walls their people were dying, and without, their countrywas being ravaged. In their troubles they naturally called to mind averse which the elder men among them declared to have been currentlong ago:

 "A Dorian war will come and a plague with it. "

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 25: The Peloponnesian war broke out in 431 B. C. , and lasteduntil 404. Its result was the abasement of Athens and the elevation ofSparta to supreme power in Greece. When it began, Athens with herallies included all the coast cities of Asia Minor as far south asLycia, the cities bordering on the Thracian and Chalcidian shores, andnearly all the islands of the Ægean Sea. Sparta at the same time wasleader in a confederacy of independent states, among which were nearlyall the Peloponnesian states, besides some of those in northernGreece, those of Magna Græcia and Sicily. Athens was strong in hernavy, which comprized 300 galleys, while the Spartan strength lay inher land forces. The treasury of Athens was full, that of Sparta weak. After the war, the walls of Athens were demolished and she wasdeprived of her foreign possessions. The government set over her wasan oligarchy of thirty persons, known in history as the thirtytyrants. These men soon made their harsh rule so intolerable thatwithin sixteen months after Athens surrendered to Sparta they weredeposed and democratic rule was restored to the Athenians. ]

[Footnote 26: From Book II of the "History of the Peloponnesian War. "Translated by Benjamin Jowett. ]

[Footnote 27: One of the larger islands of the Ægean Sea, its areabeing about one hundred and eighty square miles. ]

III

THE SAILING OF THE ATHENIAN FLEET FOR SICILY[28] (413 B. C. )

About the middle of summer the expedition started for Sicily. Ordershad been previously given to most of the allies, to the corn-ships, the smaller craft, and generally to the vessels in attendance on thearmament that they should muster at Corcyra, whence the whole fleetwas to strike across the Ionian Gulf to the promontory of Iapygia. [29]Early in the morning of the day appointed for their departure, theAthenians and such of their allies as had already joined them wentdown to the Piræus and began to man the ships. The entire populationof Athens accompanied them, citizens and strangers alike. The citizenscame to take farewell, one of an acquaintance another of a kinsman, another of a son; the crowd as they passed along were full of hope andfull of tears; hope of conquering Sicily, tears because they doubtedwhether they would ever see their friends again, when they thought ofthe long voyage on which they were sending them. At the moment ofparting, the danger was nearer; and terrors which had never occurredto them when they were voting the expedition now entered into theirsouls. Nevertheless their spirits revived at the sight of the armamentin all its strength and of the abundant provision which they had made. The strangers and the rest of the multitude came out of curiosity, desiring to witness an enterprise of which the greatness exceededbelief. 

No armament so magnificent or costly had ever been sent out by anysingle Hellenic power, tho in mere number of ships and hoplites thatwhich sailed to Epidaurus under Pericles and afterward under Hagnon toPotidæa was not inferior. For that expedition consisted of a hundredAthenian and fifty Chian and Lesbian triremes, conveying four thousandhoplites, all Athenian citizens, three hundred cavalry, and amultitude of allied troops. Still the voyage was short and theequipments were poor, whereas this expedition was intended to be longabsent, and was thoroughly provided both for sea and land service, wherever its presence might be required. 

On the fleet the greatest pains and expense had been lavished by thetrierarchs and the state. The public treasury gave a drachma a day toeach sailor, and furnished empty hulls for sixty swift sailingvessels, and for forty transports carrying hoplites. All these weremanned with the best crews which could be obtained. The trierarchs, besides the pay given by the state, added somewhat more out of theirown means to the wages of the upper ranks of rowers and of the pettyofficers. The figureheads and other fittings provided by thetrierarchs were of the most costly description. Every one strove tothe utmost that his own ship might excel both in beauty andswiftness. The infantry had been well selected and the lists carefullymade up. There was the keenest rivalry among the soldiers in thematter of arms and personal equipment. 

And while at home the Athenians were thus competing with one anotherin the performance of their several duties, to the rest of Hellas theexpedition seemed to be a grand display of their power and greatness, rather than a preparation for war. If any one had reckoned up thewhole expenditure (1) of the state, (2) of individual soldiers andothers, including in the first not only what the city had already laidout, but what was entrusted to the generals, and in the second whateither at the time or afterward private persons spent upon theiroutfit, or the trierarchs upon their ships, the provision for the longvoyage which every one may be supposed to have carried with him overand above his public pay, and what soldiers or traders may have takenfor purposes of exchange, he would have found that altogether animmense sum amounting to many talents was withdrawn from the city. Menwere quite amazed at the boldness of the scheme and the magnificenceof the spectacle, which were everywhere spoken of, no less than at thegreat disproportion of the force when compared with that of the enemyagainst whom it was intended. Never had a greater expedition been sentto a foreign land; never was there an enterprise in which the hope offuture success seemed to be better justified by actual power. 

When the ships were manned and everything required for the voyage hadbeen placed on board, silence was proclaimed by the sound of thetrumpet, and all with one voice before setting sail offered up thecustomary prayers; these were recited, not in each ship, but by asingle herald, the whole fleet accompanying him. On every deck bothofficers and men, mingling wine in bowls, made libations from vesselsof gold and silver. The multitude of citizens and other well-wisherswho were looking on from the land joined in the prayer. The crewsraised the pæan, and when the libations were completed, put to sea. After sailing out for some distance in single file, the ships racedwith one another as far as Ægina;[30] thence they hastened onward toCorcyra, where the allies who formed the rest of the army wereassembling. 

Meanwhile reports of the expedition were coming in to Syracuse frommany quarters, but for a long time nobody gave credit to them. Atlength an assembly was held. Even then different opinions wereexprest, some affirming and others denying that the expedition wascoming. At last Hermocrates, [31] the son of Hermon, believing that hehad certain information, came forward, and warned the Syracusans. .. . 

Great was the contention which his words aroused among the Syracusanpeople, some asserting that the Athenians would never come, and thathe was not speaking truth, others asking, "And if they should come, what harm could they do to us nearly so great as we could do to them?"while others were quite contemptuous, and made a jest of the wholematter. A few only believed Hermocrates and realized the danger. Atlast Athenagoras, the popular leader, who had at that time thegreatest influence with the multitude, came forward and spoke. .. . 

The Athenians and their allies were by this time collected at Corcyra. There the generals began by holding a final review of the ships, anddisposed them in the order in which they were to anchor at theirstations. The fleet was divided into three squadrons, and one of themassigned by lot to each of the three generals, in order to avoid anydifficulties which might occur, if they sailed together, in findingwater, anchorage, and provisions where they touched; they thought alsothat the presence of a general in each division would promote goodorder and discipline throughout the fleet. They then sent before themto Italy and Sicily three ships, which had orders to find out whatcities in those regions would receive them, and to meet them again ontheir way, that they might know before they put in. 

At length the great armament proceeded to cross from Corcyra toSicily. It consisted of a hundred and thirty-four triremes in all, besides two Rhodian vessels of fifty oars. Of these a hundred wereAthenian, sixty being swift vessels, and the remaining fortytransports; the rest of the fleet was furnished by the Chians andother allies. The hoplites numbered in all five thousand one hundred, of whom fifteen hundred were Athenians taken from the roll, and sevenhundred who served as marines were of the fourth and lowest class ofAthenian citizens. The remainder of the hoplites were furnished by theallies, mostly by the subject states; but five hundred came fromArgos, besides two hundred and fifty Mantinean and other mercenaries. The archers were in all four hundred and eighty, of whom eighty wereCretans. There were seven hundred Rhodian slingers, a hundred andtwenty light-armed Megarians who were exiles, and one horse transportwhich conveyed thirty horsemen and horses. 

Such were the forces with which the first expedition crossed the sea. For the transport of provisions thirty merchant-ships, which alsoconveyed bakers, masons, carpenters, and tools such as are required insieges, were included in the armament. It was likewise attended by ahundred small vessels; these as well as the merchant-vessels, wereprest into the service. Other merchant-vessels and lesser craft ingreat numbers followed of their own accord for purposes of trade. Thewhole fleet now struck across the Ionian Sea from Corcyra. Theyarrived at the promontory of Iapygia and at Tarentum, [32] each shiptaking its own course, and passed along the coast of Italy. TheItalian cities did not admit them within their walls, or open a marketto them, but allowed them water and anchorage; Tarentum and Locri[33]refused even these. At length they reached Rhegium, [34] the extremepoint of Italy, where the fleet reunited. As they were not receivedwithin the walls, they encamped outside the city, at the temple ofArtemis; there they were provided by the inhabitants with a market, and drawing up their ships on shore they took a rest. They held aconference with the Rhegians, and prest them, being Chalcidiansthemselves, to aid their Chalcidian kinsmen the Leontines. But theRhegians replied that they would be neutral, and would only act inaccordance with the decision of all the Italian Greeks. The Atheniancommanders now began to consider how they could best commenceoperations in Sicily. Meanwhile they were expecting the ships whichhad gone on and were to meet them from Egesta;[35] for they wished toknow whether the Egestæans really had the money of which themessengers had brought information to Athens. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 28: From Book VI of "The History of the Peloponnesian War. "Translated by Benjamin Jowett. At the time of the sailing of thisfleet the war had been in progress sixteen years. Syracuse, a Greekcolony, founded from Corinth, had now become an ally of Sparta againstAthens. ]

[Footnote 29: Iapygia lies in what is now Apulia, southern Italy. Itis the extreme southern point of the "heel" of the "boot. "]

[Footnote 30: An island in the Saronic Gulf, lying immediately southof Attica; in an artistic and historical sense, one of the mostcelebrated of Greek islands. ]

[Footnote 31: One of the three generals of Syracuse entrusted with thedefense of the city. His character was "one of the brightest andpurest" in the history of that place, says a writer in Smith's"Dictionary. " His daughter married the tyrant Dionysius. ]

[Footnote 32: The modern Taranto, in southern Italy, in the gulf ofthat name. ]

[Footnote 33: The city of Locri lay near Gerace, a town in theextremity of the "toe" of the "boot. " It was allied with Syracuse inthe fourth century. ]

[Footnote 34: The modern Reggio, which lies opposite Messina, andwhich, like Messina, was destroyed in the earthquake of 1908. ]

[Footnote 35: Also written Segesta, a city in northwestern Sicily, sixmiles from the coast and about twenty-five miles west of Palermo. Themodern city of Aleamo stands near its site. Segesta traced itsfoundation to fugitives from Troy. Among its notable ruins is a Greektemple in the Doric order, which is one of the finest that havesurvived to our time. ]

IV

COMPLETION OF THE ATHENIAN DEFEAT AT SYRACUSE[36] (413 B. C. )

The Syracusans and the allies naturally thought that the strugglewould be brought to a glorious end if, after having defeated theAthenian fleet, they took captive the whole of their great armament, and did not allow them to escape either by sea or land. So they atonce began to close the mouth of the Great Harbor, which was about amile wide, by means of triremes, merchant-vessels, and small boats, placed broadside, which they moored there. They made every preparationalso for a naval engagement, should the Athenians be willing to hazardanother; and all their thoughts were on a grand scale. 

The Athenians, seeing the closing of the harbor and inferring theintentions of the enemy, proceeded to hold a council. The generals andofficers met and considered the difficulties of their position. Themost pressing was the want of food. For they had already sent toCatana, [37] when they intended to depart, and stopt the supplies; andthey could get no more unless they recovered the command of the sea. They resolved therefore to quit their lines on the higher ground andto cut off by a cross-wall a space close to their ships, no greaterthan was absolutely required for their baggage and for their sick;after leaving a guard there, they meant to put on board every otherman, and to launch all their ships, whether fit for service or not;they would then fight a decisive battle, and, if they conquered, go toCatana; but if not, they would burn their ships, and retreat by landin good order, taking the nearest way to some friendly country, barbarian or Hellenic. 

This design they proceeded to execute, and, withdrawing quietly fromthe upper walls, manned their whole fleet, compelling every man of anyage at all suitable for service to embark. The entire number of theships which they manned was about a hundred and ten. They put on boardnumerous archers and javelin-men, Acarnanians, [38] and otherforeigners, and made such preparations for action as the nature of theplan imposed upon them by their necessities allowed. When all wasnearly ready, Nicias, [39] perceiving that the soldiers were deprest bytheir severe defeat at sea, which was no new experience to them, while at the same time the want of provisions made them impatient torisk a battle with the least possible delay, called his men togetherand before they engaged exhorted them. .. . 

Nicias gave orders to man the ships. Gylippus[40] and the Syracusanscould see clearly enough from the preparations which the Athenianswere making that they were going to fight. But they had also previousnotice, and had been told of the iron grapnels; and they tookprecautions against this as against all the other devices of theAthenians. They covered the prows of their vessels with hides, extending a good way along the upper part of their sides, so that thegrapnels might slip and find no hold. When all was ready, Gylippus andthe other generals exhorted their men. .. . 

When Gylippus and the other Syracusan generals had, like Nicias, encouraged their troops, perceiving the Athenians to be manning theirships, they presently did the same. Nicias, overwhelmed by thesituation, and seeing how great and how near the peril was (for theships were on the very point of rowing out), feeling too, as men do onthe eve of a great struggle, that all which he had done was nothing, and that he had not said half enough, again addrest the trierarchs, and calling each of them by his father's name, and his own name, andthe name of his tribe, he entreated those who had made any reputationfor themselves not to be false to it, and those whose ancestors wereeminent not to tarnish their hereditary fame. He reminded them thatthey were the inhabitants of the freest country in the world, and howin Athens there was no interference with the daily life of any man. Hespoke to them of their wives and children and their fathers' gods, asmen will at such a time; for then they do not care whether theircommon-place phrases seem to be out of date or not, but loudlyreiterate the old appeals, believing that they may be of some serviceat the awful moment. When he thought that he had exhorted them, notenough, but as much as the scanty time allowed, he retired, and ledthe land-forces to the shore, extending the line as far as he could, so that they might be of the greatest use in encouraging thecombatants on board ship. Demosthenes, [41] Menander, and Euthydemus, who had gone on board the Athenian fleet to take command, now quittedtheir own station, and proceeded straight to the closed mouth of theharbor, intending to force their way to the open sea where a passagewas still left. 

The Syracusans and their allies had already put out with nearly thesame number of ships as before. A detachment of them guarded theentrance of the harbor; the remainder were disposed all round it insuch a manner that they might fall on the Athenians from every side atonce, and that their land-forces might at the same time be able tocooperate whenever the ships retreated to the shore. Sicanus andAgatharchus commanded the Syracusan fleet, each of them a wing; Pythenand the Corinthians occupied the center. 

When the Athenians approached the closed mouth of the harbor, theviolence of their onset overpowered the ships which were stationedthere; they then attempted to loosen the fastenings. Whereupon fromall sides the Syracusans and their allies came bearing down upon them, and the conflict was no longer confined to the entrance, but extendedthroughout the harbor. No previous engagement had been so fierce andobstinate. Great was the eagerness with which the rowers on both sidesrushed upon their enemies whenever the word of command was given; andkeen was the contest between the pilots as they maneuvered one againstanother. The marines too were full of anxiety that, when ship struckship, the service on deck should not fall short of the rest; every onein the place assigned to him was eager to be foremost among hisfellows. Many vessels meeting--and never did so many fight in so smalla space, for the two fleets together amounted to nearly twohundred--they were seldom able to strike in the regular manner, because they had no opportunity of first retiring or breaking theline; they generally fouled one another as ship dashed against ship inthe hurry of flight or pursuit. All the time that another vessel wasbearing down, the men on deck poured showers of javelins and arrowsand stones upon the enemy; and when the two closed, the marines foughthand to hand, and endeavored to board. In many places, owing to thewant of room, they who had struck another found that they were struckthemselves; often two or even more vessels were unavoidably entangledabout one, and the pilots had to make plans of attack and defense, not against one adversary only, but against several coming fromdifferent sides. 

The crash of so many ships dashing against one another took away thewits of the sailors, and made it impossible to hear the boatswains, whose voices in both fleets rose high, as they gave directions to therowers, or cheered them on in the excitement of the struggle. On theAthenians' side they were shouting to their men that they must force apassage and seize the opportunity now or never of returning in safetyto their native land. To the Syracusans and their allies wasrepresented the glory of preventing the escape of their enemies, andof a victory by which every man would exalt the honor of his own city. The commanders, too, when they saw any ship backing water withoutnecessity, would call the captain by his name, and ask, of theAthenians, whether they were retreating because they expected to bemore at home upon the land of their bitterest foes than upon that seawhich had been their own so long; on the Syracusan side, whether, whenthey knew perfectly well that the Athenians were only eager to findsome means of flight, they would themselves fly from the fugitives. 

While the naval engagement hung in the balance, the two armies onshore had great trial and conflict of soul. The Sicilian soldier wasanimated by the hope of increasing the glory which he had already won, while the invader was tormented by the fear that his fortunes mightsink lower still. The last chance of the Athenians lay in their ships, and their anxiety was dreadful. The fortune of the battle varied; andit was not possible that the spectators on the shore should allreceive the same impression of it. Being quite close and havingdifferent points of view, they would some of them see their own shipsvictorious; their courage would then revive, and they would earnestlycall upon the gods not to take from them their hope of deliverance. But others, who saw their ships worsted, cried and shrieked aloud, andwere by the sight alone more utterly unnerved than the defeatedcombatants themselves. Others again who had fixt their gaze on somepart of the struggle which was undecided, were in a state ofexcitement still more terrible; they kept swaying their bodies to andfro in an agony of hope and fear as the stubborn conflict went on andon; for at every instant they were all but saved or all but lost. Andwhile the strife hung in the balance, you might hear in the Athenianarmy at once lamentation, shouting, cries of victory or defeat, andall the various sounds which are wrung from a great host in extremityof danger. Not less agonizing were the feelings of those on board. 

At length the Syracusans and their allies, after a protractedstruggle, put the Athenians to flight, and triumphantly bearing downupon them, and encouraging one another with loud cries andexhortations, drove them to the land. Then that part of the navy whichhad not been taken in the deep water fell back in confusion to theshore, and the crews rushed out of the ships into the camp. And theland-forces, no longer now divided in feeling, but uttering oneuniversal groan of intolerable anguish ran, some of them to save theships, others to defend what remained of the wall; but the greaternumber began to look to themselves and to their own safety. Never hadthere been a greater panic in an Athenian army than at that moment. They now suffered what they had done to others at Pylos. For atPylos[42] the Lacedæmonians, when they saw their ships destroyed, knewthat their friends who had crossed over into the island ofSphacteria[43] were lost with them. And so now the Athenians, afterthe rout of their fleet, knew that they had no hope of savingthemselves by land unless events took some extraordinary turn. 

Thus, after a fierce battle and great destruction of ships and men onboth sides, the Syracusans and their allies gained the victory. Theygathered up the wrecks and bodies of the dead, and sailing back to thecity, erected a trophy. The Athenians, overwhelmed by their misery, never so much as thought of recovering their wrecks or of asking leaveto collect their dead. Their intention was to retreat that verynight. .. . 

On the third day after the sea-fight, when Nicias and Demosthenesthought that their preparations were complete, the army began to move. They were in a dreadful condition; not only was there the great factthat they had lost their whole fleet, and instead of their expectedtriumph had brought the utmost peril upon Athens as well as uponthemselves, but also the sights which presented themselves as theyquitted the camp were painful to every eye and mind. The dead wereunburied, and when any one saw the body of a friend lying on theground he was smitten with sorrow and dread, while the sick or woundedwho still survived but had to be left were even a greater trial to theliving, and more to be pitied than those who were gone. Their prayersand lamentations drove their companions to distraction; they would begthat they might be taken with them, and call by name any friend orrelative whom they saw passing; they would hang upon their departingcomrades and follow as far as they could, and when their limbs andstrength failed them and they dropt behind, many were the imprecationsand cries which they uttered. So that the whole army was in tears, andsuch was their despair that they could hardly make up their minds tostir altho they were leaving an enemy's country, having sufferedcalamities too great for tears already, and dreading miseries yetgreater in the unknown future. 

There was also a general feeling of shame and self-reproach--indeedthey seemed, not like an army, but like a fugitive population of acity captured after a siege, and of a great city too. For the wholemultitude who were marching together numbered not less than fortythousand. Each of them took with him anything he could carry which waslikely to be of use. Even the heavy-armed and cavalry, contrary totheir practise when under arms, conveyed about their persons their ownfood, some because they had no attendants, others because they couldnot trust them; for they had long been deserting, and most of themhad gone off all at once. Nor was the food which they carriedsufficient, for the supplies of the camp had failed. Their disgraceand the universality of the misery, altho there might be someconsolation in the very community of suffering, was nevertheless atthat moment hard to bear, especially when they remembered from whatpomp and splendor they had fallen into their present low estate. Neverhad a Hellenic army experienced such a reverse. They had comeintending to enslave others, and they were going away in fear thatthey would be themselves enslaved. Instead of the prayers and hymnswith which they had put to sea, they were now departing amid appealsto heaven of another sort. They were no longer sailors but landsmen, depending, not upon their fleet but upon their infantry. Yet in faceof the great danger which still threatened them all these thingsappeared endurable. .. . 

When daylight broke and the Syracusans and their allies saw that theAthenians had departed, most of them thought that Gylippus had letthem go on purpose, and were very angry with him. They easily foundthe line of their retreat, and quickly following came up with themabout the time of the midday meal. The troops of Demosthenes werelast; they were marching slowly and in disorder, not having recoveredfrom the panic of the previous night, when they were overtaken by theSyracusans, who immediately fell upon them and fought. Separated asthey were from the others, they were easily hemmed in by the Syracusancavalry and driven into a narrow space. The division of Nicias was asmuch as six miles in advance, for he marched faster, thinking thattheir safety depended at such a time, not in remaining and fighting, if they could avoid it, but in retreating as quickly as they could, and resisting only when they were positively compelled. 

Demosthenes, on the other hand, who had been more incessantly harassedthroughout the retreat, because marching last, was first attacked bythe enemy; now, when he saw the Syracusans pursuing him, instead ofpressing onward, had ranged his army in order of battle. Thuslingering he was surrounded, and he and the Athenians under hiscommand were in the greatest danger and confusion. For they werecrusht into a walled enclosure, having a road on both sides andplanted thickly with olive-trees, and missiles were hurled at themfrom all points. The Syracusans naturally preferred this mode ofattack to a regular engagement. For to risk themselves againstdesperate men would have been only playing into the hands of theAthenians. Moreover, every one was sparing of his life; their goodfortune was already assured, and they did not wish to fall in the hourof victory. Even by this irregular mode of fighting they thought thatthey could overpower and capture the Athenians. 

And so when they had gone on all day assailing them with missiles fromevery quarter, and saw that they were quite worn out with their woundsand all their other sufferings, Gylippus and the Syracusans made aproclamation, first of all to the islanders, that any of them whopleased might come over to them and have their freedom. But only a fewcities accepted the offer. At length an agreement was made for theentire force under Demosthenes. Their arms were to be surrendered butno one was to suffer death, either from violence or from imprisonment, or from want of the bare means of life. So they all surrendered, beingin number six thousand, and gave up what money they had. This theythrew into the hollows of shields and filled four. The captives wereat once taken to the city. On the same day Nicias and his divisionreached the river Erineus, which he crossed, and halted his army on arising ground. 

On the following day, he was overtaken by the Syracusans, who told himthat Demosthenes had surrendered, and bade him do the same. He, notbelieving them, procured a truce while he sent a horseman to go andsee. Upon the return of the horseman bringing assurance of the fact, he sent a herald to Gylippus and the Syracusans, saying that he wouldagree, on behalf of the Athenian state, to pay the expenses which theSyracusans had incurred in the war, on condition that they should lethis army go; until the money was paid he would give Athenian citizensas hostages, a man for a talent. Gylippus and the Syracusans would notaccept these proposals, but attacked and surrounded this division ofthe army as well as the other, and hurled missiles at them from everyside until the evening. They too were grievously in want of food andnecessaries. Nevertheless they meant to wait for the dead of the nightand then to proceed. They were just resuming their arms, when theSyracusans discovered them and raised the pæan. The Athenians, perceiving that they were detected, laid down their arms again, withthe exception of about three hundred men who broke through the enemy'sguard, and made their escape in the darkness as best they could. 

When the day dawned Nicias led forward his army, and the Syracusansand the allies again assailed them on every side, hurling javelins andother missiles at them. The Athenians hurried on to the riverAssinarus. They hoped to gain a little relief if they forded theriver, for the mass of horsemen and other troops overwhelmed andcrusht them; and they were worn out by fatigue and thirst. But nosooner did they reach the water than they lost all order and rushedin; every man was trying to cross first, and, the enemy pressing uponthem at the same time, the passage of the river became hopeless. Beingcompelled to keep close together they fell one upon another, andtrampled each other under foot; some at once perished, pierced bytheir own spears; others got entangled in the baggage and were carrieddown the stream. The Syracusans stood upon the further bank of theriver, which was steep, and hurled missiles from above on theAthenians, who were huddled together in the deep bed of the stream andfor the most part were drinking greedily. The Peloponnesians came downthe bank and slaughtered them, falling chiefly upon those who were inthe river. Whereupon the water at once became foul but was drunk allthe same, altho muddy and dyed with blood, and the crowd fought forit. 

At last, when the dead bodies were lying in heaps upon one another inthe water and the army was utterly undone, some perishing in theriver, and any one who escaped being cut off by the cavalry, Niciassurrendered to Gylippus, in whom he had more confidence than in theSyracusans. He entreated him and the Lacedæmonians to do what theypleased with himself, but not to go on killing the men. So Gylippusgave the word to make prisoners. Thereupon the survivors, notincluding, however, a large number whom the soldiers concealed, werebrought in alive. As for the three hundred who had broken through theguard in the night, the Syracusans sent in pursuit and seized them. The total of the public prisoners when collected was not great; formany were appropriated by the soldiers, and the whole of Sicily wasfull of them, they not having capitulated like the troops underDemosthenes. A large number also perished; the slaughter at the riverbeing very great, quite as great as any which took place in theSicilian war; and not a few had fallen in the frequent attacks whichwere made upon the Athenians during the march. Still many escaped, some at the time, others ran away after an interval of slavery, andall these found refuge at Catana. 

The Syracusans and their allies collected their forces and returnedwith the spoil, and as many prisoners as they could take with them, into the city. The captive Athenians and allies they deposited in thequarries, which they thought would be the safest place of confinement. Nicias and Demosthenes they put to the sword, altho against the willof Gylippus. For Gylippus thought that to carry home with him toLacedæmon the generals of the enemy, over and above all his othersuccesses, would be a brilliant triumph. One of them, Demosthenes, happened to be the greatest foe, and the other the greatest friend ofthe Lacedæmonians, both in the same matter of Pylos and Sphacteria. .. . 

Those who were imprisoned in the quarries were at the beginning oftheir captivity harshly treated by the Syracusans. There were greatnumbers of them, and they were crowded in a deep and narrow place. Atfirst the sun by day was scorching and suffocating, for they had noroof over their heads, while the autumn nights were cold, and theextremes of temperature engendered violent disorders. Being crampedfor room, they had to do everything on the same spot. The corpses ofthose who had died from their wounds, exposure to the weather, and thelike lay heaped one upon another. The smells were intolerable; and theprisoners were at the same time afflicted by hunger and thirst. Duringeight months they were allowed only about half a pint of water and apint of food a day. [44] Every kind of misery which could befall man insuch a place befell them. This was the condition of all the captivesfor about ten weeks. At length the Syracusans sold them, with theexception of the Athenians and of any Sicilian or Italian Greeks whohad sided with them in the war. The whole number of the publicprisoners is not accurately known, but they were not less than seventhousand. 

Of all the Hellenic actions which took place in this war, or indeed ofall Hellenic actions which are on record, this was the greatest--themost glorious to the victors, the most ruinous to the vanquished; forthey were utterly and at all points defeated, and their sufferingswere prodigious. Fleet and army perished from the face of the earth;nothing was saved, and of the many who went forth few returned home. 

Thus ended the Sicilian expedition. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 36: From Book VII of the "History of the Peloponnesian War, "translated by Benjamin Jowett. "The noblest piece of tragedy in allwritten history, " says John Morley of this book. Gray, the poet, inone of his letters, inquired, "Is it, or is it not, the finest thingyou ever read in your life?" Macaulay, in a letter once wrote: "I doassure you that there is no prose composition in the world that Iplace so high as the Seventh book of Thucydides. Tacitus was a greatman, but he was not up to the Sicilian expedition. " Praise is given tothis chapter by Mahaffy for "the sustained splendor of the narrative. "Grote had profound admiration for the famous picture contained in theselection here given. He refers to its "condensed and burning phrases"as imparting an impression which modern historians have sought in vainto convey. ]

[Footnote 37: The modern Catania, on the east coast of Sicily. ]

[Footnote 38: The people of Acarnania, a province of Greece, lying onthe Ionian Sea south of the Ambracian Gulf. ]

[Footnote 39: Commander of the Athenians. ]

[Footnote 40: The Spartan general who had been sent to Syracuse byadvice of Alcibiades after he went over to the enemy. ]

[Footnote 41: Next under Nicias in command of the expedition. He diedtwenty-nine years before the birth of the orator of the same name. ]

[Footnote 42: Here occurred one of the most memorable events in thePeloponnesian war, the defense of Pylos under Demosthenes. ]

[Footnote 43: This island lies immediately south of Pylos. It is longand narrow and guards the Bay of Navarino, the largest harbor inGreece, which was the scene of a famous battle between the English, French, Turkish, and Russian fleets in 1827. ]

[Footnote 44: This allowance of food was only about one-half theamount usually given to a slave. ]

XENOPHON

 Born in Athens about 430 B. C. ; died after 357; celebrated as historian and essayist, being a disciple of Socrates; joined the expedition of Cyrus the Younger in 401, and after the battle of Cunaxa became the chief leader of ten thousand Greeks in their march to the Black Sea, the story being chronicled in his famous "Anabasis"; fought on the Spartan side in the battle of Coronea; banished from Athens, he settled at Scillus in Eleia; spent his last years in Corinth; among his writings besides the "Anabasis" are the "Hellenica, " "Cycropædia, " "Memorabilia of Socrates, " and essays on hunting and horsemanship. 

I

THE CHARACTER OF CYRUS THE YOUNGER[45]

Thus then died Cyrus, a man who, of all the Persians since Cyrus theElder, was the most princely and most worthy of empire, as is agreedby all who appear to have had personal knowledge of him. In the firstplace, while he was yet with his brother and the other youths, he wasa boy, and when he was receiving his education thought to surpass themall in everything. For without exception the sons of the Persiannobles are educated at the gates of the king;[46] where they may learnmany a lesson of virtuous conduct, but can see or hear nothingdisgraceful. In this place the boys see some honored by the king, andothers disgraced, and hear of them; so that in their very childhoodthey learn to govern and to obey. 

Here Cyrus, first of all, showed himself most remarkable for modestyamong those of his own age, and for paying more ready obedience to hiselders than even those who were inferior to him in station; and nexthe was noted for his fondness for horses, and for managing them in asuperior manner. They found him, too, very desirous of learning andmost assiduous in practising the warlike exercises of archery andhurling the javelin. When it suited his age, he grew extremely fond ofthe chase, and of braving dangers in encounters with wild beasts. Onone occasion he did not shrink from a she bear that attacked him;however, in grappling with her, he was dragged from his horse, andreceived some wounds, the scars of which were visible on his body, butat last killed her. The person who first came to his assistance hemade a happy man in the eyes of many. 

When he was sent down by his father, as satrap of Lydia and GreatPhrygia and Cappadocia, and was also appointed commander of all thetroops whose duty it is to muster in the plain of Castolus, he soonshowed that if he made a league or compact with any one, or gave apromise, he deemed it of the utmost importance not to break his word. Accordingly, the states that were committed to his charge, as well asindividuals, had the greatest confidence in him; and if any one hadbeen his enemy, he felt secure that if Cyrus entered into a treatywith him, he should suffer no infraction of the stipulations. When, therefore, he waged war against Tissaphernes, [47] all the cities, oftheir own accord, chose to adhere to Cyrus in preference toTissaphernes, except the Milesians; but they feared Cyrus, because hewould not abandon the cause of the exiles; for he both showed by hisdeeds, and declared in words, that he would never desert them, sincehe had once become a friend to them, not even tho they should growstill fewer in number, and be in a worse condition than they were. 

Whenever any one did Cyrus a kindness or an injury, he showed himselfanxious to go beyond him in those respects; and some used to mention awish of his, that he "desired to live long enough to outdo both thosewho had done him good, and those who had done him ill, in the requitalthat he should make. " Accordingly, to him alone of the men of our dayswere so great a number of people desirous of committing the disposalof their property, their cities, and their own person. 

Yet no one could with truth say this of him, that he suffered thecriminal or unjust to deride his authority; for he of all meninflicted punishment most unsparingly; and there were often to beseen, along the most frequented roads, men deprived of their feet, orhands, or eyes; so that in Cyrus' dominions it was possible for anyone, Greek or barbarian, who did no wrong, to travel without fearwhithersoever he pleased, and having with him whatever might suit hisconvenience. 

To those who showed ability for war, it is acknowledged that he paiddistinguished honor. His first war was with the Pisidians and Mysians;and, marching in person into these countries, he made those whom hesaw voluntarily hazarding their lives in his service governors overthe territory that he subdued, and distinguished them with rewards inother ways, so that the brave appeared to be the most fortunate ofmen, while the cowardly were deemed fit only to be their slaves. Therewere, therefore, great numbers of persons who voluntarily exposedthemselves to danger wherever they thought that Cyrus would becomeaware of their exertions. 

With regard to justice, if any appeared to him inclined to displaythat virtue, he made a point of making such men richer than those whosought to profit by injustice. Accordingly, while in many otherrespects his affairs were administered judiciously, he likewisepossest an army worthy of the name. For it was not for money thatgenerals and captains came from foreign lands to enter into hisservice, but because they were persuaded that to serve Cyrus wellwould be more profitable than any amount of monthly pay. Besides, ifany one executed his orders in a superior manner, he never sufferedhis diligence to go unrewarded; consequently, in every undertaking, the best-qualified officers were said to be ready to assist him. 

If he noticed any one that was a skilful manager, with strict regardto justice, stocking the land of which he had the direction, andsecuring income from it, he would never take anything from such aperson, but was ever ready to give him something in addition; so thatmen labored with cheerfulness, acquired property with confidence, andmade no concealment from Cyrus of what each possest; for he did notappear to envy those who amassed riches openly, but to endeavor tobring into use the wealth of those who concealed it. 

Whatever friends he made, and felt to be well disposed to him, andconsidered to be capable of assisting him in anything that he mightwish to accomplish, he is acknowledged by all to have been mostsuccessful in attaching them to him. For, on the very same account onwhich he thought that he himself had need of friends--namely, that hemight have cooperators in his undertakings--did he endeavor to provean efficient assistant to his friends in whatever he perceived any ofthem desirous of effecting. 

He received, for many reasons, more presents than perhaps any othersingle individual; and these he outdid every one else in distributingamong his friends, having a view to the character of each, and to whathe perceived each most needed. Whatever presents any one sent him ofarticles of personal ornament, whether for warlike accouterment ormerely for dress, concerning these, they said, he used to remark thathe could not decorate his own person with them all, but that hethought friends well equipped were the greatest ornament a man couldhave. That he should outdo his friends, indeed, in conferring greatbenefits is not at all wonderful, since he was so much more able; butthat he should surpass his friends in kind attentions and an anxiousdesire to oblige, appears to me far more worthy of admiration. Frequently, when he had wine served him of a peculiarly fine flavor, he would send half-emptied flagons of it to some of his friends, witha message to this effect, "Cyrus has not for some time met withpleasanter wine than this; and he has therefore sent some of it toyou, and begs you will drink it to-day, with those whom you lovebest. " He would often, too, send geese partly eaten and the halves ofloaves, and other such things, desiring the bearer to say, inpresenting them, "Cyrus has been delighted with these, and thereforewishes you also to taste of them. "

Wherever provender was scarce, but he himself, from having manyattendants, and from the care which he took, was able to procure some, he would send it about, and desire his friends to give that provenderto the horses that carried them, so that hungry steeds might not carryhis friends. Whenever he rode out and many were likely to see him, hewould call to him his friends, and hold earnest conversation withthem, that he might show whom he held in honor; so that, from what Ihave heard, I should think that no one was ever beloved by a greaternumber of persons, either Greeks or barbarians. Of this fact thefollowing is a proof: that no one deserted to the king from Cyrus, tho only a subject (except that Orontes[48] attempted to do so; but hesoon found the person whom he believed faithful to him more a friendto Cyrus than to himself), while many came over to Cyrus from theking, after they had become enemies to each other, and these, too, menwho were greatly beloved by the king; for they felt persuaded that ifthey proved themselves brave soldiers under Cyrus, they would obtainfrom him more adequate rewards for their services than from the king. 

What occurred also at the time of his death is a great proof as wellthat he himself was a man of merit as that he could accuratelydistinguish such as were trustworthy, well disposed, and constant totheir attachment. For when he was killed, all his friends and thepartakers of his table who were with him fell fighting in his defenseexcept Ariæus, who had been posted in command of the cavalry on theleft; and, when he learned that Cyrus had fallen in the battle, hetook to flight, with all the troops which he had under his command. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 45: From the "Anabasis. " Translated by J. S. Watson. Cyrusthe Younger, son of Darius Nothus, with the help of 10, 000 Greeks, sought to conquer his brother Artaxerxes, but was defeated and killedin the battle of Cunaxa in 401 B. C. The elder Cyrus, called the"Great, " founder of the Persian Empire, died in 529 B. C. It is theretreat of the 10, 000 Greeks that Xenophon chronicles in the"Anabasis. "]

[Footnote 46: By this is meant at the palace of the king, tho notliterally within the palace. Among the ancient Persians, as to-dayamong the Turks at Constantinople, the king's palace was called "thePorte. "]

[Footnote 47: A Persian satrap who took part in the battle of Cunaxa. He became chief ruler of Western Asia, but was overthrown by theGreeks in 395 and put to death. ]

[Footnote 48: A Persian of royal blood, one of the officers of Cyrusthe Younger, several times in revolt against him, and finallycondemned. ]

II

THE GREEK ARMY IN THE SNOWS OF ARMENIA[49]

(400 B. C. )

The next day it was thought necessary to march away as fast aspossible, before the enemy's force should be reassembled, and getpossession of the pass. Collecting their baggage at once, therefore, they set forward through a deep snow, taking with them several guides;and, having the same day passed the height on which Tiribazus hadintended to attack them, they encamped. Hence they proceeded threedays' journey, through a desert tract of country, a distance offifteen parasangs, to the river Euphrates, and passed it without beingwet higher than the middle. The sources of the river were said not tobe far off. 

Hence they advanced three days' march, through much snow and a levelplain, a distance of fifteen parasangs; the third day's march wasextremely troublesome, as the north wind blew full in their faces, completely parching up everything and benumbing the men. One of theaugurs, in consequence, advised that they should sacrifice to thewind; and a sacrifice was accordingly offered, when the vehemence ofthe wind appeared to every one manifestly to abate. The depth of thesnow was a fathom; so that many of the baggage-cattle and slavesperished, with about thirty of the soldiers. They continued to burnfires through the whole night, for there was plenty of wood at theplace of encampment. But those who came up late could get no wood;those therefore who had arrived before, and had kindled fires, wouldnot admit the late comers to the fire unless they gave them a share ofthe corn or other provisions that they had brought. Thus they sharedwith one another what they respectively had. In the places where thefires were made, as the snow melted, there were formed large pits thatreached to the ground; and here there was accordingly opportunity tomeasure the depth of the snow. 

Hence they marched through snow the whole of the following day, andmany of the men contracted the bulimia. Xenophon, who commanded in therear, finding in his way such of the men as had fallen down with it, knew not what disease it was. But as one of those acquainted with ittold him that they were evidently affected with bulimia, and that theywould get up if they had something to eat, he went round among thebaggage, and, wherever he saw anything eatable, he gave it out, andsent such as were able to run to distribute it among those diseased, who, as soon as they had eaten, rose up and continued their march. Asthey proceeded, Cheirisophus[50] came, just as it grew dark, to avillage, and found a spring in front of the rampart, some women andgirls belonging to the place fetching water. The women asked them whothey were; and the interpreter answered, in the Persian language, thatthey were people going from the king to the satrap. They replied thathe was not there, but about a parasang off. 

However, as it was late, they went with the water-carriers within therampart to the head man of the village; and here Cheirisophus, and asmany of the troops as could come up, encamped; but of the rest, suchas were unable to get to the end of the journey spent the night on theway without food or fire; and some of the soldiers lost their lives onthat occasion. Some of the enemy too, who had collected themselvesinto a body, pursued our rear, and seized any of the baggage-cattlethat were unable to proceed, fighting with one another for thepossession of them. Such of the soldiers, also, as had lost theirsight from the effects of the snow, or had had their toes mortified bythe cold, were left behind. It was found to be a relief to the eyesagainst the snow if the soldiers kept something black before them onthe march, and to the feet, if they kept constantly in motion, andallowed themselves no rest, and if they took off their shoes in thenight; but as to such as slept with their shoes on, the straps workedinto their feet, and the soles were frozen about them; for when theirold shoes had failed them, shoes of raw hides had been made by themen themselves from the newly skinned oxen. 

From such unavoidable sufferings, some of the soldiers were leftbehind, who, seeing a piece of ground of a black appearance, from thesnow having disappeared there, conjectured that it must have melted;and it had, in fact, melted in the spot from the effect of a fountain, which was sending up a vapor in a woody hollow close at hand. Turningaside thither, they sat down and refused to proceed farther. Xenophon, who was with the rear-guard, as soon as he heard this, tried toprevail on them by every art and means not to be left behind, tellingthem, at the same time, that the enemy were collected and pursuingthem in great numbers. At last he grew angry; and they told him tokill them, as they were quite unable to go forward. He then thought itthe best course to strike terror, if possible, into the enemy thatwere behind, lest they should fall upon the exhausted soldiers. It wasnow dark, and the enemy were advancing with a great noise, quarrelingabout the booty that they had taken, when such of the rear-guard aswere not disabled started up, and rushed toward them, while the tiredmen, shouting as loud as they could, clashed their spears againsttheir shields. The enemy, struck with alarm, threw themselves into thehollow amid the snow, and no one of them afterward made himself heardfrom any quarter. 

Xenophon, and those with him, telling the sick men that a party wouldcome to their relief next day, proceeded on their march, but beforethey had gone four stadia they found other soldiers resting by theway in the snow, and covered up with it, no guard being stationed overthem. They roused them up, but they said that the head of the army wasnot moving forward. Xenophon, going past them, and sending on some ofthe ablest of the peltasts, ordered them to ascertain what it was thathindered their progress. They brought word that the whole army was inthat manner taking rest. Xenophon and his men, therefore, stationingsuch a guard as they could, took up quarters there without fire orsupper. When it was near day, he sent the youngest of his men to thesick, telling them to rouse them and oblige them to proceed. 

At this juncture Cheirisophus sent some of his people from thevillages to see how the rear were faring. The young men were rejoicedto see them, and gave them the sick to conduct to the camp, while theythemselves went forward, and, before they had gone twenty stadia, found themselves at the village in which Cheirisophus was quartered. When they came together, it was thought safe enough to lodge thetroops up and down in the villages. Cheirisophus accordingly remainedwhere he was, and the other officers, appropriating by lot the severalvillages that they had in sight, went to their respective quarterswith their men. 

Here Polycrates, an Athenian captain, requested leave of absence, and, taking with him the most active of his men, and hastening to thevillage which Xenophon had been allotted, surprized all the villagersand their head man in their houses, together with seventeen colts thatwere bred as a tribute for the king, and the head man's daughter, whohad been but nine days married; her husband was gone out to hunthares, and was not found in any of the villages. Their houses wereunder ground, the entrance like the mouth of a well, but spaciousbelow; there were passages dug into them for the cattle, but thepeople descended by ladders. In the houses were goats, sheep, cows, and fowls, with their young; all the cattle were kept on fodder withinthe walls. [51] There were also wheat, barley, leguminous vegetables, and barley-wine, in large bowls; the grains of barley floated in iteven with the brims of the vessels, and reeds also lay in it, somelarger and some smaller, without joints; and these, when any one wasthirsty, he was to take in his mouth and suck. The liquor is verystrong, unless one mixed water with it, and a very pleasant drink tothose accustomed to it. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 49: From the "Anabasis. " Translated by J. S. Watson. The"Anabasis" has made Xenophon perhaps the most prominent figure ofancient classical literature, largely because every schoolboy whostudies Greek knows at least this book. It stands in that sense toGreek literature as Cæsar's "Commentaries" stands to Latin. The bookhas further value, not only as authentic history, but for the curiousdetails it gives of the manners and customs of savage tribes livingalong the shores of the Euxine, and of those which prevailed at thePersian court and elsewhere in the Persian state. ]

[Footnote 50: A Spartan general who, at the instance of Xenophon, hadbeen appointed to lead the van of the retreating Greek army. ]

[Footnote 51: W. T. Ainsworth, who has made a geographical commentaryon Xenophon's "Anabasis, " says: "This description of a village on theArmenian uplands applies itself to many that I visited. " Houses onexposed elevations he found to be still semisubterranean. Whatevermight be the kind of cottage used, domestic animals "participated withthe family in the warmth and protection thereof. "]

III

THE BATTLE OF LEUCTRA[52]

(371 B. C. )

For the battle everything was adverse on the side of theLacedæmonians, while to the enemy everything was rendered favorable byfortune. It was after dinner that the last council of war was held byCleombrotus; and, as the officers had drunk a little at noon, it wassaid that the wine in some degree inspired them. And as, when bothsides were fully armed, and it was now evident that a battle wouldtake place, the people who had provisions for sale, with some of thebaggage-carriers and others who were unwilling to fight, wereproceeding first of all to quit the camp of the Boeotians, themercenaries under Hiero the Phocian peltasts, and the Heraclean andPhliasian cavalry, making a circuit, fell upon them as they were goingoff, turned them back, and pursued them to the Boeotian camp; sothat they made the army of the Boeotians larger and more numerousthan before. 

Besides, as there was a plain between the armies, the Lacedæmoniansdrew up their cavalry before their main body and the Thebans drew uptheirs over against them; but the cavalry of the Thebans had beenexercised in wars with the Orchomenians and Thespians, while that ofthe Lacedæmonians was at that time in a very inefficient condition;for the richest men maintained the horses, and, when notice of anexpedition was given, the men appointed came to ride them, and eachtaking his horse, and whatever arms were given him, proceeded at onceto the field; and thus the weakest and least spirited of all the menwere mounted on horseback. Such was the cavalry on either side. Of thefoot, it was said that the Lacedæmonians advanced with each enomotydrawn up three deep, this arrangement making them not more than twelvedeep in all. The Theban infantry, in close array, were not less thanfifty deep, considering that if they could defeat the body of theenemy posted around the king, the rest of the army would be an easyconquest. 

As soon as Cleombrotus began to lead forward against the enemy, andeven before the troops about him were aware that he was putting themin motion, the cavalry had already engaged, and those of theLacedæmonians were at once defeated, who, as they fled, fell in amongtheir own heavy-armed infantry, on which the troops of the Thebanswere also pressing. But that the troops round Cleombrotus had at firstthe advantage in the contest, any one may be convinced by certainproof; for they would not have been able to take him and carry him offalive unless those who fought in front of him had been at that timevictorious. When, however, Deimon the polemarch, Sphodrias, one of theattendants at the royal tent, and Cleonymus, his son, were killed, andthe horse-guard, those who are called supporters of the polemarch, and the rest, being overpowered by the mass of the enemy, were forcedto fall back, the Lacedæmonians on the left, seeing the right wingthus repulsed, also gave way; yet, tho many were killed, and they werequite defeated, they were able, when they had repassed the trenchwhich was in front of the camp, to form themselves under arms in theplace from which they had set out. Their camp was nevertheless not onlevel ground, but rather somewhat on an acclivity. 

Some of the Lacedæmonians, at the time, who thought their disaster aninsupportable disgrace, exclaimed that they ought to prevent the enemyfrom erecting a trophy, and endeavor to recover the dead, not bymaking a truce, but by fighting another battle. However, thepolemarchs, seeing that of the Lacedæmonians in all nearly a thousandhad lost their lives; and that of the Spartans, who were in the fieldto the number of about seven hundred, about four hundred had fallen;and observing, also, that all the auxiliaries were too dispirited torenew the combat, and some of them not even concerned at what hadhappened, called a council of the chief officers, and deliberated whatcourse they ought to pursue; and as all were of opinion that "theyought to fetch off the dead by truce, " they accordingly despatched aherald to treat respecting a truce. The Thebans soon afterward erecteda trophy, and gave up the dead under truce. 

After these occurrences, the messenger who was sent with the news ofthe calamity to Lacedæmon arrived there on the last day of thegymnopædiæ and after the chorus of men had made their entry. Theephors, when they heard of the calamity, were greatly concerned, as, Ithink, they naturally must have been; yet they did not order thatchorus to withdraw, but allowed them to finish the entertainment. Theythen sent the names of the dead to their several relatives, and gavenotice to the women to make no lamentations, but to bear theiraffliction in silence. The day after, a person might have seen thosewhose relatives had died appearing in public with looks ofcheerfulness and joy; however, of those whose relatives were said tobe alive, he would have seen but few, and those going about withgloomy and dejected countenances. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 52: From Book VI of the "Hellenica. " At Leuctra, which liesnear Thebes in Boetia, Epaminondas commanding the Boeotians, overwhelmed the Spartans under Cleombrotus. From this event dates thedecline of Sparta. ]

IV

OF THE ARMY OF THE SPARTANS[53]

The regulations which I have mentioned are beneficial alike in peaceand in war; but if any one wishes to learn what the lawgiver contrivedbetter than other legislators with reference to military proceedings, he may attend to the following particulars:

In the first place, then, the ephors give the cavalry and infantrypublic notice of the years during which they must join the army, aswell as the artizans; for the Lacedæmonians provide themselves in thefield with an abundance of all those things which people use in acity; and of whatever instruments an army may require in common, orders are given to bring some on wagons and others on beasts ofburden, as by this arrangement anything left behind is least likely toescape notice. 

For engagements in the field he made the following arrangements: Heordered that each soldier should have a purple robe and a brazenshield; for he thought that such a dress had least resemblance to thatof women, and was excellently adapted for the field of battle, as itis soonest made splendid, and is longest in growing soiled. Hepermitted also those above the age of puberty to let their hair grow, as he thought that they thus appeared taller, more manly, and moreterrible in the eyes of the enemy. 

When they were thus equipped, he divided them into six moræ of cavalryand heavy-armed infantry. Each of these moræ of the citizens has onepolemarch, four centurions, eight captains of fifty, and sixteenenomotarchs. The men of these moræ are sometimes, according to thecommand issued, formed in enomotiæ, sometimes by threes, sometimes bysixes. As to what most people imagine, that the arrangement of theLacedæmonians under arms is extremely complex, they conceive the exactcontrary to what is the fact; for in the Lacedæmonian order theofficers are placed in the front ranks, and each rank is in acondition to perform everything which it is necessary for it toperform. So easy is it to understand this arrangement that no one whocan distinguish one man from another would fail of learning it; for itis assigned to some to lead, and enjoined on others to follow. Shiftings of place, by which the companies are extended or deepened, are ordered by the word of the enomotarch, as by a herald; and inthese there is nothing in the least difficult to learn. 

But how it is possible for men in this arrangement, even if they arethrown into confusion, to fight with an enemy presenting themselves onany quarter alike, it is not so easy to understand, except for thosewho have been brought up under the institution of Lycurgus. TheLacedæmonians do with the greatest ease what appears extremelydifficult to other men that are even accustomed to arms. For when theymarch in column, one enomotia follows in the rear of another; and if, when they are in this order, a body of the enemy shows itself infront, orders are given to each enomotarch to bring up his enomotia tothe front on the left; and this movement is made throughout the wholearmy, until it presents itself in full array against the enemy. But ifagain, while they are in this order, the enemy should show themselvesin the rear, each rank performs the evolution, that the strongest mayalways be presented to the enemy. 

But when the commander is on the left, they do not in that caseconsider themselves in a worse condition, but sometimes even in abetter; for if an enemy should attempt to encompass them, he wouldcome round, not on the defenseless, but on the armed side. If on anyoccasion, again, it should appear advantageous, for any particularobject, that the commander should occupy the right wing, they wheelthe troop toward the wing, and maneuver the main body until thecommander is on the right, and the rear becomes the left. But if, again, the body of the enemy appear on the right, marching in column, they do nothing else but turn each century round, like a ship, so asto front the enemy; and thus the century which was in the rear comesto the right. But if the enemy approach on the left, they do not allowthem to come near, but repulse them, or turn their centuries round toface the enemy; and thus again the century that was in the rear takesits place on the left. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 53: From the treatise on "The Government of Lacedæmon. "Translated by J. S. Watson. This work is believed to be the earliestextant specimen of Attic prose. Mahaffy describes it as "one of themost interesting and instructive documents of the age, very remarkablefor its Machiavellian tone, in its calm ignoring of the right andwrong of the case as irrelevant. "]

V

HOW TO CHOOSE AND MANAGE SADDLE-HORSES[54]

When a person would buy a horse that has been already ridden, we shallsubjoin some admonitions which he ought to bear in mind, if he wouldnot be cheated in his purchase. In the first place, then, let it notescape his notice what the _age_ is; for a horse that has no longerthe marks in his teeth neither delights the buyer with hope nor is soeasy to be exchanged. 

It is also necessary to see how he takes the rider on his back;[55]for many horses reluctantly receive on them anything which it is plainto them that they can not receive without being compelled to work. Itmust likewise be observed whether, when he is mounted, he wishes toseparate himself from other horses, or whether, if he be ridden nearhorses standing by, he carries off his rider toward them. There aresome horses too that, from bad training, run off from the place ofexercise to their stalls at home. 

As for horses whose jaws are not alike, that sort of riding which iscalled the _pede_ exposes them, and, still more, a change in thedirection in which they are ridden; for many horses will not attemptto run away with their riders unless a hard jaw, and their coursedirected homeward, concur to stimulate them. We ought to ascertain, also, whether the horse, being put to his speed, is readily pulled up, and whether he submits to be turned about. 

It is good for a purchaser not to be too ignorant, moreover, whether ahorse is equally willing to obey when he is roused with a blow; for aservant and an army, if disobedient, are useless, but a disobedienthorse is not only useless, but often plays the traitor. 

However, when we take upon ourselves to purchase a warhorse, we mustmake trial of him in all things in which war will make trial of him;and these are leaping across ditches, springing over walls, jumping onto mounds, and jumping down from them; and we must try him in ridingup and down steep places, and along them; for all such efforts showhis spirit, whether it is bold and whether his body is sound. Yet wemust not at once reject a horse that does not accomplish all thesefeats perfectly; for many fail, not from being unable, but from wantof training; and if they are taught, and used, and exercised in suchperformances, they will execute them all well, provided they are soundin other respects, and not wanting in spirit. 

We must, however, be cautious of having anything to do with horsesthat are naturally shy; for horses that are excessively timorous willnot only not allow the rider on their back to harm the enemy, but willoften take him by surprize, and expose him to great danger. We mustalso learn whether the horse has anything of vice either toward otherhorses or toward men, and whether he is averse to being handled; forall such defects are troublesome to his owner. 

As to any reluctance to being bridled and mounted, and other tricks, aperson will much sooner discover them if, when the horse has beenthoroughly exercised, he attempt to do to him what he did before hebegan to ride him; since horses that, after having been exercised, areready to submit to exercise again give sufficient proofs of amettlesome spirit. 

To sum up all in a few words, whatever horse has good feet, ismild-tempered, sufficiently swift, is willing and able to endurefatigue, and is in the highest degree obedient will probably giveleast trouble to his rider, and contribute most to his safety inmilitary occupations. But horses that from sluggishness require agreat deal of driving or, from excess of mettle, much coaxing andcare, afford plenty of employment to the rider, as well as muchapprehension in time of danger. .. . 

We shall now show how a man may groom a horse with least danger tohimself and most benefit to the animal. If, when he cleans him, helook the same way as the horse, there is danger that he may be struckin the face with his knee or his hoof. But if he look in the oppositedirection to the horse when he cleans him, keeping himself out of thereach of his leg, and rubs gradually down by the shoulder, he willthus receive no injury, and may clean the frog of the horse's foot byturning up the hoof. In like manner let him clean the hind legs. 

But whoever is employed about a horse ought to know that to do thesethings, and everything else that he has to do, he must come as littleas possible near the face and the tail; for if a horse be inclined tobe vicious, he has in both these parts the advantage of the man. But aperson who approaches him at the side may manage the horse with leastdanger to himself, and with most power over the beast. 

When we have to lead a horse, we do not approve of the practise ofleading from behind, for these reasons: that the person leading thehorse is thus least able to keep on his guard against him, and thehorse has most liberty to do what he pleases. To the mode, again, ofconducting him with a long rein, to teach him to go forward and takethe lead, we object for the following reasons: that the horse can domischief on whichever side he pleases, and that, by turning himselfround, he can set himself opposite his leader. When there are a numberof horses together, too, how, if they are thus led, can they beprevented from annoying one another? But a horse that is accustomed tobe led at the side will be least in a condition to molest either otherhorses or men, and will be readiest at hand for his rider whenever hemay require to mount in haste. 

That the groom may put on the bridle properly, let him first approachthe horse on the left side, and then throwing the reins over thehorse's head, let him suffer them to rest on the point of theshoulder; and next let him take the headpiece in his right hand, andapply the bit with his left. If the horse take the bit into his mouth, the man has nothing to do but to put on the headpiece; but if thehorse will not open his mouth, the man must hold the bit to his teeth, and insert the middle finger of his left hand between the horse'sbars; for most horses, when this is done, open their mouths; shouldthe horse, however, not even then receive the bit, let him press thelip against the dog-tooth or tusk, and there are very few horses that, on feeling this, will not admit it. .. . 

But never to approach a horse in a fit of anger is the one greatprecept and maxim of conduct in regard to the treatment of a horse;for anger is destitute of forethought, and consequently often doesthat of which the agent must necessarily repent. 

When a horse is shy of any object, and reluctant to approach it, therider must try to make him feel that there is nothing terrible in it, especially to a horse of spirit; but if he can not succeed, the ridermust himself touch that which appears so alarming, and lead the horseup gently to it. As to those who force horses forward with blows insuch a case they merely inspire the animals with greater terror; forthey imagine when they suffer any pain at such a time, that what theylook upon with alarm is in some way the cause of it. 

When the groom brings the horse to the rider, we have no objectionthat he should know how to make the horse stoop, so that it may beeasy to mount him; yet we think every rider ought to take care to beable to mount even if the horse does not bend to him; for sometimes adifferent horse will present himself, and the same horse will notalways be equally obedient. .. . 

When he has taken his seat, whether on the horse's bare back or on thecloth, we do not like that he should sit as if he were on acarriage-seat, but as if he were standing upright with his legssomewhat apart, for thus he will cling more firmly to the horse withhis thighs, and keeping himself erect, he will be able to throw ajavelin, or to strike a blow on horseback, if it be necessary, withgreater force. 

But it is necessary to allow the leg, as well as the foot, to hangloose from the knee; for if a rider keep his leg stiff, and strike itagainst anything, it may be broken; but if the leg hang easy, andanything strikes against it, it will yield, and yet not move the thighfrom its position. 

A rider should also accustom himself to keep the parts of his bodyabove the hips as flexible as possible; for he will by this means bebetter able to exert himself, and if any person should drag or pushhim, he will be less likely to be thrown off. 

Let it be observed, that when he is seated on the horse's back, hemust first teach the horse to stand quiet, until he has drawn up hismantle, if necessary, and adjusted the reins, and taken hold of hislance in such a way as it may most conveniently be carried. Then lethim keep his left arm close to his side; for in such an attitude arider appears most graceful and his hand has the greatest power. 

As to reins, we approve of such as are equally balanced, and not weak, or slippery, or too thick, so that the hand which holds them may beable also to hold the spear when it is necessary. 

When the rider gives the signal to the horse to start, let him beginto advance at a walking pace, as this pace is least likely to disturbthe horse. Let him hold the reins, if the horse be inclined to holddown his head, rather high, but if he be more disposed to carry iterect, let him keep them lower, for thus he will best set off thehorse's figure. After a little, if he trot at his natural pace, hewill find his limbs become pliant without inconvenience, and will comewith the greatest readiness to obey the whip. Since too it is the mostapproved practise to set off toward the left side, the horse will mostreadily start on that side, if, when he lifts, as he is trotting, theright foot, the rider then give him the signal to gallop. For, beingthen about to raise the left foot, he will thus start with that foot;and just at the moment that the rider turns him to the left, he willmake the first spring in his gallop; for a horse, when he is turned tothe right, naturally leads off with the right foot, and when turned tothe left, with the left foot. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 54: From the treatise, "On Horsemanship. " Translated by J. S. Watson. Mahaffy says this treatise on the horse "shows an insightinto the character of horses which would do credit to a modern book. "Most readers of the treatise who are familiar with horses haveremarked how true it all is of the horse as we know him to-day. Onecommentator has remarked that the book reads as if it might have beenwritten by some educated man professionally attached to racingstables. ]

[Footnote 55: The ancients did not use the stirrup; nor did they havea saddle in the modern sense of the word. ]

PLATO

 Born in Ægina of aristocratic parents about 427 B. C. ; died in Athens in 347; originally called Aristocles and surnamed Plato because of his broad shoulders; a disciple of Socrates and a teacher of Aristotle; was the founder of the Academic school; in his youth a successful gymnast, soldier, and poet; traveled in Egypt, Sicily, and Magna Græcia; arrested in Syracuse by Dionysius, the tyrant, and sold as a slave in Ægina, where he was released and returned to Athens; revisited Syracuse in 367 and 361; lived afterward in Athens until his death, which occurred at a marriage feast. [56]

I

THE IMAGE OF THE CAVE[57]

After this, I said, imagine the enlightenment or ignorance of our naturein a figure. Behold: human beings living in a sort of underground den, which has a mouth open toward the light and reaching all across the den;they have been here from their childhood, and have their legs and neckschained so that they can not move, and can see only before them; for thechains are arranged in such a manner as to prevent them from turninground their heads. At a distance above and behind them the light of afire is blazing, and between the fire and the prisoners there is araised way; and you will see, if you look, a low wall built along theway, like the screen which marionette-players have before them, overwhich they show the puppets. 

I see, he[58] said. 

And do you see, I said, men passing along the wall carrying vessels, which appear over the wall; also figures of men and animals, made ofwood and stone and various materials; and some of the passengers, asyou would expect, are talking, and some of them are silent?

That is a strange image, he said, and they are strange prisoners. 

Like ourselves, I replied; and they see only their own shadows, or theshadows of one another, which the fire throws on the opposite wall ofthe cave. 

True, he said; how could they see anything but the shadows if theywere never allowed to move their heads?

And of the objects which are being carried in like manner they wouldsee only the shadows. 

Yes, he said. 

And if they were able to talk to one another, would they not supposethat they were naming what was actually before them. 

Very true. 

And suppose further that the prison had an echo which came from theother side, would they not be sure to fancy that the voice which theyheard was that of a passing shadow?

No question, he replied. 

There can be no question, I said, that the truth would be to them justnothing but the shadows of the images. 

That is certain. 

And now look again, and see how they are released and cured of theirfolly. At first, when any one of them is liberated and compelledsuddenly to go up and turn his neck round and walk and look at thelight, he will suffer sharp pains; the glare will distress him, and hewill be unable to see the realities of which in his former state hehad seen the shadows; and then imagine some one saying to him thatwhat he saw before was an illusion, but that now he is approachingreal being and has a truer sight and vision of more real things--whatwill be his reply? And you may further imagine that his instructor ispointing to the objects as they pass and requiring him to namethem--will he not be in a difficulty? Will he not fancy that theshadows which he formerly saw are truer than the objects which are nowshown to him?

Far truer. 

And if he is compelled to look at the light, will he not have a painin his eyes which will make him turn away to take refuge in theobjects of vision which he can see, and which he will conceive to beclearer than the things which are now being shown to him?

True, he said. 

And suppose, once more, that he is reluctantly dragged up a steep andrugged ascent, and held fast and forced into the presence of the sunhimself, do you not think that he will be pained and irritated, andwhen he approaches the light he will have his eyes dazzled, and willnot be able to see any of the realities which are now affirmed to bethe truth?

Not all in a moment, he said. 

He will require to get accustomed to the sight of the upper world. Andfirst he will see the shadows best, next the reflections of men andother objects in the water, and then the objects themselves; next hewill gaze upon the light of the moon and the stars; and he will seethe sky and the stars by night better than the sun, or the light ofthe sun, by day. 

Certainly. 

And at last he will be able to see the sun, and not mere reflectionsof him in the water, but he will see him as he is in his own properplace, and not in another; and he will contemplate his nature. 

Certainly. 

And after this, he will reason that the sun is he who gives theseasons and the years, and is the guardian of all that is in thevisible world, and in a certain way the cause of all things which heand his fellows have been accustomed to behold. .. . 

No question, he said. 

This allegory, I said, you may now append to the previous argument;the prison is the world of sight, the light of the fire is the sun, the ascent and vision of the things above you may truly regard as theupward progress of the soul into the intellectual world; that is mypoor belief, to which, at your desire, I have given expression. Whether I am right or not God only knows; but, whether true or false, my opinion is that in the world of knowledge the idea of good appearslast of all, and is seen only with an effort; and, when seen, isinferred also to be the universal author of all things beautiful andright, parent of light and the lord of light in his world, and thesource of truth and reason in the other; this is the first great causewhich he who would act rationally either in public or private lifemust behold. 

I agree, he said, as far as I am able to understand you. 

I should like to have your agreement in another matter I said. For Iwould not have you marvel that those who attain to this beatificvision are unwilling to descend to human affairs; but their souls areever hastening into the upper world in which they desire to dwell; andthis is very natural, if our allegory may be trusted. 

Certainly, that is quite natural. 

And is there anything surprizing in one who passes from divinecontemplation to human things, misbehaving himself in a ridiculousmanner; if, while his eyes are blinking and before he has becomeaccustomed to the darkness visible, he is compelled to fight in courtsof law, or in other places, about the images or shadows of images ofjustice, and is endeavoring to meet the conceptions of those who havenever yet seen the absolute justice?

There is nothing surprizing in that, he replied. 

Any one who has common sense will remember that the bewilderments ofthe eyes are of two kinds, and arise from two causes, either fromcoming out of the light or from going into the light, which is true ofthe mind's eye, quite as much as of the bodily eye; and he whoremembers this when he sees the soul of any one whose vision isperplexed and weak will not be too ready to laugh; he will first askwhether that soul has come out of the brighter life, and is unable tosee because unaccustomed to the dark, or having turned from darknessto the day is dazzled by excess of light. And then he will count theone happy in his condition and state of being, and he will pity theother; or, if he have a mind to laugh at the soul which comes frombelow into the light there will be more reason in this than in thelaugh which greets the other from the den. 

That, he said, is a very just remark. 

But if this is true, then certain professors of education must bemistaken in saying that they can put a knowledge into the soul whichwas not there before, like giving eyes to the blind. 

Yes, that is what they say, he replied. 

Whereas, I said, our argument shows that the power is already in thesoul; and that as the eye can not turn from darkness to light withoutthe whole body, so too, when the eye of the soul is turned round, thewhole soul must be turned from the world of generation into that ofbeing, and become able to endure the sight of being and of thebrightest and best of being--that is to say, of the good. 

Very true. 

And this is conversion; and the art will be how to accomplish this aseasily and completely as possible; not implanting eyes, for they existalready, but giving them a right direction, which they have not. 

Yes, he said, that may be assumed. 

And hence while the other qualities seem to be akin to the body, beinginfused by habit and exercise and not originally innate, the virtue ofwisdom is part of a divine essence, and has a power which iseverlasting, and by this conversion is rendered useful and profitable, and is also capable of becoming hurtful and useless. Did you neverobserve the narrow intelligence flashing from the keen eye of a cleverrogue--how eager he is, how clearly his paltry soul sees the way tohis end; he is the reverse of blind, but his keen sight is taken intothe service of evil, and he is dangerous in proportion to hisintelligence?

Very true, he said. 

But what if there had been a circumcision of such natures in the daysof their youth; and they had been severed from the leaden weights, asI may call them, with which they are born into the world, which leadon to sensual pleasures, such as those of eating and drinking, anddrag them down and turn the vision of their souls about the thingsthat are below--if, I say, these natures had been released from thesetendencies and turned round to the truth, the very same faculty inthese very same persons would have seen the other as keenly as theynow see that on which the eye is fixt. 

That is very likely. 

Yes, I said; and there is another thing which is likely, or rather anecessary inference from what has proceeded, that neither theuneducated and uninformed of the truth, nor yet those who never makean end of their education, will be able ministers of state; not theformer, because they have no single aim of duty which is the rule oftheir actions, private as well as public; nor the latter, because theywill not act at all except upon compulsion, fancying that they arealready in the islands of the blest. 

Very true, he replied. 

Then, I said, the business of us who are the founders of the statewill be to compel the best minds to attain that knowledge which hasbeen already declared by us to be the greatest of all--to thateminence they must ascend and arrive at the good, and when they haveascended and seen enough we must not allow them to do as they do now. 

What do you mean?

I mean that they remain in the upper world; but this must not beallowed; they must be made to descend again among the prisoners in theden, and partake of their labors and honors, whether they are worthhaving or not. 

But is not this unjust? he said; ought we to give them an inferiorlife, when they might have a superior one?

You have again forgotten, my friend, I said, the intention of thelegislator; he did not aim at making any one class in the state happyabove the rest; the happiness was to be in the whole state, and heheld the citizens together by persuasion and necessity, making thembenefactors of one another; to this end he created them, not that theyshould please themselves, but they were to be his instruments inbinding up the state. 

True, he said, I had forgotten that. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 56: Plato is one of the very few Greek authors none of whosework has been lost. He shares this good fortune with Xenophon. Of thedialog Plato was practically, if not actually, the originator, and theform has survived to our day. ]

[Footnote 57: From "The Republic. " Translated by Benjamin Jowett. Inthis famous work Plato describes an ideal commonwealth. ]

[Footnote 58: The speaker here is Glaucon, Plato's brother. ]

II

GOOD AND EVIL[59]

I suppose that you are satisfied at having a life of pleasure which iswithout pain. And if you are satisfied, and if you are unable to showany good or evil which does not end in pleasure and pain, hear theconsequences: If this is true, then I say that the argument is absurdwhich affirms that a man often does evil knowingly when he mightabstain, because he is seduced and amazed by pleasure; or again, whenyou say that a man knowingly refuses to do what is good because he isovercome at the moment by pleasure. Now that this is ridiculous willbe evident if we only give up the use of various names, such aspleasant and painful and good and evil. As there are two things, letus call them by two names--first, good and evil, and then pleasant andpainful. Assuming this, let us go on to say that a man does evilknowing that he does evil. But some one will ask, Why? Because he isovercome, is the first answer. And by what is he overcome? theinquirer will proceed to ask. And we shall not be able to reply, bypleasure, for the name of pleasure has been exchanged for that ofgood. 

In our answer, then, we shall say only that he is overcome. By what?he will reiterate. By the good, we shall have to reply; indeed, weshall. Nay, but our questioner will rejoin with a laugh, if he be oneof the swaggering sort, that is too ridiculous, that a man should dowhat he knows to be evil when he ought not, because he is overcome bygood. Is that, he will ask, because the good was worthy or not worthyof conquering the evil? And in answer to that we shall clearly reply, because it was not worthy; for if it had been worthy, then he who, aswe say, was overcome by pleasure, would not have been wrong. But how, he will reply, can the good be unworthy of the evil, or the evil ofthe good? Is not the real explanation that they are out of proportionto each other, either as greater and smaller, or more and fewer? Thiswe can not deny. And when you speak of being overcome, what do youmean, he will say, but that you choose the greater evil in exchangefor the lesser good? This being the case, let us now substitute thenames of pleasure and pain, and say, not as before, that a man doeswhat is evil knowingly, but that he does what is painful knowingly, and because he is overcome by pleasure, which is unworthy to overcome. And what measure is there of the relations of pleasure to pain otherthan excess and defect, which means that they become greater andsmaller, and more and fewer, and differ in degree? For if any onesays, Yes, Socrates, but immediate pleasure differs widely from futurepleasure and pain, to which I should reply: And do they differ in anyother way except by reason of pleasure and pain? There can be no othermeasure of them. And do you, like a skilful weigher, put into thebalance the pleasures and the pains, near and distant, and weigh them, and then say which outweighs the other? If you weigh pleasures againstpleasures, you of course take the more and greater; or if you weighpains against pains, you take the fewer and the less; or if pleasuresagainst pains, then you choose that course of action in which thepainful is exceeded by the pleasant, whether the distant by the nearor the near by the distant; and you avoid that course of action inwhich the pleasant is exceeded by the painful. Would you not admit, myfriends, that this is true? I am confident that they can not denythis. 

He agreed with me. 

Well then, I shall say, if you admit that, be so good as to answer mea question: Do not the same magnitudes appear larger to your sightwhen near, and smaller when at a distance. They will acknowledge that. And the same holds of thickness and number; also sounds which are inthemselves equal are greater when near and lesser when at a distance. They will grant that also. Now supposing that happiness consisted inmaking and taking large things, what would be the saving principle ofhuman life? Would the art of measuring be the saving principle orwould the power of appearance? Is not the latter that deceiving artwhich makes us wander up and down and take the things at one time ofwhich we repent at another, both in our actions and in our choice ofthings great and small? But the art of measurement is that which woulddo away with the effect of appearances, and, showing the truth, wouldfain teach the soul at last to find rest in the truth, and would thussave our life. Would not mankind generally acknowledge that the artwhich accomplishes this is the art of measurement?

Yes, he said, the art of measurement. 

Suppose, again, the salvation of human life to depend on the choice ofodd and even, and on the knowledge of when men ought to choose thegreater or less, either in reference to themselves or to each otherwhether near or at a distance; what would be the saving principles ofour lives? Would not knowledge?--a knowledge of measuring, when thequestion is one of excess and defect, and a knowledge of number, whenthe question is of odd and even? The world will acknowledge that, willthey not?

Protagoras admitted that they would. 

Well then, I say to them, my friends, seeing that the salvation ofhuman life has been found to consist in the right choice of pleasuresand pains--in the choice of the more and the fewer, and the greaterand the less, and the nearer and remoter--must not this measuring be aconsideration of excess and defect and equality in relation to oneanother?

That is undeniably true. 

And this, as possessing measure, must undeniably also be an art andscience?

They will agree to that. .. . 

Then you agree, I said, that the pleasant is the good, and the painfulevil. And here I would beg my friend Prodicus not to introduce hisdistinction of names, whether he is disposed to say pleasurable, delightful, joyful. However and in whatever way he rejoices to namethem, I will ask you, most excellent Prodicus, to answer this in mysense. 

Prodicus laughed and assented, as did the others. 

Then, my friends, I said, what do you say to this? Are not all actionsthe tendency of which is to make life painless and pleasant honorableand useful? The honorable work is also useful and good. 

This was admitted. 

Then, I said, if the pleasant is the good, nobody does anything underthe idea or conviction that some other thing would be better and isalso attainable when he might do the better. And this inferiority of aman to himself is merely ignorance, as the superiority of a man tohimself is wisdom. 

They all assented. 

And does not ignorance consist in having a false opinion and beingdeceived about important matters?

To that they unanimously assented also. 

Then, I said, no man voluntarily pursues evil or that which he thinksto be evil. To prefer evil to good is not in human nature; and when aman is compelled to choose one of two evils, no one will choose thegreater when he might have the less. 

We all agreed to every word of this. 

Well, I said, there is a certain thing called fear or terror; andhere, Prodicus, I should particularly like to know whether you wouldagree with me in defining this fear or terror as expectation of evil. 

Protagoras and Hippias agreed, but Prodicus said that this was fearand not terror. 

Never mind about that, Prodicus, I said; but let me ask whether, ifour former assertions are true, a man will pursue that which he fearswhen he need not? Would not this be in contradiction to the admissionwhich has been already made, that he thinks the things which he fearsto be evil? And no one will pursue or voluntarily accept that which hethinks to be evil. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 59: From the "Protagoras, " translated by Benjamin Jowett. Protagoras, from whom this dialog gets its name, was one of the Greeksophists, born about 481 B. C. , and exiled from Athens on a charge ofatheism, his work entitled "On the Gods" being publicly burned. In thedialog, which took place in the house of Calias, a wealthy Atheniangentleman, besides Protagoras there were present other sophists, including Hippias, Prodicus, Hippocrates, Alcibiades, and Critias. ]

III

SOCRATES IN PRAISE OF LOVE[60]

And now I will take my leave of you, and rehearse the tale of lovewhich I heard once upon a time from Diotima, [61] of Mantinea, who wasa wise woman in this and many other branches of knowledge. She was thesame who deferred the plague of Athens ten years by a sacrifice, andwas my instructress in the art of love. In the attempt that I amabout to make, I shall pursue Agathon's method, and begin with hisadmissions, which are nearly if not quite the same as I made to thewise woman when she questioned me; this will be the easiest way, and Ishall take both parts myself as well as I can. For, like Agathon, shespoke first of the being and nature of Love, and then of his works. And I said to her, in nearly the same words which he used to me, thatLove was a mighty god, and likewise fair; and she proved to me as Iproved to him that, in my way of speaking about him, Love was neitherfair nor good. "What do you mean, Diotima, " I said; "is love then eviland foul?" "Hush, " she cried; "is that to be deemed foul which is notfair?" "Certainly, " I said. "And is that which is not wise ignorant?Do you not see that there is a mean between wisdom and ignorance?""And what is this?" I said. "Right opinion, " she replied, "which, asyou know, being incapable of giving a reason, is not knowledge (forhow could knowledge be devoid of reason? nor, again, ignorance, forneither can ignorance attain the truth), but is clearly somethingwhich is a mean between ignorance and wisdom. " "Quite true, " Ireplied. "Do not then insist, " she said, "that what is not fair is ofnecessity foul or what is not good is evil, or infer that because Loveis not fair and good he is therefore foul and evil; for he is in meanbetween them. " "Well, " I said, "Love is surely admitted by all to be agreat god. " "By those who know or by those who don't know?" "By all. ""And how, Socrates, " she said with a smile, "can Love be acknowledgedto be a great god by those who say that he is not a god at all?" "Andwho are they?" I said. "You and I are two of them, " she replied. "Howcan that be?" I said. "That is very intelligible, " she replied, "asyou yourself would acknowledge that the gods are happy and fair--ofcourse you would--would you dare to say that any god was not?""Certainly not, " I replied. "And you mean by the happy those who arethe possessors of things good or fair?" "Yes. " "And you admitted thatLove, because he was in want, desires those good and fair things ofwhich he is in want?" "Yes, I admitted that. " "But how can he be a godwho has no share in the good or the fair?" "That is not to besupposed. " "Then you see that you also deny the deity of Love. "

"What then is Love?" I asked. "Is he mortal?" "No. " "What then?" "Asin the former instance, he is neither mortal nor immortal, but in amean between them. " "What is he then, Diotima?" "He is a great spirit, and like all that is spiritual he is intermediate between the divineand the mortal. " "And what is the nature of this spiritual power?" Isaid. "This is the power, " she said, "which interprets and conveys tothe gods the prayers and sacrifices of men, and to men the commandsand rewards of the gods; and this power spans the chasm which dividesthem, and in this all is bound together, and through this the arts ofthe prophet and the priest, their sacrifices and mysteries and charms, and all prophecy and incantation, find their way. For God mingles notwith man; and through this power all the intercourse and speech of Godwith man, whether awake or asleep, is carried on. The wisdom whichunderstands this is spiritual; all other wisdom, such as that of artsor handicrafts, is mean and vulgar. Now these spirits or intermediatepowers are many and divine, and one of them is Love. " "And who, " Isaid, "was his father, and who his mother?" "The tale, " she said, "will take time; nevertheless I will tell you. On the birthday ofAphrodite there was a feast of the gods, at which the god Poros orPlenty, who is the son of Metis or Discretion, was one of the guests. When the feast was over, Penia or Poverty, as the manner was, cameabout the doors to beg. Now Plenty, who was the worse for Nectar(there was no wine in those days), came into the garden of Zeus andfell into a heavy sleep; and Poverty, considering her own straitenedcircumstances, plotted to have him for a husband, and accordingly shelay down at his side and conceived Love, who partly because he isnaturally a lover of the beautiful, and because Aphrodite is herselfbeautiful, and also because he was born on Aphrodite's birthday is herfollower and attendant. And as his parentage is, so also are hisfortunes. 

"In the first place, he is always poor, and anything but tender andfair, as the many imagine him; and he is hard-featured and squalid, and has no shoes nor a house to dwell in; on the bare earth exposed helies under the open heaven, in the streets, or at the doors of houses, taking his rest; and like his mother, he is always in distress. Likehis father too, whom he also partly resembles, he is always plottingagainst the fair and the good; he is bold, enterprising, strong, ahunter of men, always at some intrigue or other, keen in the pursuitof wisdom, and never wanting resources; a philosopher at all times, terrible as an enchanter, sorcerer, sophist; for as he is neithermortal nor immortal, he is alive and flourishing at one moment when heis in plenty, and dead at another moment, and again alive by reason ofhis father's nature. But that which is always flowing in is alwaysflowing out, and so he is never in want and never in wealth, and he isalso in a mean between ignorance and knowledge. The truth of thematter is just this: No god is a philosopher or seeker after wisdom, for he is wise already; nor does any one else who is wise seek afterwisdom. Neither do the ignorant seek after wisdom. For herein is theevil of ignorance, that he who is neither good nor wise isnevertheless satisfied; he feels no want, and has therefore nodesire. " "But who then, Diotima, " I said, "are the lovers of wisdom, if they are neither the wise nor the foolish?" "A child may answerthat question, " she replied; "they are those who, like Love, are in amean between the two. For wisdom is a most beautiful thing, and Loveis of the beautiful; and therefore Love is also a philosopher or loverof wisdom, and being a lover of wisdom is in a mean between the wiseand the ignorant. And this again is a quality which Love inherits fromhis parents; for his father is wealthy and wise, and his mother poorand foolish. Such, my dear Socrates, is the nature of the spirit Love. The error in your conception of him was very natural, and as I imaginefrom what you say, has arisen out of a confusion of love and thebeloved--this made you think that love was all beautiful. For thebeloved is the truly beautiful, delicate, and perfect and blest; butthe principle of love is of another nature, and is such as I havedescribed. "

I said, "O thou strange woman, thou sayest well, and now, assumingLove to be such as you say, what is the use of him?" "That, Socrates, "she replied, "I will proceed to unfold; of his nature and birth I havealready spoken, and you acknowledge that Love is of the beautiful. Butsome one will say, 'Of the beautiful in what, Socrates andDiotima?'--or rather let us put the question more clearly, and ask, When a man loves the beautiful, what does he love?" I answered her, "That the beautiful may be his. " "Still, " she said, "the answersuggests a further question, which is this, What is given by thepossession of beauty?" "That, " I replied, "is a question to which Ihave no answer ready. " "Then, " she said, "let me put the word 'good'in the place of the beautiful, and repeat the question, What does hewho loves the good desire?" "The possession of the good, " I said. "Andwhat does he gain who possesses the good?" "Happiness, " I replied;"there is no difficulty in answering that. " "Yes, " she said, "thehappy are made happy by the acquisition of good things. Nor is thereany need to ask why a man desires happiness; the answer is alreadyfinal. " "That is true, " I said. "And is this wish and this desirecommon to all? and do all men always desire their own good, or onlysome men?--what think you?" "All men, " I replied; "the desire iscommon to all. " "But all men, Socrates, " she rejoined, "are not saidto love, but only some of them; and you say that all men are alwaysloving the same things. " "I myself wonder, " I said, "why that is. ""There is nothing to wonder at, " she replied; "the reason is that onepart of love is separated off and receives the name of the whole, butthe other parts have other names. " "Give an example, " I said. Sheanswered me as follows: "There is poetry, which, as you know, iscomplex and manifold. And all creation or passage of non-being intobeing is poetry or making, and the processes of all art are creative, and the masters of arts are all poets. " "Very true. " "Still, " shesaid, "you know that they are not called poets, but have other names;the generic term 'poetry' is confined to that specific art which isseparated off from the rest of poetry, and is concerned with music andmeter; and this is what is called poetry, and they who possess thiskind of poetry are called poets. "

"Very true, " I said. "And the same holds of love. For you may saygenerally that all desire of good and happiness is due to the greatand subtle power of Love; but those who, having their affections setupon him, are yet diverted into the paths of money-making or gymnasticphilosophy are not called lovers--the name of the genus is reservedfor those whose devotion takes one form only--they alone are said tolove, or to be lovers. " "In that, " I said, "I am of opinion that youare right. " "Yes, " she said, "and you hear people say that lovers areseeking for the half of themselves; but I say that they are seekingneither for the half nor for the whole, unless the half or the wholebe also a good. And they will cut off their own hands and feet andcast them away if they are evil; for they love them not because theyare their own, but because they are good, and dislike them not becausethey are another's, but because they are evil. There is nothing whichmen love but the good. Do you think that there is?" "Indeed, " Ianswered, "I should say not. " "Then, " she said, "the conclusion of thewhole matter is that men love the good. " "Yes, " I said. "To which maybe added that they love the possession of the good?" "Yes, that may beadded. " "And not only the possession, but the everlasting possessionof the good?" "That may be added too. " "Then love, " she said, "may bedescribed generally as the love of the everlasting possession of thegood?" "That is most true, " I said. 

"Then if this be the nature of love, can you tell me further, " shesaid, "what is the manner of the pursuit? What are they doing who showall this eagerness and heat which is called love? Answer me that. ""Nay, Diotima, " I said, "if I had known I should not have wondered atyour wisdom or have come to you to learn. " "Well, " she said, "I willteach you: love is only birth in beauty, whether of body or soul. ""The oracle requires an explanation, " I said; "I don't understandyou. " "I will make my meaning clearer, " she replied. "I mean to saythat which all men are bringing to the birth of their bodies and theirsouls. There is a certain age at which human nature is desirous ofprocreation; and this procreation must be in beauty and not indeformity; and this is the mystery of man and woman, which is a divinething, for conception and generation are a principle of immortality inthe mortal creature. And in the inharmonical they can never be. Butthe deformed is always inharmonical with the divine, and the beautifulharmonious. Beauty, then, is the destiny or goddess of parturition whopresides a birth, and therefore, when approaching beauty theconceiving power is propitious, and diffuse, and benign, and begetsand bears fruit; on the appearance of foulness she frowns andcontracts in pain, and is averted and morose, and shrinks up, and notwithout a pang refrains from conception. And this is the reason why, when the hour of conception arrives, and the teeming nature is full, there is such a flutter and ecstasy about beauty whose approach is thealleviation of pain. For love, Socrates, is not, as you imagine, thelove of the beautiful only. " "What then?" "The love of generation andbirth in beauty. " "Yes, " I said. "Yes, indeed, " she replied. "But whyof birth?" I said. "Because to the mortal, birth is a sort of eternityand immortality, " she replied; "and as has been already admitted, allmen will necessarily desire immortality together with good if love isof the everlasting possession of the good. "

All this she taught me at various times when she spoke of love. And onanother occasion she said to me: "What is the reason, Socrates, ofthis love, and the attendant desire? See you not how all animals, birds as well as beasts, in their desire of procreation, are in agonywhen they take the infection of love; this begins with the desire ofunion, to which is added the care of offspring, in behalf of whom theweakest are ready to battle against the strongest even to theuttermost, and to die for them, and will let themselves be tormentedwith hunger or suffer anything in order to maintain theiroffspring. .. . Marvel not then at the love which all men have of theiroffspring; for that universal love and interest are for the sake ofimmortality. "

When I heard this, I was astonished and said, "Is this really true, Othou wise Diotima?" And she answered with all the authority of asophist: "Of that, Socrates, you may be assured; think only of theambition of men, and you will marvel at their senselessness unless youconsider how they are stirred by the love of an immortality of fame. They are ready to run risks greater far than they would have run fortheir children, and to spend money and undergo any amount of toil, andeven to die for the sake of leaving behind them a name which shall beeternal. Do you imagine that Alcestis[62] would have died on behalf ofAdmetus, or Achilles after Patroclus, or your own Codrus in order topreserve the kingdom for his sons, if they had not imagined that thememory of their virtues, which is still retained among us, would beimmortal? Nay, " she said, "for I am persuaded that all men do allthings for the sake of the glorious fame of immortal virtue, and thebetter they are the more they desire this; for they are ravished withthe desire of the immortal. 

"Men whose bodies only are creative betake themselves to women andbeget children--this is the character of their love; their offspring, as they hope, will preserve their memory and give them the blessednessand immortality which they desire in the future. But creativesouls--for there are men who are more creative in their souls than intheir bodies--conceive that which is proper for the soul to conceiveor retain. And what are these conceptions?--wisdom and virtue ingeneral. And such creators are all poets and other artists who may besaid to have invention. But the greatest and fairest sort of wisdom byfar is that which is concerned with the ordering of states andfamilies, and which is called temperance and justice. And he who inyouth has the seed of these implanted in him and is himself inspired, when he comes to maturity desires to beget and generate offspring. Andhe wanders about seeking beauty that he may beget offspring--for indeformity he will beget nothing--and embraces the beautiful ratherthan the deformed; and when he finds a fair and noble andwell-nurtured soul, and there is union of the two in one person, hegladly embraces it, and to such a soul he is full of fair speech aboutvirtue and the nature and pursuits of a good man; and he tries toeducate it; and at the touch and presence of the beautiful he bringsforth the beautiful which he conceived long before, and the beautifulis ever present with him and in his memory even when absent, and incompany they tend that which he brings forth, and they are boundtogether by a far nearer tie and have a closer friendship than thosewho beget mortal children, for the children who are their commonoffspring are fairer and more immortal. Who, when he thinks of Homerand Hesiod[63] and other great poets, would not rather emulate themin the creation of children such as theirs, which have preserved theirmemory and given them everlasting glory? Or who would not have suchchildren as Lycurgus[64] left behind to be the saviors, not only ofLacedæmon, but of Hellas, as one may say? There is Solon, too, who isthe revered father of Athenian laws; and many others there are invarious places, both among Hellenes and barbarians. They all have donemany noble works, and have been the parents of virtue of every kind, and in honor of their children many temples have been raised, whichwere never raised in honor of the mortal children of any one. 

"These are the lesser mysteries of love, into which even you, Socrates, may enter; to the greater and more hidden ones which are thecrown of these, and to which, if you pursue them in a right spirit, they will lead, I know not whether you will be able to attain. But Iwill do my utmost to inform you, and do you follow if you can. For hewho would proceed rightly in this matter should begin in youth to turnto beautiful forms; and first, if his instructor guide him rightly, heshould learn to love one such form only--out of that he should createfair thoughts; and soon he will find himself perceive that the beautyof one form is truly related to the beauty of another; and then ifbeauty in general is his pursuit, how foolish would he be not torecognize that the beauty in every form is one and the same! And whenhe perceives this he will abate his violent love of the one, which hewill despise and deem a small thing, and will become a lover of allbeautiful forms; this will lead him on to consider that the beauty ofthe mind is more honorable than the beauty of the outward form. Sothat if a virtuous soul have but a little comeliness, he will becontent to love and tend it, and will search out and bring to thebirth thoughts which may improve the young, until his beloved iscompelled to contemplate and see the beauty of institutions and laws, and understand that all is of one kindred, and that personal beauty isonly a trifle; and after laws and institutions he will lead him on tothe sciences, that he may see their beauty, being not like a servantin love with the beauty of one youth or man or institution, himself aslave mean and calculating, but looking at the abundance of beauty anddrawing toward the sea of beauty, and creating and beholding many fairand noble thoughts and notions in boundless love of wisdom, until atlength he grows and waxes strong, and at last the vision is revealedto him of a single science, which is the science of beautyeverywhere. .. . "

Such, Phædrus[65]--and I speak not only to you, but to all men--werethe words of Diotima; and I am persuaded of their truth. And beingpersuaded of them, I try to persuade others that in the attainment ofthis end human nature will not easily find a better helper than Love. And, therefore, also, I say that every man ought to honor him as Imyself honor him, and walk in his ways, and exhort others to do thesame, even as I praise the power and spirit of Love according to themeasure of my ability now and ever. 

The words which I have spoken, you, Phædrus, may call an encomium ofLove or anything else which you please. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 60: From "The Symposium. " Translated by Benjamin Jowett. Mahaffy ranks this work "as greater and more brilliant" than the"Phædo. " Being intensely Greek, it has, however, seemed alien, if notoffensive, to many modern readers. Scholars have valued it highly as avivid picture of the manners of the most refined society of Athens. Ithas sometimes been called "The Banquet. " Under that name, the poetShelley made a translation. The banquet described took place in thehouse of the tragic poet Agathon. Agathon was born about 477 B. C. , ofa rich and eminent Athenian family. He was remarkable for personalaccomplishments rather than for high literary genius. He is believedto have died at the age of forty-seven. ]

[Footnote 61: Diotima, a priestess, reputed to have been aPythagorean, but some writers have doubted her existence. ]

[Footnote 62: The wife of Admetus, a Thessalian king, who sacrificedher life in order to save that of her husband. ]

[Footnote 63: Hesiod, whose home was in Boeotia, is thought to havelived about three centuries after Homer; that is, about 800 B. C. Hewas a shepherd in his youth, and began to write verses while tendinghis flocks. ]

[Footnote 64: Lived probably in the ninth century B. C. , and thetraditional author of the laws by which Sparta was governed forseveral centuries. ]

[Footnote 65: An Athenian, son of Pythocles, and friend of Plato, butof whom nothing more is known. ]

IV

THE PRAISE OF SOCRATES BY ALCIBIADES[66]

When Socrates had done speaking, the company applauded, andAristophanes[67] was beginning to say something in answer to theallusion which Socrates had made to his own speech, when suddenlythere was a great knocking at the door of the house, as of revelers, and the sound of a flute-girl was heard. Agathon told the attendantsto go and see who were the intruders. "If they are friends of ours, "he said, "invite them in, but if not say that the drinking is over. " Alittle while afterward they heard the voice of Alcibiades resoundingin the court; he was in a great state of intoxication, and keptroaring and shouting: "Where is Agathon? Lead me to Agathon, " and atlength, supported by the flute-girl and some of his companions, hefound his way to them. "Hail, friends, " he said, appearing at the doorcrowned with a massive garland of ivy and wall-flowers, and having hishead flowing with ribbons. "Will you have a very drunken man as acompanion of your revels? Or shall I crown Agathon, as was myintention in coming, and go my way? For I was unable to comeyesterday, and therefore I come to-day, carrying on my head threeribbons, that taking them from my own head I may crown the head ofthis fairest and wisest of men, as I may be allowed to call him. Willyou laugh at me because I am drunk? Yet I know very well that I amspeaking the truth, altho you may laugh. But first tell me whether Ishall come in on the understanding that I am drunk. Will you drinkwith me or not?"

The company were vociferous in begging that he should take his placeamong them, and Agathon specially invited him. Thereupon he was led inby the people who were with him; and as he was being led he took thecrown and ribbons from his head, intending to crown Agathon, and hadthem before his eyes; this prevented him from seeing Socrates, whomade way for him, and Alcibiades took the vacant place between Agathonand Socrates, and in taking the place he embraced Agathon and crownedhim. "Take off his sandals, " said Agathon, "and let him make a thirdon the same couch. "

"By all means; but who makes the third partner in our revels?" saidAlcibiades, turning round and starting up as he caught sight ofSocrates. "By Heracles, " he said, "what is this? Here is Socratesalways lying in wait for me, and always, as his way is, coming out atall sorts of unexpected places; and now, what have you to say foryourself, and why are you lying here, where I perceive that you havecontrived to find a place, not by a professor or lover of jokes, likeAristophanes, but by the fairest of the company?"

Socrates turned to Agathon and said: "I must ask you to protect me, Agathon; for this passion of his has grown quite a serious matter. Since I became his admirer I have never been allowed to speak to anyother fair one, or so much as to look at them. If I do he goes wildwith envy and jealousy, and not only abuses me, but can hardly keephis hands off me, and at this moment he may do me some harm. Pleasesee to this, and either reconcile me to him or, if he attemptviolence, protect me, as I am in bodily fear of his mad and passionateattempts. "

"There can never be reconciliation between you and me, " saidAlcibiades; "but for the present I will defer your chastisement. And Imust beg you, Agathon, to give me back some of the ribbons that I maycrown the marvelous head of this universal despot. I would not havehim complain of me for crowning you, and neglecting him, who inconversation is the conqueror of all mankind; and this not once only, as you were the day before yesterday, but always. " Then taking some ofthe ribbons, he crowned Socrates, and again reclined. When he had laindown again, he said: "You seem, my friends, to be sober, which is athing not to be endured; you must drink for that was the agreementwhich I made with you--and I elect myself master of the feast untilyou are quite drunk. Let me have a large goblet, Agathon, or rather, "he said, addressing the attendant, "bring me that wine-cooler. " Thewine-cooler which caught his eye was a vessel holding more than twoquarts; this he filled and emptied, and bade the attendant fill itagain for Socrates. "Observe, my friends, " said Alcibiades, "that myingenious device will have no effect on Socrates, for he can drink anyquantity of wine and not be at all nearer being drunk. " Socrates drankthe cup which the attendant filled for him. .. . 

"I shall praise Socrates in a figure which will appear to him to be acaricature, and yet I do not mean to laugh at him, but only to speakthe truth. I say, then, that he is exactly like the masks of Silenus, which may be seen sitting in the statuaries' shops, having pipes andflutes in their mouths; and they are made to open in the middle, andthere are images of gods inside them. I say also that he is likeMarsyas the satyr. You will not deny this, Socrates, that your face islike that of a satyr. Aye, and there is a resemblance in other pointstoo. For example, you are a bully--that I am in a position to prove bythe evidence of witnesses if you will not confess. And are you not aflute-player? That you are, and a far more wonderful performer thanMarsyas. For he indeed with instruments charmed the souls of men bythe power of his breath, as the performers of his music do still; forthe melodies of Olympus are derived from the teaching of Marsyas, andthese, whether they are played by a great master or by a miserableflute-girl, have a power which no others have; they alone possess thesoul and reveal the wants of those who have need of gods andmysteries, because they are inspired. 

"But you produce the same effect with the voice only, and do notrequire the flute; that is the difference between you and him. When wehear any other speaker, even a very good one, his words produceabsolutely no effect upon us in comparison, whereas the very fragmentsof you and your words, even at second-hand, and however imperfectlyrepeated, amaze and possess the souls of every man, woman, and childwho comes within hearing of them. And if I were not afraid that youthink me drunk, I would have sworn to as well as spoken of theinfluence which they have always and still have over me. For my heartleaps within me more than that of any Corybantian[68] reveler, and myeyes rain tears when I hear him. And I observe that many others areaffected in the same way. I have heard Pericles and other greatorators, but tho I thought that they spoke well, I never had anysimilar feeling; my soul was not stirred by them, nor was I angry atthe thought of my own slavish state. But this Marsyas has oftenbrought me to such a pass that I have felt as if I could hardly endurethe life which I am leading (this, Socrates, you admit); and I amconscious that if I did not shut my ears against him, and fly from thevoice of the siren, he would detain me until I grew old sitting at hisfeet. For he makes me confess that I ought not to live as I do, neglecting the wants of my own soul, and busying myself with theconcerns of the Athenians; therefore I hold my ears and tear myselfaway from him. And he is the only person who ever made me ashamed, which you might think not to be in my nature, and there is no one elsewho does the same. For I know that I can not answer him or say that Iought not to do as he bids, but when I leave his presence the love ofpopularity gets the better of me. And therefore I run away and flyfrom him, and when I see him I am ashamed of what I have confest tohim. And many a time I wish that he were dead, and yet I know that Ishould be much more sorry than glad if he were to die; so that I am atmy wit's end. 

"And this is what I and many others have suffered from theflute-playing of this satyr. Yet hear me once more while I show youhow exact the image is, and how marvelous his power. For I am surethat none of you know him; but I know him and will describe him, as Ihave begun. See you how fond he is of the fair? He is always with themand is always being smitten by them, and then again he knows nothingand is ignorant of all things--that is the appearance which he putson. Is he not like a Silenus in this? Yes, surely; that is, his outermask, which is the carved head of the Silenus; but when he is opened, what temperance there is, as I may say to you, O my companions indrink, residing within. Know you that beauty and wealth and honor, atwhich the many wonder, are of no account with him, and are utterlydespised by him; he regards not at all the persons who are gifted withthem; mankind are nothing to him; all his life is spent in mockingand flouting at them. But when I opened him, and looked within at hisserious purpose, I saw in him divine and golden images of suchfascinating beauty that I was ready to do in a moment whateverSocrates commanded (they may have escaped the observation of others, but I saw them). Now I thought that he was seriously enamored of mybeauty, and this appeared to be a grand opportunity of hearing himtell what he knew, for I had a wonderful opinion of the attractions ofmy youth. 

"In the prosecution of this design, when I next went to him, I sentaway the attendant who usually accompanied me (I will confess thewhole truth, and beg you to listen; and if I speak falsely, do you, Socrates, expose the falsehood). Well, he and I were alone together, and I thought that when there was nobody with us, I should hear himspeak the language of love as lovers do, and I was delighted. Not aword; he conversed as usual, and spent the day with me and then wentaway. Afterward I challenged him to the palestra; and he wrestled andclosed with me several times alone; I fancied that I might succeed inthis way. Not a bit; there was no use in that. Lastly, as I had failedhitherto, I thought that I must use stronger measures and attack himboldly, as I had begun, and not give him up until I saw how the matterstood. So I invited him to supper, just as if he were a fair youth, and I a designing lover. He was not easily persuaded to come; he did, however, after a while, accept the invitation, and when he came thefirst time, he wanted to go away at once as soon as supper was over, and I had not the face to detain him. .. . 

"And yet I could not help wondering at his natural temperance andself-restraint and courage. I never could have thought that I shouldhave met with a man like him in wisdom and endurance. Neither could Ibe angry with him or renounce his company any more than I could hopeto win him. For I well knew that if Ajax could not be wounded bysteel, much less he by money; and I had failed in my only chance ofcaptivating him. So I wandered about and was at my wit's end; no onewas ever more hopelessly enslaved by another. All this, as I shouldexplain, happened before he and I went on the expedition to Potidæa;there we messed together, and I had the opportunity of observing hisextraordinary power of sustaining fatigue and going without food whenour supplies were intercepted at any place, as will happen with anarmy. In the faculty of endurance he was superior not only to me butto everybody else; there was no one to be compared to him. Yet at afestival he was the only person who had any real powers of enjoyment, and tho not willing to drink, he could if compelled beat us all atthat, and the most wonderful thing of all was that no human being hadever seen Socrates drunk; and that, if I am not mistaken, will soon betested. His endurance of cold was also surprizing. There was a severefrost, for the winter in that region is really tremendous, andeverybody else either remained indoors, or if they went out had on noend of clothing, and were well shod, and had their feet swathed infelt and fleeces; in the midst of this, Socrates, with his bare feeton the ice, and in his ordinary dress, marched better than any of theother soldiers who had their shoes on, and they looked daggers at himbecause he seemed to despise them. 

"I have told you one tale, and now I must tell you another, which isworth hearing, of the doings and sufferings of this enduring man whilehe was on the expedition. One morning he was thinking about somethingwhich he could not resolve; and he would not give up, but continuedthinking from early dawn until noon--there he stood fixt in thought;and at noon attention was drawn to him, and the rumor ran through thewondering crowd that Socrates had been standing and thinking aboutsomething ever since the break of day. At last, in the evening aftersupper, some Ionians out of curiosity (I should explain that this wasnot in the winter but in summer) brought out their mats and slept inthe open air that they might watch him and see whether he would standall night. There he stood all night as well as all day and thefollowing morning; and with the return of light he offered up a prayerto the sun, and went his way. I will also tell, if you please--andindeed I am bound to tell--of his courage in battle; for who but hesaved my life? Now this was the engagement in which I received theprize for valor; for I was wounded and he would not leave me, but herescued me and my arms; and he ought to have received the prize ofvalor which the generals wanted to confer on me partly on account ofmy rank, and I told them so (this Socrates will not impeach or deny), but he was more eager than the generals that I and not he should havethe prize. There was another occasion on which he was very noticeable;this was in the flight of the army after the battle of Delium, and Ihad a better opportunity of seeing him than at Potidæa, as I wasmyself on horseback, and therefore comparatively out of danger. He andLaches were retreating as the troops were in flight, and I met themand told them not to be discouraged, and promised to remain with them;and there you might see him, Aristophanes, as you describe, just as heis in the streets of Athens, stalking like a pelican, and rolling hiseyes, calmly contemplating enemies as well as friends, and making veryintelligible to anybody, even from a distance, that whoever attackshim will be likely to meet with a stout resistance; and in this way heand his companion escaped--for these are the sort of persons who arenever touched in war; they pursue only those who are running awayheadlong. I particularly observed how superior he was to Laches inpresence of mind. 

"Many are the wonders of Socrates which I might narrate in his praise;most of his ways might perhaps be paralleled in others, but the mostastonishing thing of all is his absolute unlikeness to any other humanbeing that is or ever has been. You may imagine Brasidas and others tohave been like Achilles; or you may imagine Nestor and Antenor to havebeen like Pericles; and the same may be said of other famous men, butof this strange being you will never be able to find any likeness, however remote, either among men who now are or who ever have been, except that which I have already suggested of Silenus and the satyrs;and this is an allegory not only of himself, but also of his words. For, altho I forgot to mention this before, his words are ridiculouswhen you first hear them; he clothes himself in language that is asthe skin of the wanton satyr--for his talk is of pack-asses and smithsand cobblers and curriers, and he is always repeating the same thingsin the same words, so that an ignorant man who did not know him mightfeel disposed to laugh at him; but he, who pierces the mask and seeswhat is within will find that they are the only words which have ameaning in them, and also the most divine, abounding in fair examplesof virtue, and of the largest discourse, or rather extending to thewhole duty of a good and honorable man. 

"This, friends, is my praise of Socrates. I have added my blame of himfor his ill treatment of me; and he has ill treated not only me, butCharmides, [69] the son of Glaucon, and Euthydemus, [70] the son ofDiocles, and many others in the same way--beginning as their lover, hehas ended by making them pay their addresses to him. Wherefore I sayto you, Agathon, 'Be not deceived by him; learn from me and takewarning, and don't be a fool and learn by experience, ' as the proverbsays. "

When Alcibiades had done speaking, there was a laugh at his plainnessof speech, as he seemed to be still in love with Socrates. "You aresober, Alcibiades, " said Socrates, "or you would never have gone aboutto hide the purpose of your satyr's praises, for all this long storyis only an ingenious circumlocution, the point of which comes in bythe way at the end; you want to get up a quarrel between me andAgathon, and your notion is that I ought to love you and nobody else, and that you and you only ought to love Agathon. But the plot of thissatyric or Selinic drama has been detected, and you must not allowhim, Agathon, to set us at variance. "

"I believe you are right, " said Agathon, "and I am disposed to thinkthat his intention in placing himself between you and me was only todivide us; but he shall gain nothing by that move, as I will go andlie in the couch next to you. "

"Yes, yes, " replied Socrates, "by all means come here and lie on thecouch below me. "

"Alas, " said Alcibiades, "how am I fooled by this man! He isdetermined to get the better of me at every turn. I do beseech you, allow Agathon to lie between us. "

"Impossible, " said Socrates, "as you praised me, and I ought to praisemy neighbor on the right, he will be out of order in praising me againwhen he ought rather to be praised by me, and I must entreat you toconsent to this, and not be jealous, for I have a great desire topraise the youth. "

"Ha! ha!" cried Agathon; "I will rise instantly, that I may be praisedby Socrates. "

"The usual way, " said Alcibiades; "where Socrates is, no one else hasany chance with the fair, and now how readily has he invented aspecious reason for attracting Agathon to himself!"

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 66: From "The Symposium. " Translated by Benjamin Jowett. This picture of Socrates is declared by Mahaffy to be the mostwonderful of all pictures of him, inasmuch as it shows him "in all hisugliness, his fascination, his deep sympathy, his iron courage, hisunassailable chastity. " Mahaffy's enthusiasm has been shared by manywriters and readers in all generations. ]

[Footnote 67: The famous comic poet and dramatist, author of the"Frogs, " "Clouds, " "Birds, " and many other works, of which only elevenare now extant; born about 451 B. C. , died not later than 380. ]

[Footnote 68: The Corybantes were priests of the Phrygian goddessRhea, worship of whom was exprest in dances, which often took thecharacter of orgies. ]

[Footnote 69: Charmides was an uncle of Plato, noted for moderation. ]

[Footnote 70: Euthydemus was a name given by Plato to one of hisdialogs, in which virtue and the teaching of virtue are the themes. ]

V

THE REFUSAL OF SOCRATES TO ESCAPE FROM PRISON[71]

_Crito_: There are persons who at no great cost are willing to saveyou and bring you out of prison; and as for the informers, you mayobserve that they are far from being exorbitant in their demands; alittle money will satisfy them. My means, which, as I am sure, areample, are at your service, and if you have a scruple about spendingall mine, here are strangers who will give you the use of others; andone of them, Simmias the Theban, has brought a sum of money for thisvery purpose; and Cebes and many others are willing to spend theirmoney too. I say, therefore, do not on that account hesitate aboutmaking your escape, and do not say, as you did in court, that you willhave difficulty in knowing what to do with yourself if you escape. Formen will love you in other places to which you may go, and not inAthens only; there are friends of mine in Thessaly, if you like to goto them, who will value and protect you, and no Thessalians will giveyou any trouble. 

Nor can I think that you are justified, Socrates, in betraying yourown life when you might be saved; this is playing into the hands ofyour enemies and destroyers; and moreover I should say that you werebetraying your children; for you might bring them up and educate them;instead of which you go away and leave them, and they will have totake their chance; and if they do not meet with the usual fate oforphans, there will be small thanks to you. No man should bringchildren into the world who is unwilling to persevere to the end intheir nurture and education. But you are choosing the easier part, asI think, not the better and manlier, which would rather have becomeone who professes virtue in all his actions, like yourself. And indeedI am ashamed not only of you, but of us who are your friends, when Ireflect that this entire business of yours will be attributed to ourwant of courage. The trial need never have come on, or might have beenbrought to another issue; and the end of all, which is the crowningabsurdity, will seem to have been permitted by us, through cowardiceand baseness, who might have saved you, as you might have savedyourself, if we had been good for anything (for there was nodifficulty in escaping); and we did not see how disgraceful, Socrates, and also miserable all this will be to us as well as you. Make yourmind up then, or rather have your mind already made up, for the timeof deliberation is over, and there is only one thing to be done, whichmust be done, if at all, this very night, and which any delay willrender all but impossible; I beseech you therefore, Socrates, to bepersuaded by me, and to do as I say. .. . 

_Socrates_: From these premises I proceed to argue the questionwhether I ought or ought not to try and escape without the consent ofthe Athenians; and if I am clearly right in escaping, then I willmake the attempt; but if not, I will abstain. The other considerationswhich you mention, of money and loss of character and the duty ofeducating children, are, as I fear, only the doctrines of themultitude, who would be as ready to call people to life if they wereable as they are to put them to death--and with as little reason. Butnow, since the argument has thus far prevailed, the only questionwhich remains to be considered is whether we shall do rightly eitherin escaping or in suffering others to aid in our escape and payingthem in money and thanks, or whether we shall not do rightly; and ifthe latter, then death or any other calamity which may ensue on myremaining here must not be allowed to enter into the calculation. 

_Crito_: I think that you are right, Socrates; how then shall weproceed?

_Socrates_: Let us consider the matter together, and do you eitherrefute me if you can, and I will be convinced, or else cease, my dearfriend, from repeating to me that I ought to escape against the wishesof the Athenians; for I am extremely desirous to be persuaded by you, but not against my own better judgment. And now please to consider myfirst position, and do your best to answer me. 

_Crito_: I will do my best. .. . 

_Socrates_: Again, Crito, may we do evil?

_Crito_: Surely not, Socrates. 

_Socrates_: And what of doing evil in return for evil, which is themorality of the many; is that just or not?

_Crito_: Not just. 

_Socrates_: For doing evil to another is the same as injuring him?

_Crito_: Very true. 

_Socrates_: Then we ought not to retaliate or render evil for evil toany one, whatever evil we may have suffered from him. But I would haveyou consider, Crito, whether you really mean what you are saying. Forthis opinion has never been held, and never will be held, by anyconsiderable number of persons; and those who are agreed and those whoare not agreed upon this point have no common ground, and can onlydespise one another when they see how widely they differ. Tell me, then, whether you agree with and assent to my first principle, thatneither injury nor retaliation nor warding off evil by evil is everright. And shall that be the premise of our argument? Or do youdecline and dissent from this? For this has been of old and is stillmy opinion; but, if you are of another opinion, let me hear what youhave to say. If, however, you remain of the same mind, I will proceed. 

_Crito_: You may proceed, for I have not changed my mind. 

_Socrates_: Then I will proceed to the next step, which may be put inthe form of a question: Ought a man to do what he admits to be rightor ought he to betray the right?

_Crito_: He ought to do what he thinks right. 

_Socrates_: But if this is true, what is the application? In leavingthe prison against the will of the Athenians, do I wrong any? orrather do I not wrong those whom I ought least to wrong? Do I notdesert the principles which were acknowledged by us to be just? Whatdo you say?

_Crito_: I can not tell, Socrates; for I do not know. 

_Socrates_: Then consider the matter in this way: Imagine that I amabout to play truant (you may call the proceeding by any name whichyou like), and the laws and the government come and interrogate me:"Tell us, Socrates, " they say; "what are you about? Are you going byan act of yours to overturn us--the laws and the whole state, as faras in you lies? Do you imagine that a state can subsist and not beoverthrown in which the decisions of law have no power, but are setaside and overthrown by individuals?" What will be our answer, Crito, to these and the like words? Any one, and especially a cleverrhetorician, will have a good deal to urge about the evil of settingaside the law which requires a sentence to be carried out; and wemight reply, "Yes; but the state has injured us and given an unjustsentence. " Suppose I say that?

_Crito_: Very good, Socrates. 

_Socrates_: "And was that our agreement with you?" the law would say;"or were you to abide by the sentence of the state?" And if I were toexpress astonishment at their saying this, the law would probably add:"Answer, Socrates, instead of opening your eyes; you are in the habitof asking and answering questions. Tell us what complaint you have tomake against us which justifies you in attempting to destroy us andthe state? In the first place, did we not bring you into existence?Your father married your mother by our aid and begot you. Say whetheryou have any objection to urge against those of us who regulatemarriage?" None, I should reply. "Or against those of us who regulatethe system of nurture and education of children in which you weretrained? Were not the laws, which have the charge of this, right incommanding your father to train you in music and gymnastic?" Right, Ishould say. "Well then, since you were brought into the world andnurtured and educated by us, can you deny, in the first place, thatyou are our child and slave, as your fathers were before you? And ifthis is true, you are not on equal terms with us; nor can you thinkthat you have a right to do to us what we are doing to you. Would youhave any right to strike or revile or do any other evil to a father orto your master, if you had one, when you have been struck or reviledby him, or received some other evil at his hands? You would not saythis? And because we think right to destroy you, do you think that youhave any right to destroy us in return, and your country as far as inyou lies? And will you, O professor of true virtue, say that you arejustified in this? Has a philosopher like you failed to discover thatour country is more to be valued and higher and holier far than motheror father or any master, and more to be regarded in the eyes of thegods and of men of understanding; also to be soothed, and gently andreverently entreated when angry, even more than a father, and if notpersuaded, obeyed? And when we are punished by her, whether withimprisonment or stripes, the punishment is to be endured in silence;and if she lead us to wounds or death in battle, thither we follow asis right; neither may any one yield or retreat or leave his rank, butwhether in battle, or in a court of law, or in any other place, hemust do what his city and his country order him, or he must changetheir view of what is just; and if he may do no violence to his fatheror mother, much less may he do violence to his country. " What answershall we make to this, Crito? Do the laws speak truly, or do they not?

_Crito_: I think that they do. 

_Socrates_: Then the laws will say: "Consider, Socrates, if this istrue, that in your present attempt you are going to do us wrong. For, after having brought you into the world, and nurtured and educatedyou, and given you and every other citizen a share in every good thatwe had to give, we further proclaim and give the right to everyAthenian that if he does not like us when he has come of age and hasseen the ways of the city, and made our acquaintance, he may go wherehe pleases and take his goods with him; and none of our laws willforbid him or interfere with him. Any of you who does not like us andthe city, and who wants to go to a colony or to any other city, may gowhere he likes and take his goods with him. But he who has experienceof the manner in which we order justice and administer the state, andstill remains, has entered into an implied contract that he will do aswe command him. And he who disobeys us is, as we maintain, thricewrong; first, because in disobeying us he is disobeying his parents;secondly, because we are the authors of his education; thirdly, because he had made an agreement with us that he will duly obey ourcommands; and he neither obeys them nor convinces us that our commandsare wrong; and we do not rudely impose them, but give him thealternative of obeying or convincing us; that is what we offer, and hedoes neither. These are the sort of accusations to which, as we weresaying, you, Socrates, will be exposed if you accomplish yourintentions; you above all other Athenians. " Suppose I ask, why isthis? They will justly retort upon me that I above all other men haveacknowledged the agreement. "There is clear proof, " they will say, "Socrates, that we and the city were not displeasing to you. Of allAthenians you have been the most constant resident in the city, which, as you never leave, you may be supposed to love. For you never wentout of the city either to see the games, except once when you went tothe Isthmus, or to any other place unless when you were on militaryservice; nor did you travel as other men do. Nor have you anycuriosity to know other states or their laws; your affections did notgo beyond us and our state; we were your special favorites, and youacquiesced in our government of you; and this is the state in whichyou begot your children, which is a proof of your satisfaction. Moreover, you might, if you had liked, have fixt the penalty atbanishment in the course of the trial--the state which refuses to letyou go now would have let you go then. But you pretended that youpreferred death to exile, and that you were not grieved at death. Andnow you have forgotten these fine sentiments, and pay no respect to usthe laws, of which you are the destroyer, and are doing what only amiserable slave would do, running away and turning your back upon thecompacts and agreements which you made as a citizen. And first of allanswer this very question: Are we right in saying that you agreed tobe governed according to us in deed, and not in word only? Is thattrue or not?" How shall we answer that, Crito? Must we not agree?

_Crito_: There is no help, Socrates. 

_Socrates_: Then will they not say: "You, Socrates, are breaking thecovenants and agreements which you made with us at your leisure, notin any haste or under any compulsion or deception, but having hadseventy years to think of them, during which time you were at libertyto leave the city, if we were not to your mind, or if our covenantsappeared to you to be unfair. You had your choice, and might have goneeither to Lacedæmon or Crete, which you often praise for their goodgovernment, or to some other Hellenic or foreign state. Whereas you, above all other Athenians, seemed to be so fond of the state, or, inother words, of us her laws (for who would like a state that has nolaws?), that you never stirred out of her; the halt, the blind, themaimed were not more stationary in her than you were. And now you runaway and forsake your agreements. Not so, Socrates, if you will takeour choice; do not make yourself ridiculous by escaping out of thecity. 

"For just consider, if you transgress and err in this sort of way, what good will you do either to yourself or to your friends? That yourfriends will be driven into exile and deprived of citizenship, or willlose their property, is tolerably certain; and you yourself if you flyto one of the neighboring cities, as, for example, Thebes or Megara, both of which are well-governed cities, will come to them as anenemy, Socrates, and their government will be against you, and allpatriotic citizens will cast an evil eye upon you as a subverter ofthe laws, and you will confirm in the minds of the judges the justiceof their own condemnation of you. For he who is a corrupter of thelaws is more than likely to be a corrupter of the young and foolishportion of mankind. Will you then flee from well-ordered cities andvirtuous men? and is existence worth having on these terms?. .. 

"Listen, then, Socrates, to us who have brought you up. Think not oflife and children first, and of justice afterward, but of justicefirst, that you may be justified before the princes of the worldbelow. For neither will you nor any that belong to you be happier orholier or juster in this life, or happier in another, if you do asCrito bids. Now you depart in innocence, a sufferer and not a doer ofevil; a victim, not of the laws, but of men. But if you go forth, returning evil for evil, and injury for injury, breaking the covenantsand agreements which you have made with us, and wronging those whomyou ought least to wrong--that is to say, yourself, your friends, yourcountry, and us--we shall be angry with you while you live, and ourbrethren, the laws in the world below, will receive you as an enemy;for they will know that you have done your best to destroy us. Listen, then, to us and not to Crito. "

This is the voice which I seem to hear murmuring in my ears, like thesound of the flute in the ears of the mystic; that voice, I say, ishumming in my ears, and prevents me from hearing any other. And I knowthat anything more which you may say will be vain. Yet speak, if youhave anything to say. 

_Crito_: I have nothing to say, Socrates. 

_Socrates_: Then let me follow the intimations of the will of God. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 71: From the "Crito, " translated by Benjamin Jowett. Critowas an influential and well-to-do citizen of Athens and a friend ofSocrates; but nothing more definite about him is known. ]

VI

THE DEATH OF SOCRATES[72]

"Me, already, as the tragic poet would say, the voice of fate calls. Soon I must drink the poison; and I think that I had better repair tothe bath first, in order that the women may not have the trouble ofwashing my body after I am dead. "

When he had done speaking, Crito said: "And have you any commands forus, Socrates--anything to say about your children or any other matterin which we can serve you?"

"Nothing particular, " he said; "only, as I have always told you, Iwould have you to look to yourselves; that is a service which you mayalways be doing to me and mine as well as to yourselves. And you neednot make professions; for if you take no thought for yourselves, andwalk not according to the precepts which I have given you, not now forthe first time, the warmth of your professions will be of no avail. "

"We will do our best, " said Crito. "But in what way would you have usbury you?"

"In any way that you like; only you must get hold of me, and take carethat I do not walk away from you. " Then he turned to us, and addedwith a smile: "I can not make Crito believe that I am the sameSocrates who has been talking and conducting the argument; he fanciesthat I am the other Socrates whom he will soon see a dead body--and heasks, How shall he bury me? And tho I have spoken many words in theendeavor to show that when I have drunk the poison I shall leave youand go to the joys of the blest--these words of mine, with which Icomforted you and myself, have had, as I perceive, no effect uponCrito. And therefore I want you to be surety for me now, as he wassurety for me at the trial: but let the promise be of another sort;for he was my surety to the judges that I would remain, but you mustbe my surety to him that I shall not remain, but go away and depart;and then he will suffer less at my death, and not be grieved when hesees my body being burned or buried. I would not have him sorrow at myhard lot, or say at the burial, 'Thus we lay out Socrates, ' or, 'Thuswe follow him to the grave or bury him'; for false words are not onlyevil in themselves, but they infect the soul with evil. Be of goodcheer then, my dear Crito, and say that you are burying my body only, and do with that as is usual, and as you think best. "

When he had spoken these words, he arose and told us to wait until hewent into the bath-chamber with Crito; and we waited, talking andthinking of the subject of discourse, and also of the greatness ofour sorrow: he was like a father of whom we were being bereaved, andwe were about to pass the rest of our lives as orphans. When he hadtaken the bath, his children were brought to him--(he had two youngsons and an elder one); and the women of his family also came, and hetalked to them and gave them a few directions in the presence ofCrito; and he then dismissed them and returned to us. 

Now the hour of sunset was near, for a good deal of time had passedwhile he was within. When he came out, he sat down with us again afterhis bath, but not much was said. Soon the jailer, who was the servantof the eleven, entered and stood by him, saying: "To you, Socrates, whom I know to be the noblest and gentlest and best of all who evercame to this place, I will not impute the angry feelings of other men, who rage and swear at me when, in obedience to the authorities, I bidthem drink the poison--indeed, I am sure that you will not be angrywith me; for others, as you are aware, and not I, are the guiltycause. And so fare you well, and try to bear lightly what must needsbe; you know my errand. " Then bursting into tears, he went out. 

Socrates looked at him and said, "I return your good wishes, and willdo as you bid. " Then turning to us, he said, "How charming the man is;since I have been in prison he has always been coming to see me, andat times he would talk to me, and was as good as could be, and now seehow generously he sorrows for me. But we must do as he says, Crito;let the cup be brought if the poison is prepared; if not, let theattendant prepare some. "

"Yet, " said Crito, "the sun is still upon the hilltops, and I knowthat many a one has taken the draft late; and after the announcementhad been made to him, he has eaten and drunk, and enjoyed the societyof his beloved; do not hasten then; there is still time. "

Socrates said: "Yes, Crito, and they of whom you speak are right indoing thus, for they think that they will gain by the delay; but I amright in not doing thus, for I do not think that I should gainanything by drinking the poison a little later; I should be sparingand saving a life which is already gone; I could only laugh at myselffor this. Please then to do as I say, and not to refuse me. "

Crito made a sign to the servant, who was standing by; and he wentout, and after being absent for some time returned with the jailercarrying the cup of poison. Socrates said: "You, my good friend, whoare experienced in these matters, shall give me the directions how Iam to proceed. " The man answered: "You have only to walk about untilyour legs are heavy, and then to lie down, and the poison will act. "At the same time he handed the cup to Socrates, who in the easiest andgentlest manner, without the least fear or change of color or feature, looking at the man with all his eyes, Echecrates, [73] as his mannerwas, took the cup and said: "What do you say about making a libationout of this cup to any god? May I or not?" The man answered: "We onlyprepare, Socrates, just so much as we deem enough. " "I understand, "he said; "yet I may and must ask the gods to prosper my journey fromthis to that other world--even so--and so be it according to myprayer. " Then holding the cup to his lips, quite readily andcheerfully he drank off the poison. And hitherto most of us had beenable to control our sorrow; but now when we saw him drinking, and sawtoo that he had finished the draft, we could no longer forbear, and inspite of myself my own tears were flowing fast; so that I covered myface and wept over myself, for certainly I was not weeping over him, but at the thought of my own calamity in having lost such a friend. Nor was I the first, for Crito, when he found himself unable torestrain his tears, had got up and moved away, and I followed; and atthat moment, Apollodorus, who had been weeping all the time, broke outinto a loud and passionate cry which made cowards of us all. Socratesalone retained his calmness: "What is this strange outcry?" he said. "I sent away the women mainly in order that they might not offend inthis way, for I have heard that a man should die in peace. Be quietthen, and have patience. " When we heard that, we were ashamed, andrefrained our tears; and he walked about until, as he said, his legsbegan to fail, and then he lay on his back, according to thedirections, and the man who gave him the poison now and then looked athis feet and legs; and after a while he prest his foot hard and askedhim if he could feel; and he said, "No"; and then his leg, and soupward and upward, and showed us that he was cold and stiff. And hefelt them himself, and said: "When the poison reaches the heart, thatwill be the end. " He was beginning to grow cold about the groin, whenhe uncovered his face, for he had covered himself up, and said (theywere his last words)--"Crito, I owe a cock to Asclepius; will youremember to pay the debt?" "The debt shall be paid, " said Crito; "isthere anything else?" There was no answer to this question; but in aminute or two a movement was heard, and the attendants uncovered him;his eyes were set, and Crito closed his eyes and mouth. 

Such was the end, Echecrates, of our friend, whom I may truly call thewisest, and justest, and best of all the men whom I have ever known. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 72: From the "Phædo. " Translated by Benjamin Jowett. Probably the "Phædo" is, of all Plato's writings, the most famous. Itsimportance is ascribed by Mahaffy not only to what is said ofimmortality, in passages which have "fascinated the thoughtful men ofall ages, " but to the touching story of the last hours of Socrates. ]

[Footnote 73: Echecrates seems to have been the Locrian philosopher towhom Plato is believed to have gone for some of his earlyinstruction. ]

ARISTOTLE

Born in Stagira in 384 B. C. ; died at Chalcis in Euboea in 322; themost famous of Greek philosophers; went to Athens in his eighteenthyear as a pupil of Plato and remained there for twenty years; in 343went to the Court of Macedon, where he undertook the education ofAlexander the Great, then thirteen years old; in 335 returned toAthens and produced the greater part of his writings; afterward forcedto flee from Athens to Chalcis during an uprising against theMacedonians; his numerous writings deal with all branches of scienceknown to his times; the first edition of the Greek text, that of AldusManutius, published in 1495-98. [74]

I

WHAT THINGS ARE PLEASANT[75]

Let it be laid down by us, that pleasure is a certain motion of thesoul, and a settlement of it, at once rapid and perceptible, into itsown proper nature; and that pain is the contrary. If then pleasure bea thing of this nature, it is plain that whatever is productive of thedisposition I have described is pleasant; while everything of anature to destroy it, or produce a disposition the opposite to it, ispainful. 

Generally speaking, therefore, it is necessary, both that the being inprogress toward a state conformable to nature should be pleasant; andthat, in the highest degree, when those feelings, whose original isconformable to it, shall have recovered that their nature; and habits, because that which is habitual becomes by that time natural, as itwere; for, in a certain way, custom is like nature, because the ideaof frequency is proximate to that of always; now nature belongs to theidea of always, custom to that of often. What is not compulsory, also, is pleasant; for compulsion is contrary to nature. Wherefore acts ofnecessity are painful; and it has been truly remarked, "Every act ofnecessity is in its nature painful. " It must be also that a state ofsedulous attention, anxiety, the having the mind on the stretch, arepainful, for they all are acts of necessity, and constrained, unlessthey have become habitual; but it is custom which, under suchcircumstances, renders them pleasant. The contraries of these mustalso be pleasant; wherefore, relaxation of mind, leisure, listlessness, amusements, and intervals of rest, rank in the class ofthings pleasant; for none of these has anything to do with necessity. Everything of which there is an innate appetite, is pleasant; forappetite is a desire of what is pleasant. 

Now, of appetites, some are irrational, others attended by reason. Icall all those irrational which men desire, not from any conceptionwhich they form: of this kind are all which are said to existnaturally, as those of the body; thirst or hunger, for instance, inthe case of sustenance; and the appetite of sustenance in every kind. And the appetites connected with objects of taste, and of lust, and, in fact, objects of touch generally; the appetite of fragrant odors, too, as connected with smelling, and hearing, and sight. Appetitesattended by reason are all those whatsoever which men exercise from apersuasion: for many things there are which they desire to behold, andpossess, on hearsay and persuasion. Now, as the being pleased standsin the perception of a certain affection, and as imagination is a kindof faint perception, there will attend on him who exercises eithermemory or hope a kind of imagination of that which is the object ofhis memory or hope; but if so, it is plain that they who exercisememory or hope, certainly feel pleasure, since they have also aperception. So that everything pleasant consists either in theperception of present objects, or in the remembrance of those whichhave already been, or in the hope of such as are yet to be; for menexercise perception on present, memory on past, and hope on futureobjects. Now the objects of memory are pleasant, not only such as atthe moment while present were pleasant, but some even which were notpleasant, should their consequence subsequently be honorable and good;and hence this saying, "But it is indeed pleasant for a man, whenpreserved, to remember his toils"; and this, "For after hissufferings, a man who has suffered much, and much achieved, isgladdened at the recollection. " But the reason of this is, that to beexempt from evil is pleasant. And all objects are pleasant in hope, which appear by their presence either to delight or benefit in a greatdegree; or to benefit, without giving pain. In a word, whateverobjects by their presence delight us, do so, generally speaking, as wehope for, or remember them. On which account, too, the feeling ofanger is pleasant; just as Homer has remarked of anger in his poem, "That which with sweetness far greater than distilling honey as itdrops"; for there is no one who feels anger where the object seemsimpracticable to his revenge; nor with those far their superiors inpower do men feel anger at all, or if they do, it is in a less degree. 

There is also a kind of pleasure consequent on most appetites; foreither in the recollection that they have enjoyed them, or in the hopethat they shall enjoy them, men are affected and delighted by acertain pleasure: thus men possest by fevers feel delight, amid theirthirst, as well at the remembrance how they used to drink, as at thehope of drinking yet again. Lovers, too, feel delight in conversing, writing, and composing something, ever about the object beloved;because, in all those energies, they have a perception, as it were, ofthe object they love. And this is in all cases a criterion of thecommencement of love, when persons feel pleasure not only in thepresence of the object, but are enamored also of it when absent, onmemory; wherefore, even when pain arises at absence, nay in the midstof mourning, and the very dirge of death, there yet arises within us acertain pleasure. For the pain is felt because the object is notpresent; but the pleasure consists in remembering and seeing, as itwere, both the person, and what he used to do, and the kind ofcharacter of which he was. Whence has it been said, and withprobability enough, "Thus spake he, and excited within them all adesire of lamentation. " Also the avenging oneself is pleasant; for thegetting of that is pleasant, the failing to get which is painful: nowthe angry do feel pain in an excessive degree if they be not avenged;but in the hope of revenge they take pleasure. 

Again, to overcome is pleasant, not to the ambitious only, but even toall; for there arises an imagination of superiority, for which all, either in a faint or more violent degree, have an appetite. But sinceto overcome is pleasant, it must follow, of course, that amusementswhere there is field for rivalry, as those of music and disputations, are pleasant; for it frequently occurs, in the course of these, thatwe overcome; also chess, ball, dice, and drafts. 

Again, it is the same with respect to amusements where a livelyinterest is taken; for, of these, some become pleasant as accustomedto them; others are pleasant at first; for instance, hunting and everykind of sporting; for where there is rivalry, there is also victory;on which principle the disputations of the bar and of the schools arepleasant to those who have become accustomed to them, and haveabilities. Also honor and good character are most pleasant, by reasonthat an idea arises, that one is such as is the good man; and this ina greater degree should those people pronounce one such who he thinksspeak truth: such are those immediately about one, rather than thosewho are more removed; familiar friends, and acquaintances, and one'sfellow citizens, rather than those who are at a distance; the present, rather than a future generation; a man of practical wisdom, ratherthan a mere ignoramus; many, than a few; for it is more likely thatthese I have mentioned will adhere to the truth, than that theopposite characters will: since one has no anxiety about the honor orthe opinion of such as one greatly despises, children and animals, forinstance, not at least for the sake of such opinion itself; but if oneis anxious about it, then it is on account of something else. 

A friend, too, ranks among things pleasant; for the affection of loveis pleasant; since there is no lover of wine who does not delight inwine: also the having affection felt toward one is pleasant; for thereis in this case also an idea of one's being an excellent person, whichall who have any sensibility to it are desirous of; now the havingaffection felt for you is the being beloved yourself, on your ownaccount. Also the being held in admiration is pleasant, on the veryaccount of being honored by it. Flattery and the flatterer arepleasant; since the flatterer is a seeming admirer and a seemingfriend. To continue the same course of action is also pleasant; forwhat is habitual was laid down to be pleasant. To vary is alsopleasant; for change is an approach to what is natural: for samenessproduces an excess of a stated habit; whence it has been said, "Ineverything change is pleasant. " For on this principle, whatever occursat intervals of time is pleasant, whether persons or things; for it isa variation of present objects; and at the same time that whichoccurs merely at intervals possesses the merit of rarity. Alsolearning and admiration, generally speaking, are pleasant; for underadmiration exists a desire [to learn], so that what is admired isdesired; and in the act of learning there is a settlement into a stateconformable to nature. To benefit and to be benefited are also of thenumber of pleasant things; for to be benefited is to get what peopledesire; but to benefit is to possess and abound; things, the both ofwhich men desire. And because a tendency to beneficence is pleasant, it is also pleasant to a man to set his neighbor on his legs again, and to put a finish to that which was deficient in some particular. 

II

THE LIFE MOST DESIRABLE[76]

He who proposes to make the fitting inquiry as to which form ofgovernment is the best, ought first to determine what manner of livingis most eligible; for while this remains uncertain, it will also beequally uncertain what government is best. For, unless some unexpectedaccident interfere, it is probable that those who enjoy the bestgovernment will live best according to existing circumstances; heought, therefore, first to come to some agreement as to the manner oflife which, so to speak, is most desirable for all; and afterward, whether this life is the same or different in the individual and themember of a state. 

Deeming then that we have already sufficiently shown what sort of lifeis best, in our popular discourses on that subject, we must now makeuse of what we there said. Certainly no one ever called in questionthe propriety of one of the divisions; namely, that as there are threekinds of things good for man, which are, what is external, whatbelongs to the body, and to the soul, it is evident that all thesemust conspire to make men truly happy. For no one would say that a manwas happy who had nothing of fortitude or temperance, justice orprudence, but was afraid of the flies that flew round him; or whowould abstain from nothing, if he chanced to be desirous of meat ordrink, or who would murder his dearest friend for a farthing; or, inlike manner, one who was in every particular as wanting and misguidedin his understanding as an infant or a maniac. These truths are soevident that all must agree to them, tho some may dispute about thequantity and the degree: for they may think, that a very little amountof virtue is sufficient for happiness; but as to riches, property, power, honor, and all such things, they endeavor to increase themwithout bounds. But to such we say, that it is easy to prove, fromwhat experience teaches us concerning these cases, that it is notthrough these external goods that men acquire virtue, but throughvirtue that they acquire them. As to a happy life, whether it is to befound in pleasure or in virtue, or in both, certain it is that itbelongs more frequently to those whose morals are most pure, and whoseunderstandings are best cultivated, and who preserve moderation inthe acquisition of external goods, than to those who possess asufficiency of external good things, but are deficient in the rest. 

And that such is the case will be clearly seen by any one who viewsthe matter with reflection. For whatsoever is external has itsboundary, as a machine; and whatsoever is useful is such that itsexcess is either necessarily hurtful, or at best useless to thepossessor. But every good quality of the soul, the higher it is indegree, becomes much the more useful, if it is permitted on thissubject to adopt the word "useful" as well as "noble. " It is alsoevident that the best disposition of each thing will follow in thesame proportion of excess, as the things themselves, of which we allowthey are accidents, differ from each other in value. So that if thesoul is more noble than any outward possession, or than the body, bothin itself and with respect to us, it must be admitted, of course, thatthe best disposition of each must follow the same analogy. Besides, itis for the sake of the soul that these things are desirable, and it ison this account that wise men should desire them, and not the soul forthem. 

Let us therefore be well agreed that so much of happiness falls to thelot of every one as he possesses of virtue and wisdom, and inproportion as he acts according to their dictates; since for this wehave the example of the God Himself, who is completely happy, not fromany external good, but in Himself, and because He is such by nature. For good fortune is something of necessity different from happiness, as every external good of the soul is produced by chance or byfortune; but it is not from fortune that any one is just or wise. Hence it follows, as established by the same reasoning, that the statewhich is best, and acts best, will be happy: for no one can fare wellwho acts not well; nor can the actions either of man or city bepraiseworthy without virtue and wisdom. For valor, justice and wisdomhave in a state the same force and form as in individuals; and it isonly as he shares in these virtues that each man is said to be just, wise, and prudent. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 74: Aristotle has been recognized as a great name in theclassic literature of Greece, but this, as Mahaffy points out, israther as a critic than as a man of letters in the narrow sense of theword. Physically he was unattractive. In his day he was thought ugly. His features were small and his legs thin. A sitting portrait of him, now preserved in Rome, shows a refined and careworn, tho somewhat hardface, in which thought and perhaps bodily suffering have drawn deepfurrows. His writings are said to have numbered about four hundred. ]

[Footnote 75: From Book I of the "Rhetoric. " Translated by TheodoreBuckley. ]

[Footnote 76: From Book VII of the "Politics. " Translated by EdwardWalford. ]

III

IDEAL HUSBANDS AND WIVES[77]

But as to man, the first object of his care should be respecting awife; for the society which exists between the male and female isabove all others natural. For it is laid down by us elsewhere, thatnature aims at producing many such creatures as the several kinds ofanimals; but it is impossible for the female to accomplish thiswithout the male, or the male without the female, so that the societybetween them exists of necessity. In all other animals indeed, thisassociation is irrational, and exists only so far as they possess anatural instinct, and for the sake of procreation alone. But in themilder and more intelligent animals, this bond more nearly approachesperfection; for there seem to be in them more signs of mutualassistance and good-will, and of cooperation with each other. But thisis especially the case with man, because the male and female herecooperate not only for the sake of existence, but of living happily. And the procreation of children is a means not only of subservingnature, but also of solid benefit; for the labor which they expendduring their season of vigor upon their helpless young is given backto them in the decay of age, from their children who are then invigor. 

And at the same time, by this continual cycle, nature provides for thecontinuance of the race as a species, since she can not do sonumerically. Thus divinely predisposed toward such a society is thenature of both the male and the female. For the sexes are at oncedivided, in that neither of them have powers adequate for allpurposes, nay, in some respects even opposite to each other, tho theytend to the same end. For nature has made the one sex stronger and theother weaker, that the one by reason of fear may be more adapted topreserve property, while the other, by reason of its fortitude, may bedisposed to repel assaults; and that the one may provide thingsabroad, while the other preserves them at home. And with respect tolabor, the one is by nature capable of attending to domestic duties, but weak as to matters out-of-doors; the other is ill-adapted to workswhere repose is necessary, but able to perform those which demandexercise. And with respect to children, the bearing of them belongs toone sex, but the advantage of them is common to both; for the one hasto rear them, and the other to educate them. .. . 

A good and perfect wife ought to be mistress of everything within thehouse, and to have the care of everything according to fixt laws;allowing no one to come in unbidden by her husband, and especiallykeeping on her guard against everything which can be noised abroadrelating to a woman's dishonor. So that if any mischance has happenedwithin doors, she alone ought to know about it; but when those whohave come in have done anything wrong, the husband should bear theblame. And she should manage the expenses laid out upon such festivalsas her husband has agreed with her in keeping, and make an outlay ofclothes and other ornaments on a somewhat lesser scale than isencouraged by the laws of the state; considering that neither splendorof vestments, nor preeminence of beauty, nor the amount of gold, contributes so much to the commendation of a woman as good managementin domestic affairs, and a noble and comely manner of life; since allsuch array of the soul is far more lovely, and has greater force (thananything besides), to provide herself and her children true ornamenttill old age. 

A wife therefore ought to inspire herself with confidence, andperpetually to be at the head of domestic affairs. For it is unseemlyfor a man to know all that goes on in the house; in all respectsindeed she ought to be obedient to her husband, and not to busyherself about public affairs, nor to take part in matrimonialconcerns. And when it is time to give his daughters in marriage, or toget wives for his sons, by all means in these respects she should obeyher husband. And she ought to show herself a fellow counsellor to herhusband, so as to assent to what pleases him, remembering that it isless unseemly for a husband to take in hand domestic matters, than fora wife to busy herself in affairs out-of-doors. But the well-orderedwife will justly consider the behavior of her husband as a model ofher own life, and a law to herself, invested with a divine sanction bymeans of the marriage tie and the community of life. For if she canpersuade herself to bear her husband's ways patiently, she will mosteasily manage matters in the house; but if she can not, she will havegreater difficulty. So that it will be seemly for her to show herselfof one mind with her husband, and tractable, not only when her husbandis in good luck and prosperity, but also when he is in misfortune; andwhen good fortune has failed him or sickness has laid hold of hisbodily frame, or when he has been deprived of his senses, she oughtgently and sympathetically to yield in any matter which is not baseand unworthy; but if her husband has been ailing and made a mistake, she ought not to keep it on her mind, but to lay the blame on diseaseor ignorance. .. . 

But the husband in his turn should find out certain laws to regulatehis treatment of his wife, as one who entered the house of her husbandto share his children and his life, and to leave him a progenydestined to bear the names of her husband's parents and her own. Andwhat in the world could there be more holy than these ties? or what isthere about which a man in his sound sense could strive more earnestlythan to beget the children who shall hereafter nurse his decliningyears, from the best and most praiseworthy of wives; for they are tobe, as it were, the best and most pious preservers of their father andmother, and guardians of the entire family. For it is probable thatthey will turn out good, if they have been reared uprightly by theirparents in the habitual practise of what is just and holy but if thecontrary should be the case, they will suffer the loss themselves. Forunless parents afford their children a fit pattern of life, they willleave them an obvious excuse to quote against themselves. And this isto be feared, that if they have not lived well, their sons willdisregard them, and neglect them in their old age. 

On this account nothing is to be omitted which tends to the fiteducation of a bride, so that the children may be born of the bestpossible mother. For the husbandman neglects nothing so as to cast hisseed upon the richest and best wrought ground, considering that it isfrom such a soil that he will hereafter reap the fairest fruits; andif any violence threatens, he fights against his enemy, anddeliberately chooses to die rather than endure to see it ravaged; andsuch a disposition as this is praised by most persons. And as such isthe care which is spent by us on the support of our bodies, whatmanner of men ought we to show ourselves on behalf of our children andof the mother that is to rear them? Ought we not most readily tostrain every nerve? For in this way alone does the constitution ofman's nature, which is mortal, attain to prosperity, and the prayersof parents all tend to this one end. And hence, whoever cares not forthis is sure to be regardless of the gods. 

It was for the sake of the gods, then, who were present to him whenhe offered the marriage sacrifice, that he not only took to himself awife, but also (what is far more) gave himself over to his bride tohonor her next to his own parents. But that which is most precious inthe eyes of a prudent wife is to see her husband preserving himselfentirely for her, thinking of no other woman in comparison with her, and regarding herself, above all other women, as peculiarly his own, and faithful toward him. For in proportion as a wife perceives thatshe is faithfully and justly cared for, so much the more will sheexert her energies to show herself such. Whoever therefore is prudentwill not fail to remember with how much honor it becomes him torequite his parents, his wife, and his children, in order that he maygain the name of one who is just and upright in distributing to eachtheir due. For every one is indignant beyond measure at being deprivedof that which belongs to himself in a peculiar manner; and there is noone who is content at being deprived of his own property, tho one wereto give him plenty of his neighbor's goods. And in very truth nothingis so peculiarly the property of a wife as a chaste and hallowedintercourse. 

And hence it would not befit a prudent man to cast his seed whereverchance might take it, lest children should be born to him from a badand base stock, on an equality with his legitimate sons; and by thisthe wife is robbed of her conjugal rights, the children are injured, and above all, the husband himself is enveloped in disgrace. He oughttherefore to approach his wife with much self-restraint and decency, and to maintain modesty in his words, and in his deeds a regard towhat is lawful and honest, and in his intercourse he should be trueand discreet. And to little errors, even tho they be voluntary, heought to vouchsafe pardon; and if she has made any mistake throughignorance, he ought to advise her, and not to inspire her with fear, except such as is accompanied with reverence and respect. For suchtreatment would be more suited to mistresses at the hands of theirgallants. Yet, nevertheless, justly to love her husband with reverenceand respect, and to be loved in turn, is that which befits a wife ofgentle birth, as to her intercourse with her own husband. For fear isof two kinds; the one kind is reverent and full of respect; such isthat which good sons exhibit toward their parents, and well-orderedcitizens toward those who rule them in a kindly spirit. But the otherkind is attended by hatred and aversion: such is that which slavesfeel toward their masters, and citizens toward unjust and lawlesstyrants. 

Furthermore, the husband ought to choose the best course out of allthat we have said above, and so to conciliate his wife to himself, andto make her trustworthy and well disposed, as that whether her husbandbe present or absent, she will be equally good, while he can turn hisattention to public matters: so that even in his absence she may feelthat no one is better, nor more suited to herself, nor more nearlybound to her, than her own husband: and that he may always direct hisenergies to the public good, and show from the very first that such isthe case, even tho she may be very young and quite inexperienced insuch matters. For if the husband should ever begin such a course ofconduct as this, and show himself to be perfect master of himself, hewould be the best guide of the entire course of his life, and he wouldteach his wife to adopt a similar mode of action. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 77: From Book I of the "Economics. " Translated by EdwardWalford. ]

IV

HAPPINESS AS AN END OF HUMAN ACTION[78]

Since we have spoken of the virtues, of the different kinds offriendships, and of pleasures, it remains that we should discuss thesubject of happiness in outline, since we assumed this to be the endof human actions. Therefore, if we recapitulate what has been saidbefore, the argument will be more concise. 

We have said that it is not a habit; for if it were, it might exist ina man who slept throughout his life, living the life of a plant, andsuffering the greatest misfortunes. If, then, this does not please us, but if we must rather bring it under a kind of energy, as was saidbefore; and if, of energies, some are necessary and eligible for thesake of something else, others are eligible for their own sakes; it isplain that we must consider happiness as one of those which areeligible for their own sakes, and not one of those which are eligiblefor the sake of something else; for happiness is in want of nothing, but is self-sufficient. Now those energies are eligible for their ownsakes from which nothing more is sought for beyond the energy. But ofthis kind, actions done according to virtue seem to be: for theperformance of honorable and good acts is among things eligible fortheir own sakes. And of amusements, those are eligible for their ownsakes which are pleasant: for men do not choose these for the sake ofanything else: for they are rather injured by them than benefited, since they neglect their persons and property. But the majority ofthose who are called happy fly to such pastimes as these; and, therefore, those who have a happy turn for such pastimes as these arein favor with tyrants; for they make themselves agreeable in thosethings which tyrants desire; and such are the men they want. 

These things are thought to belong to happiness, because those who arein power pass their leisure in them. But such men are perhaps noproof; for neither virtue nor intellect consists in having power, andfrom these two good energies proceed; nor if those, who have nevertasted pure and liberal pleasure, fly to bodily pleasures, must wetherefore think that these pleasures are more eligible; for childrenthink those things which are esteemed by them the best. It isreasonable, therefore, to suppose, that as the things which appearhonorable to children and men differ, so also those which appear so tothe bad and the good will differ likewise, and therefore, as we havevery often said, those things are honorable and pleasant which are soto the good man. But to every man that energy is most eligible whichis according to his proper habit; and, therefore, to the good man, that is most eligible which is according to virtue. 

Consequently happiness does not consist in amusement; for it is absurdthat the end should be amusement; and that men should toil and sufferinconvenience all their life long for the sake of amusement; for wechoose everything, as we might say, for the sake of something else, except happiness; for that is an end. But to be serious and to laborfor the sake of amusement appears foolish and very childish. But toamuse ourselves in order that we may be serious, as Anacharsis said, seems to be right: for amusement resembles relaxation. Relaxation, therefore, is not the end, for we have recourse to it for the sake ofthe energy. But the happy life seems to be according to virtue; andthis is serious, and does not consist in amusement. We say also thatserious things are better than those which are ridiculous and joinedwith amusement; and that the energy of the better part and of thebetter man is more serious; and the energy of the better man is atonce superior, and more tending to happiness. Besides, any personwhatever, even a slave, may enjoy bodily pleasures no less than thebest man; but no one allows that a slave partakes of happiness exceptso far as that he partakes of life: for happiness does not consist insuch modes of passing life, but in energies according to virtue, ashas been said already. 

If happiness be an energy according to virtue, it is reasonable tosuppose that it is according to the best virtue; and this must be thevirtue of the best part of man. Whether, then, this best part be theintellect, or something else--which is thought naturally to bear ruleand to govern, and to possess ideas upon honorable and divinesubjects, or whether it is itself divine, or the most divine of anyproperty which we possess; the energy of this part according to itsproper virtue must be perfect happiness: and that this energy iscontemplative has been stated. This also would seem to agree with whatwas said before, and with the truth: for this energy is the noblest;since the intellect is the noblest thing within us, and of subjects ofknowledge, those are noblest with which the intellect is conversant. 

It is also most continuous; for we are better able to contemplatecontinuously than to do anything else continuously. We think also thatpleasure must be united to happiness: but of all the energiesaccording to virtue, that according to wisdom is confessedly the mostpleasant: at any rate, wisdom seems to contain pleasures worthy ofadmiration, both in point of purity and stability: and it isreasonable to suppose that his mode of life should be pleasanter tothose who know it than to those who are only seeking it. Again, thatwhich is called self-sufficiency must be most concerned withcontemplative happiness; for both the wise man and the just, and allothers, need the necessaries of life; but supposing them to besufficiently supplied with such goods, the just man requires personstoward whom and with whom he may act justly; and in like manner thetemperate man, and the brave man, and so on with all the rest. But thewise man, if even by himself, is able to contemplate; and the more sothe wiser he is; perhaps he will energize better, if he hascooperators, but nevertheless he is most self-sufficient. This wouldseem also to be the only energy which is loved for its own sake; forit has no result beyond the act of contemplation; but from the activeenergies, we gain more or less beyond the performance of the action. 

Happiness seems also to consist in leisure; for we are busy in orderthat we may have leisure; and we go to war in order that we may be atpeace. Now the energies of the active virtues are exerted in politicalor military affairs; and the actions with respect to these are thoughtto allow of no leisure. Certainly military actions altogether excludeit; for no one chooses war, nor makes preparations for war for thesake of war; for a man would be thought perfectly defiled with blood, if he made his friends enemies in order that there might be battlesand massacres. The energy of the statesman is also without leisure;and besides the actual administration of the state, the statesmanseeks to gain power and honors, or at least happiness for himself andhis fellow citizens, different from the happiness of the state, whichwe are in search of, clearly as being different. 

If, then, of all courses of action which are according to the virtues, those which have to do with politics and war excel in beauty andgreatness; and these have no leisure, and aim at some end, and are notchosen for their own sakes; but the energy of the intellect is thoughtto be superior in intensity, because it is contemplative; and to aimat no end beyond itself, and to have a pleasure properly belonging toit; and if this increases the energy; and if self-sufficiency, andleisure, and freedom from cares (as far as anything human can befree), and everything which is attributed to the happy man, evidentlyexist in this energy; then this must be the perfect happiness of man, when it attains the end of life complete; for nothing is incomplete ofthose things which belong to happiness. 

But such a life would be better than man could attain to; for he wouldlive thus, not so far forth as he is man, but as there is in himsomething divine. But so far as this divine part surpasses the wholecompound nature, so far does its energy surpass the energy which isaccording to all other virtue. If, then, the intellect be divine whencompared with man, the life also, which is in obedience to that, willbe divine when compared with human life. But a man ought not toentertain human thoughts, as some would advise, because he is human, nor mortal thoughts, because he is mortal: but as far as it ispossible he should make himself immortal, and do everything with aview to living in accordance with the best principle in him; altho itbe small in size, yet in power and value it is far more excellent thanall. Besides, this would seem to be each man's "self, " if it really isthe ruling and the better part. It would be absurd, therefore, if aman were to choose not his own life, but the life of some other thing. And what was said before will apply now; for that which peculiarlybelongs to each by nature is best and most pleasant to every one; andconsequently to man, the life according to intellect is most pleasant, if intellect especially constitutes Man. This life, therefore, is themost happy. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 78: From Book X of the "Nicomachean Ethics. " Translated byR. W. Browne. ]

POLYBIUS

 Born in Megalopolis in Greece, in 204 B. C. ; died about 125; celebrated as an historian; entered the service of the Achæan League; taken to Rome about 169 as a political prisoner, becoming a friend of Scipio the younger; later engaged in settling the affairs of Achaia; went to Egypt in 181 as an ambassador of the Achæan League; of his history of Rome in forty books, five only have been preserved entire. [79]

I

THE BATTLE OF CANNÆ[80]

(216 B. C. )

When the news arrived at Rome that the two armies were face to face, and that skirmishes between advanced parties of both sides were dailytaking place, the city was in a state of high excitement anduneasiness; the people dreading the result, owing to the disasterswhich had now befallen them on more than one occasion; and foreseeingand anticipating in their imaginations what would happen if they wereutterly defeated. All the oracles preserved at Rome were ineverybody's mouth; and every temple and house was full of prodigiesand miracles: in consequence of which the city was one scene of vows, sacrifices, supplicatory processions, and prayers. For the Romans intimes of danger take extraordinary pains to appease gods and men, andlook upon no ceremony of that kind in such times as unbecoming orbeneath their dignity. 

When he took over the command on the following day, as soon as the sunwas above the horizon, Gaius Terentius[81] got the army in motion fromboth the camps. Those from the larger camp he drew up in order ofbattle, as soon as he had got them across the river, and bringing upthose of the smaller camp he placed them all in the same line, selecting the south as the aspect of the whole. The Roman horse hestationed on the right wing along the river, and their foot next themin the same line, placing the maniples, however, closer together thanusual, and making the depth of each maniple several times greater thanits front. The cavalry of the allies he stationed on the left wing, and the light-armed troops he placed slightly in advance of the wholearmy, which amounted with its allies to eighty thousand infantry and alittle more than six thousand horse. At the same time Hannibal broughthis Balearic slingers and spearmen across the river, and stationedthem in advance of his main body; which he led out of their camp, and, getting them across the river at two spots, drew them up oppositethe enemy. On his left wing, close to the river, he stationed theIberian and Celtic horse opposite the Roman cavalry; and next to themhalf the Libyan heavy-armed foot; and next to them the Iberian andCeltic foot; next, the other half of the Libyans, and, on the rightwing, the Numidian horse. Having now got them all into line, headvanced with the central companies of the Iberians and Celts; and soarranged the other companies next these in regular gradations that thewhole line became crescent-shaped, diminishing in depth toward itsextremities: his object being to have his Libyans as a reserve in thebattle, and to commence the action with his Iberians and Celts. 

The armor of the Libyans was Roman, for Hannibal had armed them with aselection of the spoils taken in previous battles. The shield of theIberians and Celts was about the same size, but their swords werequite different. For that of the Roman can thrust with as deadlyeffects as it can cut, while the Gallic sword can only cut, and thatrequires some room. And the companies coming alternately--the nakedCelts, and the Iberians with their short linen tunics bordered withpurple stripes, the whole appearance of the line was strange andterrifying. The whole strength of the Carthaginian cavalry was tenthousand, but that of their foot was not more than forty thousand, including the Celts. Æmilius[82] commanded on the Roman right, GaiusTerentius on the left, Marcus Atilius and Gnæus Servilius, the Consulsof the previous year, on the center. The left of the Carthaginianswas commanded by Hasdrubal, [83] the right by Hanno, [84] the center byHannibal in person, attended by his brother Mago. And as the Romanline faced the south, as I said before, and the Carthaginian thenorth, the rays of the rising sun did not inconvenience either ofthem. 

The battle was begun by an engagement between the advanced guard ofthe two armies; and at first the affair between these light-armedtroops was indecisive. But as soon as the Iberian and Celtic cavalrygot at the Romans, the battle began in earnest, and in the truebarbaric fashion: for there was none of the usual formal advance andretreat; but when they once got to close quarters, they grappled manto man, and, dismounting from their horses, fought on foot. But whenthe Carthaginians had got the upper hand in this encounter and killedmost of their opponents on the ground--because the Romans allmaintained the fight with spirit and determination--and began chasingthe remainder along the river, slaying as they went and giving noquarter; then the legionaries took the place of the light-armed andclosed with the enemy. For a short time the Iberian and Celtic linesstood their ground and fought gallantly; but, presently overpowered bythe weight of the heavy-armed lines, they gave way and retired to therear, thus breaking up the crescent. The Roman maniples followed withspirit, and easily cut their way through the enemy's line; since theCelts had been drawn up in a thin line, while the Romans had closed upfrom the wings toward the center and the point of danger. For the twowings did not come into action at the same time as the center: but thecenter was first engaged because the Gauls, having been stationed onthe arc of the crescent, had come into contact with the enemy longbefore the wings, the convex of the crescent being toward the enemy. The Romans, however, going in pursuit of these troops, and hastilyclosing in toward the center and the part of the enemy which wasgiving ground, advanced so far that the Libyan heavy-armed troops oneither wing got on their flanks. Those on the right, facing to theleft, charged from the right upon the Roman flank; while those whowere on the left wing faced to the right, and, dressing by the left, charged their right flank, the exigency of the moment suggesting tothem what they ought to do. Thus it came about, as Hannibal hadplanned, that the Romans were caught between two hostile lines ofLibyans--thanks to their impetuous pursuit of the Celts. Still theyfought, tho no longer in line, yet singly or in maniples, which facedabout to meet those who charged them on the flanks. 

Tho he had been from the first on the right wing, and had taken partin the cavalry engagement, Lucius Æmilius still survived. Determinedto act up to his own exhortatory speech, and seeing that the decisionof the battle rested mainly on the legionaries, riding up to thecenter of the line he led the charge himself, and personally grappledwith the enemy, at the same time cheering on and exhorting hissoldiers to the charge. Hannibal, on the other side, did the same, forhe too had taken his place on the center from the commencement. TheNumidian horse on the Carthaginian right were meanwhile charging thecavalry on the Roman left; and tho, from the peculiar nature of theirmode of fighting, they neither inflicted nor received much harm, theyyet rendered the enemy's horse useless by keeping them occupied, andcharging them first on one side and then on another. But whenHasdrubal, after all but annihilating the cavalry by the river, camefrom the left to the support of the Numidians, the Roman alliedcavalry, seeing his charge approaching, broke and fled. 

At that point Hasdrubal appears to have acted with great skill anddiscretion. Seeing the Numidians to be strong in numbers, and moreeffective and formidable to troops that had once been forced fromtheir ground, he left the pursuit to them; while he himself hastenedto the part of the field where the infantry were engaged, and broughthis men up to support the Libyans. Then, by charging the Roman legionson the rear, and harassing them by hurling squadron after squadronupon them at many points at once, he raised the spirits of theLibyans, and dismayed and deprest those of the Romans. It was at thispoint that Lucius Æmilius fell, in the thick of the fight, coveredwith wounds: a man who did his duty to his country at the last hour ofhis life, as he had throughout its previous years, if any man everdid. As long as the Romans could keep an unbroken front, to turn firstin one direction and then in another to meet the assaults of theenemy, they held out; but the outer files of the circle continuallyfalling, and the circle becoming more and more contracted, they atlast were all killed on the field; and among them Marcus Atilius andGnæus Servilius, the Consuls of the previous year, who had shownthemselves brave men and worthy of Rome in the battle. While thisstruggle and carnage were going on, the Numidian horse were pursuingthe fugitives, most of whom they cut down or hurled from their horses;but some few escaped into Venusia, among whom was Gaius Terentius, theConsul, who thus sought a flight, as disgraceful to himself, as hisconduct in office had been disastrous to his country. 

Such was the end of the battle of Cannæ, [85] in which both sidesfought with the most conspicuous gallantry, the conquered no less thanthe conquerors. This is proved by the fact that, out of six thousandhorse, only seventy escaped with Gaius Terentius to Venusia, and aboutthree hundred of the allied cavalry to various towns in theneighborhood. Of the infantry ten thousand were taken prisoners infair fight, but were not actually engaged in the battle: of those whowere actually engaged only about three thousand perhaps escaped to thetowns of the surrounding district; all the rest died nobly, to thenumber of seventy thousand, the Carthaginians being on this occasion, as on previous ones, mainly indebted for their victory to theirsuperiority in cavalry: a lesson to posterity that in actual war it isbetter to have half the number of infantry, and the superiority incavalry, than to engage your enemy with an equality in both. On theside of Hannibal there fell four thousand Celts, fifteen hundredIberians and Libyans, and about two hundred horse. .. . 

The result of this battle, such as I have described it, had theconsequences which both sides expected. For the Carthaginians by theirvictory were thenceforth masters of nearly the whole of the Italiancoast which is called _Magna Græcia_. Thus the Tarentines immediatelysubmitted; and the Arpani and some of the Campanian states invitedHannibal to come to them; and the rest were with one consent turningtheir eyes to the Carthaginians: who, accordingly, began now to havehigh hopes of being able to carry even Rome itself by assault. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 79: Polybius, who, as will be noted, belongs to a period two anda half centuries later than the greatest Greek historians--Herodotus, Thucydides and Xenophon--is classed by Mahaffy as "the soberest and mostvaluable" of those who wrote with masters as their models. While he hassuffered from the fate of all imitators, his work is "of the highest valueto the historian, as a long series of approving critics has amply shown. "He has never been read as a stylist, "nor could he be said to form a partof the classical literature of Greece. "]

[Footnote 80: From Book IV of the "Histories. " Translated by Evelyn S. Shuckburgh. In this battle Hannibal had about 50, 000 men, and theRomans about 80, 000. ]

[Footnote 81: Gaius Terentius Varro, who was then Consul and diedlater than 200 B. C. ]

[Footnote 82: Lucius Æmilius Paulus was then Consul. ]

[Footnote 83: Hannibal's brother, who, nine years later, crossed theAlps and was killed in battle by the Romans. It was a tradition inRome that Hasdrubal's head, severed from his body, was sent toHannibal. ]

[Footnote 84: The younger brother of Hannibal, who in 200 B. C. Wasdefeated by Scipio at Silpia. ]

[Footnote 85: The site of Cannæ in Apulia, southern Italy, near theAdriatic shore, lies on the bank of the river Aufidus, now called theOfanto. ]

II

HANNIBAL'S ADVANCE ON ROME[86] (211 B. C. )

When the news had arrived at Rome that Hannibal had encamped overagainst their lines, and was actually besieging their forces, therewas a universal excitement and terror, from a feeling that the resultof the impending battle would decide the whole war. Consequently, withone heart and soul, the citizens had all devoted themselves tosending out reenforcements and making preparations for this struggle. On their part, the Capuans were encouraged by the receipt ofHannibal's letter, and by thus learning the object of the Carthaginianmovement, to stand by their determination, and to await the issue ofthis new hope. At the end of the fifth day, therefore, after hisarrival on the ground, Hannibal ordered his men to take their supperas usual, and leave their watch-fires burning; and started with suchsecrecy that none of the enemy knew what was happening. He took theroad through Samnium, and marched at a great pace and withoutstopping, his skirmishers always keeping before him to reconnoiter andoccupy all the posts along the route: and while those in Rome hadtheir thoughts still wholly occupied with Capua, [87] and the campaignthere, he crossed the Anio without being observed; and having arrivedat a distance of not more than forty stades from Rome, there pitchedhis camp. 

On this being known at Rome, the utmost confusion and terror prevailedamong the inhabitants--this movement of Hannibal's being as unexpectedas it was sudden; for he had never been so close to the city before. At the same time their alarm was increased by the idea at onceoccurring to them that he would not have ventured so near if it werenot that the armies at Capua were destroyed. Accordingly, the men atonce went to line the walls, and the points of vantage in the defensesof the town; while the women went round to the temples of the gods andimplored their protection, sweeping the pavements of the temples withtheir hair: for this is their customary way of behaving when anyserious danger comes upon their country. But just as Hannibal hadencamped, and was intending to attempt the city itself next day, anextraordinary coincidence occurred which proved fortunate for thepreservation of Rome. 

For Gnæus Fulvius and Publius Sulpicius, having already enrolled oneconsular army, had bound the men with the usual oath to appear at Romearmed on that very day; and were also engaged on that day in drawingout the lists and testing the men for the other army: whereby it sohappened that a large number of men had been collected in Romespontaneously in the very nick of time. These troops the Consulsboldly led outside the walls, and, entrenching themselves there, checked Hannibal's intended movement. For the Carthaginians were atfirst eager to advance, and were not altogether without hope that theywould be able to take Rome itself by assault. But when they saw theenemy drawn up in order, and learned before long from a prisoner whathad happened, they abandoned the idea of attacking the city, and begandevastating the country-side instead, and setting fire to the houses. In these first raids they collected an innumerable amount of booty, for the field of plunder upon which they were entered was one intowhich no one had ever expected an enemy to set foot. 

But presently, when the Consuls ventured to encamp within ten stadesof him, Hannibal broke up his quarters before daylight. He did so forthree reasons: first, because he had collected an enormous booty;secondly, because he had given up all hope of taking Rome; andlastly, because he reckoned that the time had now come at which heexpected, according to his original idea, that Appius would havelearned the danger threatening Rome, and would have raised the siegeof Capua, and come with his whole force to the relief of the city; orat any rate would hurry up with the greater part, leaving a detachmentto carry on the siege. Publius had caused the bridges over the Anio tobe broken down, and thus compelled Hannibal to get his army across bya ford; and he now attacked the Carthaginians as they were engaged inmaking the passage of the stream and caused them great distress. Theywere not able however to strike an important blow, owing to the numberof Hannibal's cavalry, and the activity of the Numidians in every partof the field. But before retiring to their camp they wrested thegreater part of the booty from them, and killed about three hundredmen; and then, being convinced that the Carthaginians were beating ahasty retreat in a panic, they followed in their rear, keeping alongthe line of hills. At first Hannibal continued to march at a rapidpace, being anxious to meet the force which he expected; but at theend of the fifth day, being informed that Appius had not left thesiege of Capua, he halted; and waiting for the enemy to come up, madean attack upon his camp before daylight, killed a large number ofthem, and drove the rest out of their camp. But when day broke, and hesaw the Romans in a strong position upon a steep hill, to which theyhad retired, he decided not to continue his attack upon them; butmarching through Daunia and Bruttium he appeared at Rhegium sounexpectedly that he was within an ace of capturing the city, and didcut off all who were out in the country; and during this excursioncaptured a very large number of the Rhegini. .. . 

Who could refrain from speaking in terms of admiration of this greatman's strategic skill courage and ability when one looks to the lengthof time during which he displayed those qualities; and realizes tooneself the pitched battles, the skirmishes and sieges, therevolutions and counter-revolutions of states, the vicissitudes offortune, and in fact the course of his design and its execution in itsentirety? For sixteen continuous years Hannibal maintained the warwith Rome in Italy without once releasing his army from service in thefield, but keeping those vast numbers under control, like a goodpilot, without any sign of disaffection toward himself or toward eachother, tho he had troops in his service who, so far from being of thesame tribe, were not even of the same race. He had Libyans, Iberians, Ligurians, Celts, Phoenicians, Italians, Greeks, who had naturallynothing in common with each other, neither laws, nor customs, norlanguage. Yet the skill of the commander was such that thesedifferences, so manifold and so wide, did not disturb the obedience toone word of command and to a single will. And yet circumstances werenot by any means unvarying: for tho the breeze of fortune often setstrongly in his favor, it as often also blew in exactly the oppositedirection. There is therefore good ground for admiring Hannibal'sdisplay of ability in campaign; and there can be no fear in sayingthat, if he had reserved his attack upon the Romans until he hadfirst subdued other parts of the world, there is not one of hisprojects which would have eluded his grasp. As it was, he began withthose whom he should have attacked last, and accordingly began andended his career with them. [88]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 86: From Book IX of the "Histories. " Translated by Evelyn S. Shuckburgh. ]

[Footnote 87: Capua lies seventeen miles north of Naples. ]

III

THE DEFENSE OF SYRACUSE BY ARCHIMEDES[89]

(214-212 B. C. )

When Epicydes and Hippocrates had occupied Syracuse, and had alienatedthe rest of the citizens with themselves from the friendship of Rome, the Romans who had already been informed of the murder of Hieronymus, tyrant of Syracuse, appointed Appius Claudius as Pro-prætor to commanda land force, while Marcus Claudius Marcellus[90] commanded the fleet. These officers took up a position not far from Syracuse, anddetermined to assault the town from the land at Hexapylus, and by seaat what was called Stoa Scytice in Achradina, where the wall has itsfoundation close down to the sea. Having prepared their wickerpent-houses, and darts, and other siege material, they felt confidentthat, with so many hands employed, they would in five days get theirworks in such an advanced state as to give them the advantage over theenemy. But in this they did not take into account the abilities ofArchimedes;[91] nor calculate on the truth that, in certaincircumstances, the genius of one man is more effective that anynumbers whatever. However they now learned it by experience. The citywas strong from the fact of its encircling wall lying along a chain ofhills with overhanging brows, the ascent of which was no easy task, even with no one to hinder it, except at certain definite points. Taking advantage of this, Archimedes had constructed such defensesboth in the town, and at the places where an attack might be made bysea, that the garrison would have everything at hand which they mightrequire at any moment, and be ready to meet without delay whatever theenemy might attempt against them. 

The attack was begun by Appius bringing his pent-houses, and scalingladders, and attempting to fix the latter against that part of thewall which abuts on Hexapylus toward the east. At the same time MarcusClaudius Marcellus with sixty quinqueremes was making a descent uponAchradina. Each of these vessels were full of men armed with bows andslings and javelins, with which to dislodge those who fought on thebattlements. As well as these vessels he had eight quinqueremes inpairs. Each pair had had their oars removed, one on the larboard andthe other on the starboard side, and then had been lasht together onthe sides thus left bare. On these double vessels, rowed by the outeroars of each of the pair, they brought up under the walls some enginescalled "Sambucæ, " the construction of which was as follows: A ladderwas made four feet broad, and of a height to reach the top of the wallfrom the place where its foot had to rest; each side of the ladder wasprotected by a railing, and a covering or pent-house was addedoverhead. It was then placed so that its foot rested across the sidesof the lasht-together vessels, which touched each other with its otherextremity protruding a considerable way beyond the prows. 

On the tops of the mast pulleys were fixt with ropes: and when theengines were about to be used, men standing on the sterns of thevessels drew the ropes tied to the head of the ladder, while othersstanding on the prows assisted the raising of the machine and kept itsteady with long poles. Having then brought the ships close in shoreby using the outer oars of both vessels they tried to let the machinedown upon the wall. At the head of the ladder was fixt a wooden stagesecured on three sides by wicker-shields, upon which stood four menwho fought and struggled with those who tried to prevent the Sambucafrom being made to rest on the battlements. But when they have fixt itand so got above the level of the top of the wall, the four menunfasten the wicker-shields from either side of the stage and walkout upon the battlements or towers as the case may be; they arefollowed by their comrades coming up by the Sambuca, since theladder's foot is safely secured with ropes and stands upon both theships. This construction has got the name of "Sambuca, " or "Harp, " forthe natural reason, that when it is raised the combination of the shipand ladder has very much the appearance of such an instrument. 

With such contrivances and preparations were the Romans intending toassault the towers. But Archimedes had constructed catapults to suitevery range; and as the ships sailing up were still at a considerabledistance, he so wounded the enemy with stones and darts, from thetighter wound and longer engines as to harass and perplex them to thelast degree; and when these began to carry over their heads, he usedsmaller engines graduated according to the range required from time totime, and by this means caused so much confusion among them as toaltogether check their advance and attack; and finally Marcellus wasreduced in despair to bringing up his ships under cover of night. Butwhen they had come close to land, and so too near to be hit by thecatapults, they found that Archimedes had prepared another contrivanceagainst the soldiers who fought from the decks. He had pierced thewall as high as a man's stature with numerous loop-holes, which, onthe outside, were about as big as the palm of the hand. Inside thewall he stationed archers and cross-bows, or scorpions, and by thevolleys discharged through these he made the marines useless. By thesemeans he not only baffled the enemy, whether at a distance or closeat hand, but also killed the greater number of them. As often, too, asthey tried to work their Sambucæ, he had engines ready all along thewalls, not visible at other times, but which suddenly rearedthemselves above the wall from the inside, when the moment for theiruse had come, and stretched their beams far over the battlements, someof them carrying stones weighing as much as ten talents, and othersgreat masses of lead. So whenever the Sambucæ were approaching, thesebeams swung round on their pivot the required distance, and by meansof a rope running through a pulley dropt the stone, upon the Sambucæ, with the result that it not only smashed the machine itself to pieces, but put the ship also and all on board into the most serious danger. 

Other machines which he invented were directed against stormingparties, who, advancing under the protection of pent-houses, weresecured by them from being hurt by missiles shot through the walls. Against these he either shot stones big enough to drive the marinesfrom the prow; or let down an iron hand swung on a chain, by which theman who guided the crane, having fastened on some part of the prowwhere he could get a hold, prest down the lever of the machine insidethe wall; and when he had thus lifted the prow and made the vesselrest upright on its stern, he fastened the lever of his machine sothat it could not be moved; and then suddenly slackened the hand andchain by means of a rope and pulley. The result was that many of thevessels heeled over and fell on their sides; some completelycapsized; while the greater number, by their prows coming downsuddenly from a height, dipt low in the sea, shipped a great quantityof water, and became a scene of the utmost confusion. Tho reducedalmost to despair by these baffling inventions of Archimedes, and thohe saw that all his attempts were repulsed by the garrison withmockery on their part and loss to himself, Marcellus could not yetrefrain from making a joke at his own expense, saying that "Archimedeswas using his ships to ladle out the sea-water, but that his 'harps'not having been invited to the party were buffeted and turned out withdisgrace. " Such was the end of the attempt at storming Syracuse bysea. 

Nor was Appius Claudius more successful. He, too, was compelled bysimilar difficulties to desist from the attempt; for while his menwere still at a considerable distance from the wall, they beganfalling by the stones and shots from the engines and catapults. Thevolleys of missiles, indeed, were extraordinarily rapid and sharp, fortheir construction had been provided for by all the liberality of aHiero, and had been planned and engineered by the skill of anArchimedes. Moreover, when they did at length get near the walls, theywere prevented from making an assault by the unceasing fire throughthe loop-holes, which I mentioned before; or if they tried to carrythe place under cover of pent-houses, they were killed by the stonesand beams let down upon their heads. The garrison also did them nolittle damage with those hands at the end of their engines; for theyused to lift the men, armor, and all, into the air, and then throwthem down. At last Appius retired into the camp, and summoning theTribunes to a council of war, decided to try every possible means oftaking Syracuse except a storm. And this decision they carried out;for during the eight months of siege which followed, tho there was nostratagem or measure of daring which they did not attempt, they neveragain ventured to attempt a storm. So true it is that one man and oneintellect, properly qualified for the particular undertaking, is ahost in itself and of extraordinary efficacy. In this instance, at anyrate, we find the Romans confident that their forces by land and seawould enable them to become masters of the town, if only one old mancould be got rid of; while as long as he remained there, they did notventure even to think of making the attempt, at least by any methodwhich made it possible for Archimedes to oppose them. They believed, however, that their best chance of reducing the garrison was by afailure of provisions sufficient for so large a number as were withinthe town; they therefore relied upon this hope, and with their shipstried to cut off their supplies by sea, and with their army by land. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 88: This paragraph is taken from Book XI. ]

[Footnote 89: From Book VIII of the "Histories. " Translated by EvelynS. Shuckburgh. Syracuse was now an ally of Carthage in the Punic war, but in the earlier Punic war had been an ally of Rome. ]

[Footnote 90: A celebrated statesman and general, born before 268B. C. , died in 208; five times Consul; defeated the Gauls; defendedNola; captured Syracuse; commanded Apulia against Hannibal; killed ina skirmish at Venusia. ]

[Footnote 91: The celebrated geometrician, who discovered theprinciple of the lever, and after detecting an alloy uttered thefamous exclamation "Eureka. " He was killed at the siege of Syracuse. ]

PLUTARCH

 Born in Chæronea in Boeotia about 46 A. D. ; died in 125; celebrated for his forty-six "Lives of Greeks and Romans, " and for works on philosophical and moral subjects; settled at Athens at the time of Nero's visit in 66, and traveled in Greece, Egypt and Italy; being in Rome during the reign of Vespasian; lived at Chæronea in the latter part of his life where he was elected archon. [92]

I

DEMOSTHENES AND CICERO COMPARED[93]

Furthermore, leaving the comparison aside of the difference of theireloquence in their orations: methinks I may say thus much of them. That Demosthenes did wholly employ all his wit and learning (naturalor artificial) unto the art of rhetoric, and that in force, and vertueof eloquence, he did excel all the orators in his time: and forgravity and magnificent style, all those also that only write for shewor ostentation: and for sharpness and art, all the sophisters andmasters of rhetoric. And that Cicero was a man generally learned inall sciences, and that had studied divers books, as appeareth plainlyby the sundry books of philosophy of his own making, written after themanner of the Academic philosophers. Furthermore, they may see in hisorations he wrote in certain causes to serve him when he pleaded: thathe sought occasions in his by-talk to shew men that he was excellentlywell learned. Furthermore, by their phrases a man may discern somespark of their manners and conditions. For Demosthenes' phrase hath nomanner of fineness, jests, nor grace in it, but is altogether graveand harsh, and not only smelleth of the lamp, as Pytheas said when hemocked him, but sheweth a great drinker of water, extreme pains, andtherewith also a sharp and sour nature. 

But Cicero oftentimes fell from pleasant taunts, unto plainscurrility: and turning all his pleadings of matters of importance, tosport and laughter, having a grace in it, many times he did forget thecomeliness that became a man of his calling. As in his oration forCælius, where he saith, It is no marvel if in so great abundance ofwealth and fineness he give himself a little to take his pleasure:and that it was a folly not to use pleasures lawful and tolerable, sith the famousest philosophers that ever were, did place the chieffelicity of man, to be in pleasure. And it is reported also thatMarcus Cato having accused Murena, Cicero being Consul, defended hiscause, and in his oration pleasantly girded all the sect of the Stoicphilosophers for Cato's sake, for the strange opinions they hold, which they call paradoxes: insomuch as he made all the people andjudges also fall a-laughing a good. And Cato himself also smiling alittle, said unto them that sat by him: What a laughing and mockingConsul have we, my lords? but letting that pass, it seemeth thatCicero was of a pleasant and merry nature: for his face shewed evergreat life and mirth in it. Whereas in Demosthenes' countenance on theother side, they might discern a marvellous diligence and care, and apensive man, never weary with pain: insomuch that his enemies, (as hereporteth himself) called him a perverse and froward man. 

Furthermore, in their writings is discerned, that the one speakethmodestly in his own praise, so as no man can justly be offended withhim: and yet not always, but when necessity enforceth him for somematter of great importance, but otherwise very discreet and modest tospeak of himself. Cicero in contrary manner, using too oftenrepetition of one self thing in all his orations, shewed an extremeambition of glory, when incessantly he cried out:

 Let spear and shield give place to gown, And give the tongue the laurel crown. 

Yea furthermore, he did not only praise his own acts and deeds, butthe orations also which he had written or pleaded, as if he shouldhave contended against Isocrates, or Anaximenes, a master that taughtrhetoric, and not to go about to reform the people of Rome. 

 Which were both fierce and stout in arms, And fit to work their enemies harms. 

For, as it is requisite for a governor of a commonwealth to seekauthority by his eloquence: so, to cover the praise of his ownglorious tongue, or as it were to beg it, that sheweth a base mind. And therefore in this point we must confess that Demosthenes is fargraver, and of a nobler mind: who declared himself, That all hiseloquence came only but by practice, the which also required thefavour of his auditory: and further, he thought them fools and madmen(as indeed they be no less) that therefore would make any boast ofthemselves. In this they were both alike, that both of them had greatcredit and authority in their orations to the people, and forobtaining that they would propound: insomuch as captains, and theythat had armies in their hands, stood in need of their eloquence. AsChares, Diopithes, and Leosthenes, they all were holpen ofDemosthenes: and Pompey, and Octavius Cæsar the young man, of Cicero:as Cæsar himself confesseth in his commentaries he wrote unto Agrippa, and Mæcenas. But nothing sheweth a man's nature and condition more, (as it is reported, and so is it true) that when one is in authority:for that bewrayeth his humour, and the affections of his mind, andlayeth open all his secret vices in him. 

Demosthenes could never deliver any such proof of himself, because henever bare any office, nor was called forward. For he was not generalof the army, which he himself had prepared against King Philip. Ciceroon the other side being sent Treasurer into Sicily, and Pro-consulinto Cilicia and Cappadocia, [94] in such a time as covetousnessreigned most: (insomuch that the captains and governors whom they sentto govern their provinces, thinking it villainy and dastardliness torob, did violently take things by force, at what time also to takebribes was reckoned no shame, but to handle it discreetly, he was thebetter thought of, and beloved for it) he shewed plainly that heregarded not money, and gave forth many proofs of his courtesy andgoodness. Furthermore, Cicero being created Consul by name, butDictator in deed, having absolute power and authority over all thingsto suppress the rebellion and conspirators of Catiline: he provedPlato's prophecy true, which was: That the cities are safe fromdanger, when the chief magistrates and governors (by some good divinefortune) do govern with wisdom and justice. Demosthenes was reprovedfor his corruption, and selling of his eloquence: because secretly hewrote one oration for Phormio, and another in the self same manner forApollodorus, they being both adversaries. Further, he was defamed alsofor receiving money of the king of Persia, and therewithal condemnedfor the money which he had taken of Harpalus. And though someperadventure would object, that the reports thereof (which are many)do lie: yet they cannot possibly deny this, that Demosthenes had nopower to refrain from looking on the presents which divers kings didoffer him, praying him to accept them in good part for their sakes:neither was that the part of a man that did take usury by traffick onthe sea, the extremest yet of all other. 

In contrary manner (as we have said before) it is certain that Cicerobeing Treasurer, refused the gifts which the Sicilians offered him, there: and the presents also which the king of the Cappadociansoffered him whilst he was Pro-consul in Cilicia, and those especiallywhich his friends pressed upon him to take of them, being a great sumof money, when he went as a banished man out of Rome. Furthermore, thebanishment of the one was infamous to him, because by judgement he wasbanished as a thief. The banishment of the other was for as honourablean act as ever he did, being banished for ridding his country ofwicked men. And therefore of Demosthenes, there was no speech after hewas gone: but for Cicero, all the Senate changed their apparel intoblack, and determined that they would pass no decree by theirauthority, before Cicero's banishment was revoked by the people. Indeed Cicero idly passed his time of banishment, and did nothing allthe while he was in Macedon: and one of the chiefest acts thatDemosthenes did, in all the time that he dealt in the affairs of thecommonwealth, was in his banishment. For he went into every city, anddid assist the ambassadors of the Grecians, and refused theambassadors of the Macedonians. In the which he showed himself abetter citizen, than either Themistocles, or Alcibiades, in their likefortune and exile. So when he was called home, and returned, he fellagain to his old trade which he practiced before, and was ever againstAntipater, [95] and the Macedonians. Where Lælius in open Senatesharply took up Cicero, for that he sat still and said nothing, whenthat Octavius Cæsar the young man made petition against the law, thathe might sue for the Consulship, and being so young, that he had nevera hair on his face. And Brutus self also doth reprove Cicero in hisletters, for that he had maintained and nourished a more grievous andgreater tyranny, than that which they had put down. And last of all, me thinketh the death of Cicero most pitiful, to see an old mancarried up and down, (with tender love of his servants) seeking allthe ways that might be to fly death, which did not long prevent hisnatural course: and in the end, old as he was, to see his head sopitifully cut off. Whereas Demosthenes, though he yielded a little, entreating him that came to take him: yet for that he had prepared thepoison long before, that he had kept it long, and also used it as hedid, he cannot but be marvellously commended for it. For sith the godNeptune denied him the benefit of his sanctuary, he betook him to agreater, and that was death: whereby he saved himself out of thesoldiers' hands of the tyrant, and also scorned the bloody cruelty ofAntipater. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 92: Plutarch is read for his matter, rather than for hisstyle. In style as well as for the time in which he lived, he does notbelong to the classical writers of Greece. For this reason he may beread in English almost as satisfactorily as in his own language. He isdescribed by Mahaffy as a pure and elevating writer, full of preciousinformation and lofty in his moral tone. ]

[Footnote 93: From "The Lives of the Noble Grecians and Romans, Compared together by that Grave, Learned Philosopher andHistoriographer Plutarch of Chæronea. " Translated by Sir Thomas North. North was born about 1535, his translation being first published in1579. Written throughout in the best prose of the Elizabethan period, North's version will always have another and very special interest asthe store house from which Shakespeare obtained his knowledge ofantiquity. It has been asserted that to this book we really owe theexistence of "Julius Cæsar, " "Coriolanus, " and "Antony and Cleopatra. "In "Coriolanus" whole speeches have been taken bodily from North, while in "Antony and Cleopatra" North's diction has been closelyfollowed. North did not translate from the original Greek, but from anold French version by James Amyot, Bishop of Auxerre in the times ofHenry II of England. The selections here given are printed with theoriginal punctuation, etc. , preserved as specimens of the style of theperiod. ]

[Footnote 94: This and the province of Cilicia lay in the eastern partof Asia Minor. ]

[Footnote 95: Antipater was a general of Macedonia under Philip andAlexander the Great and became Regent in 334. ]

II

THE ASSASSINATION OF CÆSAR[96]

(44 B. C. )

But Brutus in many other things tasted of the benefit of Cæsar's favorin anything he requested. [97] For if he had listed, he might have beenone of Cæsar's chiefest friends, and of greater authority and creditabout him. Howbeit Cassius' friends did dissuade him from it[98] (forCassius and he were not yet reconciled together sithence their firstcontention and strife for the Prætorship), and prayed him to beware ofCæsar's sweet enticements, and to fly his tyrannical favors: the whichthey said Cæsar gave him, not to honor his virtue, but to weaken hisconstant mind, framing it to the bent of his bow. Now Cæsar on theother side did not trust him overmuch, nor was not without talesbrought unto him against him: howbeit he feared his great mind, authority, and friends. Yet on the other side also, he trusted hisgood-nature, and fair conditions. For, intelligence being brought himone day, that Mark Antony and Dolabella did conspire against him: heanswered, That these fat long-haired men made him not afraid, but thelean and whitely-faced fellows, meaning that, by Brutus and Cassius. 

At another time also when one accused Brutus unto him, and bade himbeware of him: What, said he again, clapping his hand on his breast:think ye that Brutus will not tarry till this body die? Meaning thatnone but Brutus after him was meet to have such power as he had. Andsurely, in my opinion, I am persuaded that Brutus might indeed havecome to have been the chiefest man of Rome, if he could have contentedhimself for a time to have been next unto Cæsar, and to have sufferedhis glory and authority which he had gotten by his great victories, toconsume with time. But Cassius being a choleric man, and hating Cæsarprivately, more than he did the tyranny openly: he incensed Brutusagainst him. .. . 

But for Brutus, his friends and countrymen, both by diversprocurements, and sundry rumours of the city, and by many bills also, did openly call and procure him to do that he did. For, under theimage of his ancestor Junius Brutus, that drave the kings out ofRome, [99] they wrote: Oh that it pleased the gods thou wert now alive, Brutus: and again, that thou wert here among us now. His tribunal (orchair) where he gave audience during the time he was Prætor, was fullof such bills: Brutus, thou art asleep, and art not Brutus indeed. .. . 

Therefore Cassius considering this matter with himself, did first ofall speak to Brutus, since they grew strange together for the suitthey had for the Prætorship. So when he was reconciled to him again, and that they had embraced one another: Cassius asked him, If he weredetermined to be in the Senate-house, the first day of the month ofMarch, because he heard say that Cæsar's friends should move thecouncil that day, that Cæsar should be called king by the Senate. Brutus answered him, He would not be there. But if we be sent for saidCassius: how then? For myself then said Brutus, I mean not to hold mypeace, but to withstand it, and rather die than lose my liberty. Cassius being bold, and taking hold of this word: Why, quoth he, whatRoman is he alive that will suffer thee to die for the liberty? What, knowest thou not that thou art Brutus? Thinkest thou that they becobblers, tapsters, or suchlike base mechanical people, that writethese bills and scrolls which are found daily in thy Prætor's chair, and not the noblest men and best citizens that do it? No, be thou wellassured, that of other Prætors they look for gifts, commondistributions amongst the people, and for common plays, and to seefencers fight at the sharp, to show the people pastime, but at thyhands, they specially require (as a due debt unto them) the takingaway of the tyranny, being fully bent to suffer any extremity for thysake, so that thou wilt show thyself to be the man thou art taken for, and that they hope thou art. Thereupon he kissed Brutus, and embracedhim. And so each taking leave of other, they went both to speak withthe friends about it. .. . 

Now Brutus, who knew very well that for his sake all the noblest, valiantest, and most courageous men of Rome did venture their lives, weighing with himself the greatness of the danger, when he was out ofhis house, he did so frame and fashion his countenance and looks, that no man could discern he had anything to trouble his mind. Butwhen night came that he was in his own house, then he was cleanedchanged. For, either care did wake him against his will when he couldhave slept, or else oftentimes of himself he fell into such deepthoughts of this enterprise, casting in his mind all the dangers thatmight happen, that his wife lying by him, found that there was somemarvellous great matter that troubled his mind, not being wont to bein that taking, and that he could not well determine with himself. 

His wife Porcia[100] (as we have told you before) was the daughter ofCato, whom Brutus married being his cousin, not a maiden, but a youngwidow after the death of her first husband Bibulus, by whom she hadalso a young son called Bibulus, who afterwards wrote a book of theacts and gests of Brutus, extant at this present day. This young ladybeing excellently well seen in philosophy, loving her husband well, and being of a noble courage, as she was also wise; because she wouldnot ask her husband what he ailed before she had made some proof byherself, she took a little razor such as barbers occupy to pare men'snails, and causing her maids and women to go out of her chamber, gaveherself a great gash withal in her thigh, that she was straight all ofa gore-blood, and incontinently after, a vehement fever took her, byreason of the pain of her wound. 

Then perceiving her husband was marvellously out of quiet, and that hecould take no rest, even in her greatest pain of all, she spake inthis sort unto him, "I being, O Brutus, " (said she) "the daughter ofCato, was married unto thee, not to be thy bedfellow and companion inbed and at board only, like a harlot, but to be partaker also withthee, of thy good and evil fortune. Now for thyself, I can find nocause of fault in thee touching our match, but for my part, how may Ishow my duty towards thee, and how much I would do for thy sake, if Icannot constantly bear a secret mischance or grief with thee, thatrequireth secrecy and fidelity? I confess, that a woman's wit commonlyis too weak to keep a secret safely: but yet, Brutus, good education, and the company of virtuous men, have some power to reform the defectof nature. And for myself, I have this benefit, moreover, that I amthe daughter of Cato, and wife of Brutus. This notwithstanding, I didnot trust to any of these things before, until that now I have foundby experience, that no pain nor grief whatsoever can overcome me. "With those words she showed him her wound on her thigh, and told himwhat she had done to prove herself. Brutus was amazed to hear what shesaid unto him, and lifting up his hands to heaven, he besought thegods to give him the grace he might bring his enterprise to so goodpass, that he might be found a husband worthy of so noble a wife asPorcia, so he then did comfort her the best he could. .. . 

So when this day was come, Brutus went out of his house with a daggerby his side under his long gown, that nobody saw nor knew, but hiswife only. The other conspirators were all assembled at Cassius'house, to bring his son into the market-place, who on that day did puton the man's gown, called _toga virilis_, and from thence they cameall in a troop together unto Pompey's porch, looking that Cæsar wouldstraight come thither. But here is to be noted, the wonderful assuredconstancy of these conspirators, in so dangerous and weighty anenterprise as they had undertaken. For many of them being Prætors, byreason of their office, whose duty is to minister justice toeverybody: they did not only with great quietness and courtesy hearthem that spake unto them, or that plead matters before them, and gavethem attentive ear, as if they had had no other matter in their heads:but moreover, they gave just sentence, and carefully despatched thecauses before them. So there was one among them, who being condemnedin a certain sum of money, refused to pay it, and cried out that hedid appeal unto Cæsar. Then Brutus casting his eyes upon theconspirators said, Cæsar shall not let me to see the law executed. 

Notwithstanding this, by chance there fell out many misfortunes untothem, which was enough to have marred the enterprise. The first andchiefest was, Cæsar's long tarrying, who came very late to the Senate:for because the signs of the sacrifices appeared unlucky, his wifeCalpurnia[101] kept him at home, and the soothsayers bade him bewarehe went not abroad. The second cause was, when one came unto Cascabeing a conspirator, and taking him by the hand, said unto him: OCasca, thou keepest it close from me, but Brutus hath told me all. Casca being amazed at it, the other went on with his tale, and said:Why, how now, how cometh it to pass thou art thus rich, that thou dostsue to be Ædile? Thus Casca being deceived by the other's doubtfulwords, he told them it was a thousand to one, he blabbed not out allthe conspiracy. Another Senator called Popilius Lænas, after he hadsaluted Brutus and Cassius more friendly than he was wont to do: herounded softly in their ears, and told them, I pray the gods you maygo through with that you have taken in hand, but withal, despatch Iread you, for your enterprise is bewrayed. When he had said, hepresently departed from them, and left them both afraid that theirconspiracy would out. 

Now in the meantime, there came one of Brutus' men post-haste untohim, and told him his wife was a-dying. For Porcia being very carefuland pensive for that which was to come, and being too weak to awaywith so great and inward grief of mind: she could hardly keep within, but was frightened with every little noise and cry she heard, as thosethat art taken and possessed with the fury of the Bacchants, askingevery man that came from the market-place, what Brutus did, and stillsent messenger after messenger, to know what news. At length Cæsar'scoming being prolonged as you have heard, Porcia's weakness was notable to hold out any longer, and thereupon she suddenly swooned, thatshe had no leisure to go to her chamber, but was taken in the midst ofher house, where her speech and senses failed her. Howbeit she sooncame to her self again, and so was laid in her bed, and tended by herwomen. When Brutus heard these news, it grieved him, as it is to bepresupposed: yet he left not off the care of his country andcommonwealth, neither went home to his house for any news he heard. 

Now, it was reported that Cæsar was coming in his litter: for hedetermined not to stay in the Senate all that day (because he wasafraid of the unlucky signs of the sacrifices) but to adjourn mattersof importance unto the next session and council holden, feigninghimself not to be well at ease. When Cæsar came out of his litter:Popilius Lænas, that had talked before with Brutus and Cassius, andhad prayed the gods they might bring this enterprise to pass: wentunto Cæsar, and kept him a long time with a talk. Cæsar gave good earunto him. Wherefore the conspirators (if so they should be called) nothearing what he said to Cæsar, but conjecturing by that he had toldthem a little before, that his talk was none other but the verydiscovery of their conspiracy: they were afraid every man of them, andone looking in another's face, it was easy to see that they all wereof a mind, that it was no tarrying for them till they wereapprehended, but rather that they should kill themselves with theirown hands. And when Cassius and certain others clapped their hands ontheir swords under their gowns to draw them: Brutus marking thecountenance and gesture of Lænas, and considering that he did usehimself rather like an humble and earnest suitor, than like anaccuser: he said nothing to his companion (because there were manyamongst them that were not of the conspiracy) but with a pleasantcountenance encouraged Cassius. And immediately after, Lænas went fromCæsar, and kissed his hand: which shewed plainly that it was for somematter concerning himself, that he had held him so long in talk. Nowall the Senators being entered first into this place or chapter-housewhere the council should be kept, all the other conspirators straightstood about Cæsar's chair, as if they had had something to have saidunto him. And some say, that Cassius casting his eyes upon Pompey'simage, made his prayer unto it, as if it had been alive. Trebonius onthe other side, drew Mark Antony aside, as he came into the housewhere the Senate sat, and held him with a long talk without. 

When Cæsar was come into the house, all the Senate rose to honour himat his coming in. So when he was set, the conspirators flocked abouthim, and amongst them they presented one Metellus Cimber, who madehumble suit for the calling home again of his brother that wasbanished. They all made as though they were intercessors for him, andtook him by the hands, and kissed his head and breast. Cæsar at thefirst simply refused their kindness and entreaties: but afterwards, perceiving they still pressed on him, he violently thrust them fromhim. Then Cimber with both his hands plucked Cæsar's gown over hisshoulders, and Casca that stood behind him, drew his dagger first, andstruck Cæsar upon the shoulder, but gave him no great wound. Cæsarfeeling himself hurt, took him straight by the hand he held his daggerin, and cried out in Latin: O traitor, Casca, what doest thou? Cascaon the other side cried in Greek, and called his brother to help him. So divers running on a heap together to fly upon Cæsar, he lookingabout him to have fled, saw Brutus with a sword drawn in his handready to strike at him: then he let Casca's hand go, and casting hisgown over his face, suffered every man to strike at him that would. 

Then the conspirators thronging one upon another because every man wasdesirous to have a cut at him, so many swords and daggers lightingupon one body, one of them hurt another, and among them Brutus caughta blow on his hand, because he would make one in murthering of him, and all the rest also were every man of them bloodied. Cæsar beingslain in this manner, Brutus standing in the midst of the house, wouldhave spoken, and stayed the other Senators that were not of theconspiracy, to have told them the reason why they had done this fact. But they as men both affrayed and amazed, fled one upon another's neckin haste to get out at the door, and no man followed them. For it wasset down, and agreed between them, that they should kill no man butCæsar only, and should entreat all the rest to defend their liberty. 

All the conspirators, but Brutus, determining upon this matter, thought it good also to kill Mark Antony, [102] because he was a wickedman, and that in nature favoured tyranny: besides also, for that hewas in great estimation with soldiers, having been conversant of longtime amongst them: and specially having a mind bent to greatenterprises, he was also of great authority at that time, being Consulwith Cæsar. But Brutus would not agree to it. First, for that he saidit was not honest: secondly, because he told them there was hope ofchange in him. For he did not mistrust, but that Mark Antony being anoble-minded and courageous man (when he should know that Cæsar wasdead) would willingly help his country to recover her liberty, havingthem an example unto him, to follow their courage and virtue. SoBrutus by this means saved Mark Antony's life, who at that presenttime disguised himself, and stole away. But Brutus and his consorts, having their swords bloody in their hands, went straight to theCapitol, persuading the Romans, as they went, to take their libertyagain. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 96: From the "Life of Julius Cæsar. " Translated by North. ]

[Footnote 97: Marcus Junius Brutus had originally been an adherent ofPompey, but after the battle at Pharsalia in 48 B. C. , went over toCæsar, and in 46 became governor of Cisalpine Gaul. ]

[Footnote 98: Gaius Cassius Longinus, general and politician, had wondistinction in the Parthian war of 53-51 B. C. ]

[Footnote 99: Lucius Junius Brutus under whose leadership the Tarquinswere expelled and the republic established in 510 B. C. ]

[Footnote 100: Brutus first married Claudia, daughter of AppiusClaudius, who was Consul in 54 B. C. It was probably in 55 B. C. , after Cato's death, that he put away Claudia (for which he was muchblamed), and married Porcia, daughter of Cato. Portia was the widow ofBibulus, a colleague of Cæsar in the Consulship of 59 B. C. ]

[Footnote 101: Daughter of Calpurnius Piso Cæsonius and married toCæsar in 59 B. C. She was his second wife, Pompeia, a relative ofPompey the Great, being the first. ]

[Footnote 102: Mark Antony was then about forty-four years old. He hadcommanded the left wing of Cæsar at Pharsalia and became Consul in44. ]

III

CLEOPATRA'S BARGE[103]

Mark Antony being thus inclined, the last and extremest mischief ofall other (to wit, the love of Cleopatra) lighted on him, who didwaken and stir up many vices yet hidden in him, and were never seen toany: and if any spark of goodness or hope of rising were left him, Cleopatra quenched it straight, and made it worse than before. Themanner how he fell in love with her was this. Antony going to make warwith the Parthians, sent to command Cleopatra to appear personallybefore him, when he came into Cilicia, to answer unto such accusationsas were laid against her, being this: that she had aided Cassius andBrutus in their war against him. The messenger sent unto Cleopatra tomake this summons unto her, was called Dellius: who when he hadthoroughly considered her beauty, the excellent grace and sweetness ofher tongue, he nothing mistrusted that Antony would do any hurt to sonoble a lady, but rather assured himself, that within few days sheshould be in great favour with him. Thereupon he did her great honour, and persuaded her to come into Cilicia, as honourably furnished as shecould possible, and bade her not to be afraid at all of Antony, for hewas a more courteous lord, than any one that she had ever seen. 

Cleopatra on the other side believing Dellius' words, and guessing bythe former access and credit she had with Julius Cæsar, and CneiusPompey (the son of Pompey the Great) only for her beauty: she began tohave good hope that she might more easily win Antony. For Cæsar andPompey knew her when she was but a young thing, and knew not then whatthe world meant: but now she went to Mark Antony at the age when awoman's beauty is at the prime, and she also of best judgement. So, she furnished herself with a world of gifts, store of gold and silver, and of riches and other sumptuous ornaments, as is credible enough shemight bring from so great a house, and from so wealthy and rich arealm as Egypt was. But yet she carried nothing with her wherein shetrusted more than in her self, and in the charms and enchantment ofher passing beauty and grace. 

Therefore when she was sent unto by divers letters, both from Antonyhimself, and also from his friends, she made so light of it and mockedAntony so much, that she disdained to set forward otherwise, but totake her barge in the river of Cydnus, the poop whereof was of gold, the sails of purple, and the oars of silver, which kept stroke inrowing after the sound of the music of flutes, howboys, citherns, viols, and such other instruments as they played upon in the barge. And now for the person of her self: she was laid under a pavilion ofcloth of gold of tissue, apparelled and attired like the goddessVenus, commonly drawn in picture: and hard by her, on either hand ofher, pretty fair boys apparelled as painters do set forth god Cupid, with little fans in their hands, with the which they fanned wind uponher. Her ladies and gentlewomen also, the fairest of them wereapparelled like the nymphs nereids (which are the mermaids of thewaters) and like the Graces, some steering the helm, others tendingthe tackle and ropes of the barge, out of the which there came awonderful passing sweet savour of perfumes, that perfumed the wharf'sside, pestered with innumerable multitudes of people. Some of themfollowed the barge all alongst the river-side: others also ran out ofthe city to see her coming in. So that in the end, there ran suchmultitudes of people one after another to see her, that Antony wasleft post alone in the market-place, in his imperial seat to giveaudience: and there went a rumour in the people's mouths, that thegoddess Venus was come to play with the god Bacchus, for the generalgood of all Asia. [104] When Cleopatra landed, Antony sent to inviteher to supper to him. But she sent him word again, he should do betterrather to come and sup with her. Antony therefore to shew himselfcourteous unto her at her arrival, was contented to obey her, and wentto supper to her: where he found such passing sumptuous fare, that notongue can express it. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 103: From the "Life of Mark Antony. " Translated by SirThomas North. ]

[Footnote 104: The following description of Cleopatra's barge, takenfrom Shakespeare's "Antony and Cleopatra, " when compared with theforegoing paragraph, will illustrate to the reader the closeness withwhich Shakespeare followed North:

 "The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burn'd on the water. The poop was beaten gold; Purple the sails, and so perfumed that The winds were love-sick with them. The oars were silver, Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water which they beat to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes. For her own person, It beggar'd all description: she did lie In her pavilion--cloth-of-gold of tissue-- O'er-picturing that Venus where we see The fancy outwork nature. On each side her Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, With diverse colour'd fans, whose wind did seem To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool, And what they undid did. 

 "Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides, So many mermaids, tended her i' the eyes, And made their bends adornings. At the helm A seeming mermaid steers; the silken tackle Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands, That yarely frame the office. From the barge A strange invisible perfume hits the sense Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast Her people out upon her; and Antony Enthron'd i' the market-place, did sit alone, Whistling to the air, which, but for vacancy, Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too And made a gap in nature. "]

IV

THE DEATH OF ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA[105]

When Mark Antony saw that his men did forsake him, and yielded untoCæsar, [106] and that his footmen were broken and overthrown: he thenfled into the city, crying out that Cleopatra had betrayed him untothem, with whom he had made war for her sake. Then she being afraid ofhis fury, fled into the tomb which she had caused to be made, andthere locked the doors unto her, and shut all the springs of the lockswith great bolts, and in the meantime sent unto Antony to tell himthat she was dead. Antony believing it, said unto himself: What dostthou look for further, Antony, sith spiteful fortune had taken fromthee the only joy thou hadst, for whom thou yet reservedst thy life?when he had said these words, he went into a chamber and unarmedhimself, and being naked said thus: O Cleopatra, it grieveth me notthat I have lost thy company, for I will not be long from thee: but Iam sorry, that having been so great a captain and emperor, I am indeedcondemned to be judged of less courage and noble mind, than a woman. 

Now he had a man of his called Eros, whom he loved and trusted much, and whom he had long before caused to swear unto him, that he shouldkill him when he did command him: and then he willed him to keep hispromise. His man drawing his sword, lift it up as though he had meantto have stricken his master: but turning his head at one side hethrust his sword into himself, and fell down dead at his master'sfoot. Then said Antony, O noble Eros, I thank thee for this, and it isvaliantly done of thee, to shew me what I should do to my self, whichthou couldst not do for me. Therewithal he took his sword, and thrustit into his belly, and so fell down upon a little bed. The wound hehad killed him not presently, for the blood stinted a little when hewas laid: and when he came somewhat to himself again, he prayed themthat were about him to despatch him. But they all fled out of thechamber, and left him crying out and tormenting himself: until at lastthere came a secretary unto him called Diomedes, who was commanded tobring him unto the tomb or monument where Cleopatra was. 

When he heard that she was alive, he very earnestly prayed his men tocarry his body thither, and so he was carried in his men's arms intothe entry of the monument. Notwithstanding, Cleopatra would not openthe gates, but came to the high windows, and cast out certain chainsand ropes, in the which Antony was trussed: and Cleopatra her ownself, with two women only, which she had suffered to come with herinto these monuments, triced Antony up. They that were present tobehold it, said they never saw so pitiful a sight. For, they pluckedup poor Antony all bloody as he was, and drawing on with pangs ofdeath, who holding up his hands to Cleopatra raised up himself as wellas he could. It was a hard thing for these women to do, to lift himup: but Cleopatra stooping down with her head, putting to all herstrength to her uttermost power, did lift him up with much ado, andnever let go her hold, with the help of the women beneath that badeher be of good courage, and were as sorry to see her labour so, as sheher self. 

So when she had gotten him in after that sort, and laid him on a bed:she rent her garments upon him, clapping her breast, and scratchingher face and stomach. Then she dried up his blood that had berayed hisface, and called him her lord, her husband, and emperor, forgettingher own misery and calamity, for the pity and compassion she took ofhim. Antony made her cease her lamenting, and called for wine, eitherbecause he was athirst, or else for that he thought thereby to hastenhis death. When he had drunk, he earnestly prayed her, and persuadedher, that she would seek to save her life, if she could possible, without reproach and dishonour: and that chiefly she should trustProculeius above any man else about Cæsar. And as for himself, thatshe should not lament nor sorrow for the miserable change of hisfortune at the end of his days: but rather that she should think himthe more fortunate, for the former triumphs and honours he hadreceived, considering that while he lived he was the noblest andgreatest prince of the world, and that now he was overcome, notcowardly, but valiantly, a Roman by another Roman. 

As Antony gave the last gasp, Proculeius came that was sent fromCæsar. For after Antony had thrust his sword in himself, as theycarried him into the tombs and monuments of Cleopatra, one of hisguard called Dercetæus, took his sword with the which he had strickenhimself, and hid it: then he secretly stole away, and brought OctaviusCæsar the first news of his death, and shewed him his sword that wasbloodied. Cæsar hearing these news, straight withdrew himself into asecret place of his tent, and there burst out with tears, lamentinghis hard and miserable fortune, that had been his friend andbrother-in-law, [107] his equal in the empire, and companion with himin sundry great exploits and battels. Then he called for all hisfriends, and shewed them the letters Antony had written to him, andhis answers also sent him again, during their quarrel and strife: andhow fiercely and proudly the other answered him, to all just andreasonable matters he wrote unto him. 

After this, he sent Proculeius, and commanded him to do what he couldpossible to get Cleopatra alive, fearing lest otherwise all thetreasure would be lost: and furthermore, he thought that if he couldtake Cleopatra, and bring her alive to Rome, she would marvellouslybeautify and set out his triumph. But Cleopatra would never put herself into Proculeius' hands, although they spake together. ForProculeius came to the gates that were very thick and strong, andsurely barred, but yet there were some crannies through the which hervoice might be heard, and so they without understood, that Cleopatrademanded the kingdom of Egypt for her sons: and that Proculeiusanswered her, That she should be of good cheer, and not be affrayed torefer all unto Cæsar. After he had viewed the place very well, he cameand reported her answer unto Cæsar. Who immediately sent Gallus tospeak once again with her, and bade him purposely hold her with talk, whilst Proculeius did set up a ladder against that high window, by thewhich Antony was triced up, and came down into the monument with twoof his men hard by the gate, where Cleopatra stood to hear what Gallussaid unto her. 

One of her women which was shut in her monuments with her, sawProculeius by chance as he came down, and shrieked out: O poorCleopatra, thou art taken. Then when she saw Proculeius behind her asshe came from the gate, she thought to have stabbed her self in with ashort dagger she wore of purpose by her side. But Proculeius camesuddenly upon her, and taking her by both the hands, said unto her:Cleopatra, first thou shalt do thy self great wrong, and secondly untoCæsar: to deprive him of the occasion and opportunity, openly to shewhis bounty and mercy, and to give his enemies cause to accuse the mostcourteous and noble prince that ever was, and to appeach him, asthough he were a cruel and merciless man, that were not to be trusted. So even as he spake the word, he took her dagger from her, and shookher clothes for fear of any poison hidden about her. Afterwards Cæsarsent one of his enfranchised men called Epaphroditus, whom hestraightly charged to look well unto her, and to beware in any casethat she made not her self away: and for the rest, to use her with allthe courtesy possible. 

And for himself, he in the meantime entered the city of Alexandria, and as he went, talked with the philosopher Arrius, and held him bythe hand, to the end that his countrymen should reverence him themore, because they saw Cæsar so highly esteem and honour him. Then hewent into the shew-place of exercises, and so up to his chair of statewhich was prepared for him of a great height: and there according tohis commandment, all the people of Alexandria were assembled, whoquaking for fear, fell down on their knees before him, and cravedmercy. Cæsar bade them all stand up, and told them openly that heforgave the people, and pardoned the felonies and offences they hadcommitted against him in this war. First, for the founder sake of thesame city, which was Alexander the Great: secondly, for the beauty ofthe city, which he much esteemed and wondered at: thirdly, for thelove he bare unto his very friend Arrius. Thus did Cæsar honourArrius, who craved pardon for himself and many others, and especiallyfor Philostratus, the eloquentest man of all the sophisters andorators of his time, for present and sudden speech: howbeit he falselynamed himself an academic philosopher. Therefore, Cæsar that hated hisnature and conditions, would not hear his suit. Thereupon he let hisgrey beard grow long, and followed Arrius step by step in a longmourning gown, still buzzing in his ears this Greek verse:

 A wise man if that he be wise indeed, May by a wise man have the better speed. 

Cæsar understanding this, not for the desire he had to deliverPhilostratus of his fear, as to rid Arrius of malice and envy thatmight have fallen out against him: he pardoned him. 

Now touching Antony's sons, Antyllus, his eldest son by Fulvia wasslain, because his schoolmaster Theodorus did betray him unto thesoldiers, who strake off his head. And the villain took a preciousstone of great value from his neck, the which he did sew in hisgirdle, and afterwards denied that he had it: but it was found abouthim, and so Cæsar trussed him up for it. For Cleopatra's children, they were very honourably kept, with their governors and train thatwaited on them. But for Cæsarion, who was said to be Julius Cæsar'sson:[108] his mother Cleopatra had sent him unto the Indians throughEthiopia, with a great sum of money. But one of his governors alsocalled Rhodon, even such another as Theodorus, persuaded him to returninto his country, and told him that Cæsar sent for him to give him hismother's kingdom. So, as Cæsar was determining with himself what heshould do, Arrius said unto him:

 Too many Cæsars is not good. 

Alluding unto a certain verse of Homer that saith:

 Too many lords doth not well. 

Therefore Cæsar did put Cæsarion to death, after the death of hismother Cleopatra. Many princes, great kings and captains did craveAntony's body of Octavius Cæsar, to give him honourable burial: butCæsar would never take it from Cleopatra, who did sumptuously androyally bury him with her own hands, whom Cæsar suffered to take asmuch as she would to bestow upon his funerals. 

Now was she altogether overcome with sorrow and passion of mind, forshe had knocked her breast so pitifully, that she had martyred it, andin divers places had raised ulcers and inflammations, so that she fellinto a fever withal: whereof she was very glad, hoping thereby to havegood colour to abstain from meat, and that so she might have diedeasily without any trouble. She had a physician called Olympus, whomshe made privy of her intent, to the end he should help her rid herout of her life: as Olympus writeth himself, who wrote a book of allthese things. But Cæsar mistrusted the matter, by many conjectures hehad, and therefore did put her in fear, and threatened her to put herchildren to shameful death. With these threats, Cleopatra for fearyielded straight, as she would have yielded unto strokes: andafterwards suffered her self to be cured and dieted as they listed. 

Shortly after, Cæsar came himself in person to see her, and to comforther. Cleopatra being laid upon a little low bed in poor state, whenshe saw Cæsar come into her chamber, she suddenly rose up, naked inher smock, and fell down at his feet marvellously disfigured: both forthat she had plucked her hair from her head, as also for that she hadmartyred all her face with her nails, and besides, her voice was smalland trembling, her eyes sunk into her head with continual blubberingand moreover, they might see the most part of her stomach torn insunder. To be short, her body was not much better than her mind: yether good grace and comeliness, and the force of her beauty was notaltogether defaced. But notwithstanding this ugly and pitiful state ofhers, yet she shewed her self within, by her outward looks andcountenance. 

When Cæsar had made her lie down again, and sat by her bedside:Cleopatra began to clear and excuse her self for that she had done, laying all to the fear she had of Antony; Cæsar, in contrary manner, reproved her in every point. Then she suddenly altered her speech, andprayed him to pardon her, as though she were affrayed to die, anddesirous to live. At length, she gave him a brief and memorial of allthe ready money and treasure she had. But by chance there stoodSeleucus by, one of her treasurers, who to seem a good servant, camestraight to Cæsar to disprove Cleopatra, that she had had not set inall, but kept many things back of purpose. Cleopatra was in such arage with him, that she flew upon him, and took him by the hair of thehead, and boxed him well-favouredly. Cæsar fell a-laughing and partedthe fray. Alas, said she, O Cæsar: is not this a great shame andreproach, that thou having vouchsafed to take the pains to come untome, and has done me this honour, poor wretch, and caitiff creature, brought into this pitiful and miserable state: and that mine ownservants should come now to accuse me, though it may be I havereserved some jewels and trifles meet for women, but not for me (poorsoul) to set out my self withal, but meaning to give some prettypresents and gifts unto Octavia and Livia, that they making means andintercessions for me to thee, thou mightest yet extend thy favour andmercy upon me? Cæsar was glad to hear her say so, persuading himselfthereby that she had yet a desire to save her life. So he made heranswer, That he did not only give her that to dispose of at herpleasure, which she had kept back, but further promised to use hermore honourably and bountifully that she would think for: and so hetook his leave of her, supposing he had deceived her, but indeed hewas deceived himself. 

There was a young gentleman Cornelius Dolabella, [109] that was ofCæsar's very great familiars, and besides did bear no evil will untoCleopatra. He sent her word secretly as she had requested him, thatCæsar determined to take his journey through Syria, and that withinthree days he would send her away before with her children. When thiswas told Cleopatra, she requested Cæsar that it would please him tosuffer her to offer the last oblations of the dead, unto the soul ofAntony. This being granted her, she was carried to the place where histomb was, and there falling down on her knees, embracing the tomb withher women, the tears running down her cheeks, she began to speak inthis sort:

"O my dearn lord Antony, not long sithence I buried thee here, being afreewoman: and now I offer unto thee the funeral springlings andoblations, being a captive and prisoner, and yet I am forbidden andkept from tearing and murdering this captive body of mine with blows, which they carefully guard and keep, only to triumph of thee: looktherefore henceforth for no other honours, offerings, nor sacrificesfrom me, for these are the last which Cleopatra can give thee, sithnow they carry her away. Whilst we lived together, nothing could severour companies: but now at our death, I fear me they will make uschange our countries. For as thou being a Roman, has been buried inEgypt: even so wretched creature I, an Egyptian, shall be buried inItaly, which shall be all the good that I have received by thycountry. If therefore the gods where thou art now have any power andauthority, sith our gods here have forsaken us: suffer not thy truefriend and lover to be carried away alive, that in me, they triumph ofthee: but receive me with thee, and let me be buried in one self tombwith thee. For though my griefs and miseries be infinite, yet nonehath grieved me more, nor that I could less bear withal: than thissmall time, which I have been driven to live alone without thee. "

Then having ended these doleful plaints, and crowned the tomb withgarlands and sundry nosegays, and marvellous lovingly embraced thesame: she commanded they should prepare her bath, and when she hadbathed and washed her self, she fell to her meat, and was sumptuouslyserved. Now whilst she was at dinner, there came a countryman, andbrought her a basket. The soldiers that warded at the gate, asked himstraight what he had in his basket. He opened the basket, and took outthe leaves that covered the figs, and shewed them that they were figshe brought. They all of them marvelled to see so goodly figs. Thecountryman laughed to hear them, and bade them take some if theywould. They believed he told them truly, and so bade him carry themin. After Cleopatra had dined, she sent a certain table written andsealed unto Cæsar, and commanded them all to go out of the tombs whereshe was, but the two women, then she shut the doors to her. Cæsar whenhe received this table, and began to read her lamentation andpetition, requesting him that he would let her be buried with Antony, found straight what she meant, and thought to have gone thitherhimself: howbeit he sent one before in all haste that might be, to seewhat it was. 

Her death was very sodain. For those whom Cæsar sent unto her ranthither in all haste possible, and found the soldiers standing at thegate, mistrusting nothing, nor understanding of her death. But whenthey had opened the doors, they found Cleopatra stark dead, laid upona bed of gold, attired and arrayed in her royal robes, and one of hertwo women, which was called Iras, dead at her feet: and her otherwoman called Charmion half-dead, and trembling, trimming the diademwhich Cleopatra wore upon her head. One of the soldiers seeing her, angrily said unto her: Is that well done Charmion? Very well said sheagain, and meet for a princess descended from the race of so manynoble kings. She said no more, but fell down dead hard by the bed. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 105: From the "Life of Mark Antony. " Translated by SirThomas North. ]

[Footnote 106: That is Octavius, afterward the Emperor Augustus. ]

[Footnote 107: Antony's mother was Julia, sister of Julius Cæsar; hiswife was Octavia, sister of Octavius, the Emperor Augustus. ]

[Footnote 108: Cæsarion was born in 47 B. C. , and is believed to havegone to Rome with his mother Cleopatra in the following year. It hasbeen pointed out that there could be no reason for putting Cæsarion todeath as a possible competitor with Octavius at Rome, for tho Octaviuswas only the nephew of Julius Cæsar, Cæsarion, his son, was not aRoman citizen. Inasmuch, however, as it was the object of Octavius toretain Egypt, Cæsarion might have been an obstacle to him there. ]

[Footnote 109: A son of the elder Dolabella by his first marriage. Dolabella the elder married Cicero's daughter Tullia, and became oneof Cæsar's murderers. ]

EPICTETUS

 Born, about the middle of the first century, A. D. , in Hierapolis, Phrygia; originally a slave, but became a freedman of Epaphroditus, a favorite of the emperor Nero; a pupil of Musonius Rufus; taught philosophy at Rome; banished with other philosophers by Domitian and settled in Nicopolis, Epirus, where he taught philosophy, his doctrines being compiled by his pupil Arrian, the historian; he wrote nothing himself. 

I

OF FREEDOM[110]

He is free who lives as he likes; who is not subject to compulsion, torestraint, or to violence; whose pursuits are unhindered, his desiressuccessful, his aversions unincurred. Who, then, would wish to lead awrong course of life? "No one. " Who would live deceived, erring, unjust, dissolute, discontented, dejected? "No one. " No wicked man, then, lives as he likes; therefore no such man is free. And who wouldlive in sorrow, fear, envy, pity, with disappointed desires andunavailing aversions? "No one. " Do we then find any of the wickedexempt from these evils? "Not one. " Consequently, then, they are notfree. 

If some person who has been twice Consul should hear this, he willforgive you, provided you add, "but you are wise, and this has noreference to you. " But if you tell him the truth, that, in point ofslavery, he does not necessarily differ from those who have beenthrice sold, what but chastisement can you expect? "For how, " he says, "am I a slave? My father was free, my mother free. Besides, I am asenator, too, and the friend of Cæsar, and have been twice Consul, andhave myself many slaves. " In the first place, most worthy sir, perhapsyour father too was a slave of the same kind; and your mother, andyour grandfather, and all your series of ancestors. But even were theyever so free, what is that to you? For what if they were of agenerous, you of a mean spirit; they brave, and you a coward; theysober, and you dissolute?

"But what, " he says, "has this to do with my being a slave?" Is it nopart of slavery to act against your will, under compulsion, andlamenting? "Be it so. But who can compel me but the master of all, Cæsar?" By your own confession, then, you have one master; and let nothis being, as you say, master of all, give you any comfort; for thenyou are merely a slave in a large family. Thus the Nicopolitans, too, frequently cry out, "By the genius of Cæsar we are free!"

For the present, however, if you please, we will let Cæsar alone. Buttell me this. Have you never been in love with any one, either of aservile or liberal condition? "Why, what has that to do with beingslave or free?" Were you never commanded anything by your mistressthat you did not choose? Have you never flattered your fair slave?Have you never kissed her feet? And yet if you were commanded to kissCæsar's feet, you would think it an outrage and an excess of tyranny. What else is this than slavery? Have you never gone out by night whereyou did not desire? Have you never spent more than you chose? Have younot sometimes uttered your words with sighs and groans? Have you neverborne to be reviled and shut out-of-doors? But if you are ashamed toconfess your own follies, see what Thrasonides says and does; who, after having fought more battles perhaps than you, went out by night, when [his slave] Geta would not dare to go; nay, had he been compelledto do it, would have gone bewailing and lamenting the bitterness ofservitude. And what says he afterward? "A contemptible girl hasenslaved me, whom no enemy ever enslaved. " Wretch! to be the slave ofa girl and a contemptible girl too! Why, then, do you still callyourself free? Why do you boast your military expeditions? Then hecalls for a sword, and is angry with the person who, out of kindness, denies it; and sends presents to her who hates him; and begs, andweeps, and then again is elated on every little success. But whatelation? Is he raised above desire or fear?

Consider what is our idea of freedom in animals. Some keep tame lions, and feed them and even lead them about; and who will say that any suchlion is free? Nay, does he not live the more slavishly the more helives at ease? And who that had sense and reason would wish to be oneof those lions? Again, how much will caged birds suffer in trying toescape? Nay, some of them starve themselves rather than undergo such alife; others are saved only with difficulty and in a pining condition;and the moment they find any opening, out they go. Such a desire havethey for their natural freedom, and to be at their own disposal, andunrestrained. "And what harm can this confinement do you?" "What sayyou? I was born to fly where I please, to live in the open air, tosing when I please. You deprive me of all this, and then ask what harmI suffer?"

Hence we will allow those only to be free who will not endurecaptivity, but, so soon as they are taken, die and escape. ThusDiogenes somewhere says that the only way to freedom is to die withease. And he writes to the Persian king, "You can no more enslave theAthenians than you can fish. " "How? Can I not get possession of them?""If you do, " said he, "they will leave you and be gone like fish. Forcatch a fish, and it dies. And if the Athenians, too, die as soon asyou have caught them, of what use are your warlike preparations?" Thisis the voice of a free man who had examined the matter in earnest, and, as it might be expected, found it all out. But if you seek itwhere it is not, what wonder if you never find it?

A slave wishes to be immediately set free. Think you it is because heis desirous to pay his fee [of manumission] to the officer? No, butbecause he fancies that, for want of acquiring his freedom, he hashitherto lived under restraint and unprosperously. "If I am once setfree, " he says, "it is all prosperity; I care for no one; I can speakto all as being their equal and on a level with them. I go where Iwill, I come when and how I will. " He is at last made free, andpresently having nowhere to eat he seeks whom he may flatter, withwhom he may sup. He then either submits to the basest and mostinfamous degradation, and if he can obtain admission to some greatman's table, falls into a slavery much worse than the former; orperhaps, if the ignorant fellow should grow rich, he dotes upon somegirl, laments, and is unhappy, and wishes for slavery again. "For whatharm did it do me? Another clothed me, another shod me, another fedme, another took care of me when I was sick. It was but in a fewthings, by way of return, I used to serve him. But now, miserablewretch! what do I suffer, in being a slave to many, instead of one!Yet, if I can be promoted to equestrian rank, I shall live in theutmost prosperity and happiness. " In order to obtain this, he firstdeservedly suffers; and as soon as he has obtained it, it is all thesame again. "But then, " he says, "if I do but get a military command, I shall be delivered from all my troubles. " He gets a militarycommand. He suffers as much as the vilest rogue of a slave; and, nevertheless, he asks for a second command and a third; and when hehas put the finishing touch, and is made a senator, then he is a slaveindeed. When he comes into the public assembly, it is then that heundergoes his finest and most splendid slavery. 

[It is needful] not to be foolish, but to learn what Socrates taught, the nature of things; and not rashly to apply general principles toparticulars. For the cause of all human evils is the not being ableto apply general principles to special cases. But different peoplehave different grounds of complaint; one, for instance, that he issick. That is not the trouble; it is in his principles. Another, thathe is poor; another, that he has a harsh father and mother; another, that he is not in the good graces of Cæsar. This is nothing else butnot understanding how to apply our principles. For who has not an ideaof evil, that it is hurtful; that it is to be avoided; that it is byall means to be prudently guarded against? One principle does notcontradict another, except when it comes to be applied. What, then, isthis evil--thus hurtful and to be avoided? "Not to be the friend ofCæsar, " says some one. He is gone; he has failed in applying hisprinciples; he is embarrassed; he seeks what is nothing to thepurpose. For if he comes to be Cæsar's friend, he is still no nearerto what he sought. For what is it that every man seeks? To be secure, to be happy, to do what he pleases without restraint and withoutcompulsion. When he becomes the friend of Cæsar, then does he cease tobe restrained; to be compelled? Is he secure? Is he happy? Whom shallwe ask? Whom can we better credit than this very man who has been hisfriend? Come forth and tell us whether you sleep more quietly now thanbefore you were the friend of Cæsar. You presently hear him cry, "Leave off, for Heaven's sake! and do not insult me. You know not themiseries I suffer; there is no sleep for me; but one comes and saysthat Cæsar is already awake; another, that he is just going out. Thenfollow perturbations, then cares. " Well, and when did you use to supthe more pleasantly--formerly, or now? Hear what he says about thistoo. When he is not invited, he is distracted; and if he is, he supslike a slave with his master, solicitous all the while not to say ordo anything foolish. And what think you? Is he afraid of being whiptlike a slave! No such easy penalty. No; but rather, as becomes sogreat a man, Cæsar's friend, of losing his head. And when did youbathe the more quietly; when did you perform your exercises the moreat your leisure; in short, which life would you rather wish tolive--your present, or the former? I could swear there is no one sostupid and insensible as not to deplore his miseries, in proportion ashe is the more the friend of Cæsar. 

Since, then, neither they who are called kings nor the friends ofkings live as they like, who, then, after all, is free?. .. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 110: From the "Discourses. " Translated by Thomas WentworthHigginson. Copyright, 1865 and 1890, by Little, Brown & Co. Epictetushas been valued not alone as an exposition of the Stoic philosophy, but as a specimen of Greek of the later or Silver Age. MarcusAurelius, who in a later generation wrote in Greek himself, is said tohave ranked Epictetus with Socrates as a teacher. Origen, the earlyChristian father, asserted that his writings had been of more value tothe world's morals than those of Plato. ]

II

OF FRIENDSHIP[111]

To whatever objects a person devotes his attention, these objects heprobably loves. Do men ever devote their attention, then, to [whatthey think] evils? By no means. Or even to things indifferent? No, northis. It remains, then, that good must be the sole object of theirattention; and if of their attention, of their love too. Whoever, therefore, understands good, is capable likewise of love; and he whocan not distinguish good from evil, and things indifferent from both, how is it possible that he can love? The wise person alone, then, iscapable of loving. 

"How so? I am not this wise person, yet I love my child. "

I protest it surprizes me that you should, in the first place, confessyourself unwise. For in what are you deficient? Have not you the useof your senses? Do you not distinguish the semblances of things? Doyou not provide such food and clothing and habitation as are suitableto you? Why then do you confess that you want wisdom? In truth, because you are often struck and disconcerted by semblances, and theirspeciousness gets the better of you; and hence you sometimes supposethe very same things to be good, then evil, and lastly, neither; and, in a word, you grieve, you fear, you envy, you are disconcerted, youchange. Is it from this that you confess yourself unwise? And are younot changeable too in love? Riches, pleasure, in short, the very samethings, you sometimes esteem good, and at other times evil. And do younot esteem the same persons too alternately as good and bad, at onetime treating them with kindness, at another with enmity; at one timecommending, and at another time censuring them?

"Yes. This too is the case with me. "

Well, then; can he who is deceived in another be his friend, thinkyou?

"No, surely. "

Or does he who loves him with a changeable affection bear him genuinegood-will?

"Nor he, neither. "

Or he who now vilifies, then admires him?

"Nor he. "

Do you not often see little dogs caressing and playing with eachother, so that you would say nothing could be more friendly? But tolearn what this friendship is, throw a bit of meat between them, andyou will see. Do you too throw a bit of an estate betwixt you and yourson, and you will see that he will quickly wish you under ground, andyou him; and then you, no doubt, on the other hand will exclaim, Whata son have I brought up! He would bury me alive! Throw in a prettygirl, and the old fellow and the young one will both fall in love withher; or let fame or danger intervene, the words of the father ofAdmetus will be yours:

 "You love to see the light. Doth not your father? You fain would still behold it. Would not he?"

Do you suppose that he did not love his own child when it was little;that he was not in agonies when it had a fever, and often wished toundergo that fever in its stead? But, after all, when the trial comeshome, you see what expressions he uses. Were not Eteocles andPolynices born of the same mother and of the same father? Were theynot brought up, and did they not live and eat and sleep, together? Didnot they kiss and fondle each other? So that any one, who saw them, would have laughed at all the paradoxes which philosophers utter aboutlove. And yet when a kingdom, like a bit of meat, was thrown betwixtthem, see what they say--

_Polynices. _ Where wilt thou stand before the towers?

_Eteocles. _ Why askest thou this of me?

_Polynices. _ I will oppose myself to thee, to slay thee. 

_Eteocles. _ Me too the desire of this seizes. 

Such are the prayers they offer. Be not therefore deceived. No livingbeing is held by anything so strongly as by its own needs. Whatevertherefore appears a hindrance to these, be it brother or father orchild or mistress or friend, is hated, abhorred, execrated; for bynature it loves nothing like its own needs. This motive is father andbrother and family and country and God. Whenever, therefore, the godsseem to hinder this, we vilify even them, and throw down theirstatues, and burn their temples; as Alexander ordered the temple ofÆsculapius to be burnt, because he had lost the man he loved. 

When, therefore, any one identifies his interest with those ofsanctity, virtue, country, parents, and friends, all these aresecured; but whenever he places his interest in anything else thanfriends, country, family and justice, then these all give way, bornedown by the weight of self-interest. For wherever I and mine areplaced, thither must every living being gravitate. If in body, thatwill sway us; if in our own will, that; if in externals, these. If, therefore, I rest my personality in the will, then only shall I be afriend, a son, or a father, such as I ought. For in that case it willbe for my interest to preserve the faithful, the modest, the patient, the abstinent, the beneficent character; to keep the relations of lifeinviolate. But if I place my personality in one thing, and virtue inanother, the doctrine of Epicurus will stand its ground, that virtueis nothing, or mere opinion. 

From this ignorance it was that the Athenians and Lacedæmoniansquarreled with each other, and the Thebans with both; the Persian kingwith Greece, and the Macedonians with both; and now the Romans withthe Getes. [112] And in still remoter times the Trojan war arose fromthe same cause. Alexander [Paris] was the guest of Menelaus; andwhoever had seen the mutual proofs of good-will that passed betweenthem would never have believed that they were not friends. But atempting bait, a pretty woman, was thrown in between them; and thencecame war. At present, therefore, when you see that dear brothers have, in appearance, but one soul, do not immediately pronounce upon theirlove; not tho they should swear it, and affirm it was impossible tolive asunder. For the governing faculty of a bad man is faithless, unsettled, undiscriminating, successively vanquished by differentsemblances. But inquire, not as others do, whether they were born ofthe same parents, and brought up together, and under the samepreceptor; but this thing only, in what they place their interest--inexternals or in their own wills. If in externals, you can no morepronounce them friends, than you can call them faithful, or constant, or brave, or free; nay, nor even truly men, if you are wise. For it isno principle of humanity that makes them bite and vilify each other, and take possession of public assemblies, as wild beasts do ofsolitudes and mountains; and convert courts of justice into dens ofrobbers; that prompts them to be intemperate, adulterers, seducers; orleads them into other offenses that men commit against each other--allfrom that one single error, by which they risk themselves and theirown concerns on things uncontrollable by will. 

But if you hear that these men in reality suppose good to be placedonly in the will, and in a right use of things as they appear, nolonger take the trouble of inquiring if they are father and son, orold companions and acquaintances; but boldly pronounce that they arefriends, and also that they are faithful and just. For where else canfriendship be met, but joined with fidelity and modesty, and theintercommunication of virtue alone?

"Well; but such a one paid me the utmost regard for so long a time, and did he not love me?"

How can you tell, foolish man, if that regard be any other than hepays to his shoes, or his horse, when he cleans them? And how do youknow but that when you cease to be a necessary utensil, he may throwyou away, like a broken stool?

"Well; but it is my wife, and we have lived together many years. "

And how many did Eriphyle live with Amphiaraus, and was the mother ofchildren not a few? But a bauble came between them. What was thisbauble? A false conviction concerning certain things. This turned herinto a savage animal; this cut asunder all love, and suffered neitherthe wife nor the mother to continue such. 

Whoever, therefore, among you studies either to be or to gain afriend, let him cut up all false convictions by the root, hate them, drive them utterly out of his soul. Thus, in the first place, he willbe secure from inward reproaches and contests, from vacillation andself-torment. Then, with respect to others, to every like-mindedperson he will be without disguise; to such as are unlike he will bepatient, mild, gentle, and ready to forgive them, as failing in pointsof the greatest importance; but severe to none, being fully convincedof Plato's doctrine, that the soul is never willingly deprived oftruth. Without all this, you may, in many respects, live as friendsdo; and drink and lodge and travel together, and even be born of thesame parents; and so may serpents too; but neither they nor you canever be really friends, while your accustomed principles remain brutaland execrable. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 111: From the "Discourses. " Translated by Thomas WentworthHigginson. Copyright, 1890, by Little, Brown & Co. ]

[Footnote 112: The Getes were a Thracian people who dwelt north of theDanube, at one time in what is now Bulgaria, and at another in what isBessarabia. ]

III

THE PHILOSOPHER AND THE CROWD[113]

The first difference between one of the crowd and a philosopher isthis: the one says, "I am undone on the account of my child, mybrother, my father"; but the other, if ever he be obliged to say, "Iam undone!" reflects, and adds, "on account of myself. " For the Willcan not be restrained or hurt by anything to which the Will does notextend, but only by itself. If, therefore, we always would inclinethis way, and whenever we are unsuccessful, would lay the fault onourselves, and remember that there is no cause of perturbation andinconstancy but wrong principles, I pledge myself to you that weshould make some proficiency. But we set out in a very different wayfrom the very beginning. In infancy, for example, if we happen tostumble, our nurse does not chide us, but beats the stone. Why, whatharm has the stone done? Was it to move out of its place for the follyof your child? Again, if we do not find something to eat when we comeout of the bath, our tutor does not try to moderate our appetite, butbeats the cook. Why, did we appoint you tutor of the cook, man? No;but of our child. It is he whom you are to correct and improve. Bythese means even when we are grown up, we appear children. For anunmusical person is a child in music; an illiterate person, a child inlearning; and an untaught one, a child in life. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 113: From the "Discourses. " Translated by Thomas WentworthHigginson. Copyright, 1890, by Little, Brown & Co. ]

LUCIAN

 Born at Samosata, Syria, about 120 A. D. ; died about 200; apprenticed to his maternal uncle, who was a sculptor, but ran away in dislike of the art; becoming interested in the Rhetoricians, began to write himself; his works, as collected in English, comprize four volumes, among them "Dialogues of the Gods, " "Dialogues of the Dead, " "Zeus, the Tragedian, " "The Ferryboat, " and "Toxaris. "[114]

I

A DESCENT TO THE UNKNOWN[115]

Dawn was approaching when we went down to the river to embark; he hadprovided a boat, victims, hydromel, and all necessaries for our mysticenterprise. We put all aboard, and then, Troubled at heart, withwelling tears, we went. For some distance we floated down stream, until we entered the marshy lake in which the Euphrates disappears. Beyond this we came to a desolate, wooded, sunless spot; there welanded, Mithrobarzanes leading the way, and proceeded to dig a pit, slay our sheep, and sprinkle their blood round the edge. Meanwhile theMage, with a lighted torch in his hand, abandoning his customarywhisper, shouted at the top of his voice an invocation to all spirits, particularly the Poenæ and Erinyes, Hecate's dark might, and dread Persephone, with a string of other names, outlandish, unintelligible, andpolysyllabic. 

As he ended, there was a great commotion, earth was burst open by theincantation, the barking of Cerberus was heard far off, and all wasovercast and lowering:

 Quaked in his dark abyss the King of Shades;

for almost all was now unveiled to us, the lake, and Phlegethon, andthe abode of Pluto. Undeterred, we made our way down the chasm, andcame upon Rhadamanthus half dead with fear. Cerberus barked and lookedlike getting up; but I quickly touched my lyre, and the first notesufficed to lull him. Reaching the lake, we nearly missed our passagefor that time, the ferry-boat being already full; there was incessantlamentation, and all the passengers had wounds upon them; mangledlegs, mangled heads, mangled everything; no doubt there was a wargoing on. Nevertheless, when good Charon saw the lion's skin, takingme for Heracles, he made room, was delighted to give me a passage, andshowed us our direction when we got off. 

We were now in darkness; so Mithrobarzanes led the way, and I followedholding on to him, until we reached a great meadow of asphodel, wherethe shades of the dead, with their thin voices, came flitting roundus. Working gradually on, we reached the court of Minos; he wassitting on a high throne, with the Poenæ, Avengers, and Erinyesstanding at the sides. From another direction was being brought a longrow of persons chained together; I heard that they were adulterers, procurers, publicans, sycophants, informers, and all the filth thatpollutes the stream of life. Separate from them came the rich andusurers, pale, pot-bellied, and gouty, each with a hundredweight ofspiked collar upon him. There we stood looking at the proceedings andlistening to the pleas they put in; their accusers were orators of astrange and novel species. 

We left the court at last, and came to the place of punishment. Many apiteous sight and sound was there--cracking of whips, shrieks of theburning, rack and gibbet and wheel; Chimera tearing, Cerberusdevouring; all tortured together, kings and slaves, governors andpaupers, rich and beggars, and all repenting their sins. A few ofthem, the lately dead, we recognized. These would turn away and shrinkfrom observation; or if they met our eyes, it would be with a slavishcringing glance--how different from the arrogance and contempt thathad marked them in life! The poor were allowed half-time in theirtortures, respite and punishment alternating. Those with whom legendis so busy I saw with my eyes--Ixion, [116] Sisyphus, the PhrygianTantalus in all his misery, and the giant Tityus--how vast, his bulkcovering a whole field!

Leaving these, we entered the Acherusian plain, and there found thedemigods, men and women both, and the common dead, dwelling in theirnations and tribes, some of them ancient and moldering "strengthlessheads, " as Homer has it, others fresh, with substance yet in them, Egyptians chiefly, these--so long last their embalming drugs. But toknow one from another was no easy task; all men are so like when thebones are bared; yet with pains and long scrutiny we could make themout. They lay pell-mell in undistinguished heaps, with none of theirearthly beauties left. With all those anatomies piled together as likeas could be, eyes glaring ghastly and vacant, teeth gleaming bare, Iknew not how to tell Thersites[117] from Nireus the beauty, beggarIrus from the Phæacian king, or cook Pyrrhias from Agamemnon's self. Their ancient marks were gone, and their bones alike--uncertain, unlabeled, indistinguishable. 

When I saw all this, the life of man came before me under thelikeness of a great pageant, arranged and marshaled by Chance, whodistributed infinitely varied costumes to the performers. She wouldtake one and array him like a king, with tiara, body-guard, and crowncomplete; another she drest like a slave; one was adorned with beauty, another got up as a ridiculous hunchback: there must be all kinds inthe show. Often before the procession was over she made individualsexchange characters; they could not be allowed to keep the same to theend; Croesus must double parts and appear as slave and captive;Mæandrius, starting as slave, would take over Polycrates'[118]despotism, and be allowed to keep his new clothes for a little while. And when the procession is done, every one disrobes, gives up hischaracter with his body, and appears, as he originally was, just likehis neighbor. Some, when Chance comes round collecting the properties, are silly enough to sulk and protest, as tho they were being robbed oftheir own instead of only returning loans. You know the kind of thingon the stage--tragic actors shifting as the play requires from Creonto Priam, from Priam to Agamemnon; the same man, very likely, whom yousaw just now in all the majesty of Cecrops or Erechtheus, treads theboards next as a slave, because the author tells him to. The playover, each of them throws off his gold-spangled robe and his mask, descends from the buskin's height, and moves a mean ordinary creature;his name is not now Agamemnon son of Atreus, or Creon son ofMenoeceus, but Polus son of Charicles of Sunium, or Satyrus son ofTheogiton of Marathon. Such is the condition of mankind, or so thatsight presented it to me. 

_Philip. _ Now, if a man occupies a costly towering sepulcher, orleaves monuments, statues, inscriptions behind him on earth, does notthis place him in a class above the common dead?

_Menippus. _ Nonsense, my good man; if you had looked on Mausolus[119]himself--the Carian so famous for his tomb--I assure you, you wouldnever have stopt laughing; he was a miserable unconsidered unit amongthe general mass of the dead, flung aside in a dusty hole, with noprofit of his sepulcher but its extra weight upon him. No, friend, when Æacus gives a man his allowance of space--and it never exceeds afoot's breadth, he must be content to pack himself into its limits. You might have laughed still more if you had beheld the kings andgovernors of earth begging in Hades, selling salt fish for a living, it might be, or giving elementary lessons, insulted by any one who metthem, and cuffed like the most worthless of slaves. When I saw Philipof Macedon, [120] I could not contain myself; some one showed him to mecobbling old shoes for money in a corner. Many others were to be seenbegging--people like Xerxes, Darius, or Polycrates. 

_Philip. _ These royal downfalls are extraordinary--almost incredible. But what of Socrates, Diogenes, and such wise men?

_Menippus. _ Socrates still goes about proving everybody wrong, thesame as ever; Palamedes, Odysseus, Nestor, and a few otherconversational shades, keep him company. His legs, by the way, werestill puffy and swollen from the poison. Good Diogenes pitches closeto Sardanapalus, Midas, and other specimens of magnificence. The soundof their lamentations and better-day memories keeps him in laughterand spirits; he is generally stretched on his back roaring out a noisysong which drowns lamentations; it annoys them, and they are lookingout for a new pitch where he may not molest them. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 114: Lucian lived under four Roman emperors and possiblyfive, --Antoninus Pius, Marcus Aurelius, Lucius Verus, Commodus andPertinax. The Fowlers, whose translation is used in these specimens, regard Lucian as "a linguistic miracle, " stating the case as follows:"A Syrian writes in Greek, and not in the Greek of his own time, butin that of five or six centuries before, and he does it, if not withabsolute correctness, yet with the easy mastery that we expect fromone in a million of those who write in their mother tongue and takesplace as an immortal classic. The miracle may be repeated; anEnglish-educated Hindu may produce masterpieces of Elizabethan Englishthat will rank him with Bacon and Ben Jonson; but it will surprize uswhen it does happen. "]

[Footnote 115: From "Menippus: A Necromantic Experiment. " Translatedby H. W. And F. G. Fowler. Menippus was a Cynic philosopher, originally a slave, born in Syria. He lived about 60 B. C. , and wrotemuch, but all his works have been lost. ]

[Footnote 116: Ixion, of whom the familiar legend is that he waspunished in the lower world by being chained to an ever-revolvingwheel, was King of the Lapithæ. Sisyphus, whose punishment was to rolla stone up a hill and then see it roll back again, being condemnedperpetually to attempt rolling it completely to the top, belonged to aperiod anterior to Homer, and was the founder of Corinth. Homerdescribes him as the craftiest of men. Tantalus, one of the kings ofLydia, was condemned to stand in water, but whenever he sought toquench his thirst the water retreated from him. ]

[Footnote 117: Thersites is represented as the most insolent andhateful of the Greeks who went to Troy. ]

[Footnote 118: Polycrates was tyrant of Samos from 536 to 522 B. C. , but was put to death. ]

[Footnote 119: Mausolus was King of Caria, a country lying on theÆgean Sea in Asia Minor. Its chief town was Helicarnassus. Mausolusdied about 353 B. C. His sister-wife, Artemisia, erected above hisbody the famous tomb named after him the Mausoleum, which was one ofthe "seven wonders of the world. "]

[Footnote 120: The father of Alexander the Great, and the king againstwhom several of the orations of Demosthenes were delivered. ]

II

AMONG THE PHILOSOPHERS[121]

_Socrates. _ Stone the miscreant; stone him with many stones; clod himwith clods; pot him with pots; let the culprit feel your sticks; leavehim no way out. At him, Plato! come, Chrysippus, let him have it!Shoulder to shoulder, close the ranks;

 Let wallet succor wallet, staff aid staff!

We are all parties in this war; not one of us but he has assailed. You, Diogenes, now if ever is the time for that stick of yours; standfirm, all of you. Let him reap the fruits of his revilings. What, Epicurus, Aristippus, tired already? 'tis too soon; ye sages, Be men; resume that erstwhile furious wrath. 

Aristotle, one more sprint. There! the brute is caught; we have you, villain. You shall soon know a little more about the characters youhave assailed. Now, what shall we do with him? it must be rather anelaborate execution, to meet all our claims upon him; he owes aseparate death to every one of us. 

_First Philosopher. _ Impale him, say I. 

_Second Philosopher. _ Yes, but scourge him first. 

_Third Philosopher. _ Tear out his eyes. 

_Fourth Philosopher. _ Ah, but first out with the offending tongue. 

_Socrates. _ What say you, Empedocles?

_Empedocles. _ Oh, fling him into a crater; that will teach him tovilify his betters. 

_Plato. _ 'Twere best for him, Orpheus or Pentheus like, to

 Find death, dashed all to pieces on the rock;

so each might have taken a piece home with him. .. . 

_Lucian. _ Believe me, good gentlemen, I have been at much pains onyour behalf; to slay me is to slay one who should rather be selectedfor commendation; a kindred spirit, a well-wisher, a man after yourown heart, a promoter, if I may be bold to say it, of your pursuits. See to it that you catch not the tone of our latter-day philosophers, and be thankless, petulant and hard of heart, to him that deservesbetter of you. 

_Plato. _ Talk of a brazen front! So to abuse us is to oblige us. Ibelieve you are under the delusion that you are really talking toslaves; after the insolent excesses of your tongue, do you propose tochop gratitude with us?

_Lucian. _ How or when was I ever insolent to you? I have always beenan admirer of philosophy, your panegyrist, and a student of thewritings you left. All that comes from my pen is but what you give me;I deflower you, like a bee, for the behoof of mankind; and then thereis praise and recognition; they know the flowers, whence and whose thehoney was, and the manner of my gathering; their surface feeling isfor my selective art, but deeper down it is for you and your meadow, where you put forth such bright blooms and myriad dyes, if one knowsbut how to sort and mix and match, that one be not in discord withanother. Could he that had found you such have the heart to abusethese benefactors to whom his little fame was due? then he must be aThamyris or Eurytus, defying the Muses who gave his gift of song, orchallenging Apollo with the bow, forgetful from whom he had hismarksmanship. 

_Plato. _ All this, good sir, is quite according to the principles ofrhetoric; that is to say, it is clean contrary to the facts; yourunscrupulousness is only emphasized by this adding of insult toinjury; you confess that your arrows are from our quiver, and you usethem against us; your one aim is to abuse us. This is our reward forshowing you that meadow, letting you pluck freely, fill your bosom, and depart. For this alone you richly deserve death. 

_Lucian. _ There; your ears are partial; they are deaf to the right. Why, I would never have believed that personal feeling could affect aPlato, a Chrysippus, [122] an Aristotle; with you, of all men, Ithought there was dry light. But, dear sirs, do not condemn meunheard; give me trial first. .. . 

_Plato. _ Pythagoras, [123] Socrates, what do you think? perhaps theman's appeal to law is not unreasonable. 

_Socrates. _ No; come along, form the court, fetch Philosophy, and seewhat he has to say for himself. To condemn unheard is a sadly crudeproceeding, not for us; leave that to the hasty people with whom mightis right. We shall give occasion to the enemy to blaspheme if we stonea man without a hearing, profest lovers of justice as we are. We shallhave to keep quiet about Anytus and Meletus, my accusers, and the juryon that occasion, if we can not spare an hour to hear this fellowbefore he suffers. 

_Plato. _ Very true, Socrates. We will go and fetch Philosophy. Thedecision shall be hers, and we will accept it, whatever it is. .. . 

_Philosophy. _ Well, well. Here we are at the appointed place. We willhold the trial in the forecourt of Athene Polias. [124] Priestess, arrange our seats, while we salute the goddess. 

_Lucian. _ Polias, come to my aid against these pretenders, mindful ofthe daily perjuries thou hearest from them. Their deeds too arerevealed to thee alone, in virtue of thy charge. Thou hast now thinehour of vengeance. If thou see me in evil case, if blacks be more thanwhites, then cast thou thy vote and save me!

_Philosophy. _ So. Now we are seated, ready to hear your words. Chooseone of your number, the best accuser you may, make your charge, andbring your proofs. Were all to speak, there would be no end. And you, Parrhesiades, shall afterward make your defense. .. . 

_Parrhesiades. _ Philosophy, Diogenes has been far indeed fromexhausting his material; the greater part of it, and the more stronglyexprest, he has passed by, for reasons best known to himself. I referto statements of mine which I am as far from denying that I made asfrom having provided myself with any elaborate defense of them. Any ofthese that have been omitted by him, and not previously emphasized bymyself, I propose now to quote; this will be the best way to show youwho were the persons that I sold by auction and inveighed against aspretenders and impostors; please to concentrate your vigilance on thetruth or falsehood of my descriptions. If what I say is injurious orsevere, your censure will be more fairly directed at the perpetratorsthan at the discoverer of such iniquities. I had no sooner realizedthe odious practises which his profession imposes on an advocate--thedeceit, falsehood, bluster, clamor, pushing, and all the long hatefullist, than I fled as a matter of course from these, betook myself toyour dear service, Philosophy, and pleased myself with the thought ofa remainder of life spent far from the tossing waves in a calm havenbeneath your shadow. 

At my first peep into your realm, how could I but admire yourself andall these your disciples? There they were, legislating for the perfectlife, holding out hands of help to those that would reach it, commending all that was fairest and best; fairest and best--but a manmust keep straight on for it and never slip, must set his eyesunwaveringly on the laws that you have laid down, must tune and testhis life thereby; and that, Zeus be my witness, there are few enoughin these days of ours to do. 

So I saw how many were in love, not with Philosophy, but with thecredit it brings; in the vulgar externals, so easy for any one to ape, they showed a striking resemblance to the real article, perfect inbeard and walk and attire; but in life and conduct they belied theirlooks, read your lessons backwards, and degraded their profession. Then I was wroth; methought it was as tho some soft womanish actor onthe tragic stage should give us Achilles or Theseus or Heracleshimself; he can not stride nor speak out as a hero should, but mincesalong under his enormous mask; Helen or Polyxena would find him toorealistically feminine to pass for them; and what shall an invincibleHeracles say? Will he not swiftly pound man and mask together intonothingness with his club, for womanizing and disgracing him?

Well, these people were about as fit to represent you, and thedegradation of it all was too much for me. Apes daring to masqueradeas heroes! emulators of the ass at Cyme! The Cymeans, you know, hadnever seen ass or lion; so the ass came the lion over them, with theaid of a borrowed skin and his most awe-inspiring bray; however, astranger who had often seen both brought the truth to light with astick. But what most distrest me, Philosophy, was this: when one ofthese people was detected in rascality, impropriety, or immorality, every one put it down to philosophy, and to the particular philosopherwhose name the delinquent took in vain without ever acting on hisprinciples; the living rascal disgraced you, the long dead; for youwere not there in the flesh to point the contrast; so, as it was clearenough that his life was vile and disgusting, your case was given awayby association with his, and you had to share his disgrace. 

This spectacle, I say, was too much for me; I began exposing them, anddistinguishing between them and you; and for this good work you nowarraign me. So then, if I find one of the Initiated betraying andparodying the Mysteries of the two Goddesses, and if I protest anddenounce him, the transgression will be mine? There is something wrongthere; why, at the Games, if an actor who has to present Athene orPoseidon or Zeus plays his part badly, derogating from the divinedignity, the stewards have him whipt; well, the gods are not angrywith them for having the officers whip the man who wears their maskand their attire; I imagine they approve of the punishment. To play aslave or a messenger badly is a trifling offense, but to representZeus or Heracles to the spectators in an unworthy manner--that is acrime and a sacrilege. 

I can indeed conceive nothing more extraordinary than that so many ofthem should get themselves absolutely perfect in your words, and thenlive precisely as if the sole object of reading and studying them hadbeen to reverse them in practise. All their professions of despisingwealth and appearances, of admiring nothing but what is noble, ofsuperiority to passion, of being proof against splendor, andassociating with its owners only on equal terms--how fair and wise andlaudable they all are! But they take pay for imparting them, they areabashed in presence of the rich, their lips water at sight of coin;they are dogs for temper, hares for cowardice, apes for imitativeness, asses for lust, cats for thievery, cocks for jealousy. They are aperfect laughingstock with their strivings after vile ends, theirjostling of each other at rich men's doors, their attendance atcrowded dinners, and their vulgar obsequiousness at table. They swillmore than they should and would like to swill more than they do, theyspoil the wine with unwelcome and untimely disquisitions, and they cannot carry their liquor. The ordinary people who are present naturallyflout them, and are revolted by the philosophy which breeds suchbrutes. 

What is so monstrous is that every man of them says he has no needs, proclaims aloud that wisdom is the only wealth, and directly afterwardcomes begging and makes a fuss if he is refused; it would hardly bestranger to see one in kingly attire, with tall tiara, crown, and all theattributes of royalty, asking his inferiors for a little something more. When they want to get something, we hear a great deal, to be sure, aboutcommunity of goods--how wealth is a thing indifferent--and what is goldand silver?--neither more nor less worth than pebbles on the beach. Butwhen an old comrade and tried friend needs help and comes to them with hismodest requirements, ah, then there is silence and searchings of heart, unlearning of tenets and flat renunciation of doctrines. All their finetalk of friendship, with Virtue and The Good, have vanished and flown, whoknows whither? they were winged words in sad truth, empty fantoms, onlymeant for daily conversational use. 

These men are excellent friends so long as there is no gold or silverfor them to dispute the possession of; exhibit but a copper or two, and peace is broken, truce void, armistice ended; their books areblank, their virtue fled, and they so many dogs; some one has flung abone into the pack, and up they spring to bite each other and snarl atthe one which has pounced successfully. There is a story of anEgyptian king who taught some apes the sword-dance; the imitativecreatures very soon picked it up; and used to perform in purple robesand masks; for some time the show was a great success, till at last aningenious spectator brought some nuts in with him and threw them down. The apes forgot their dancing at the sight, dropt their humanity, resumed their ape-hood, and, smashing masks and tearing dresses, had afree fight for the provender. Alas for the _corps de ballet_ and thegravity of the audience!

These people are just those apes; it is they that I reviled; and Ishall never cease exposing and ridiculing them; but about you and yourlike--for there are, in spite of all, some true lovers of philosophyand keepers of your laws--about you or them may I never be mad enoughto utter an injurious or rude word! Why, what could I find to say?what is there in your lives that lends itself to such treatment? butthose pretenders deserve my detestation, as they have that of heaven. Why, tell me, all of you, what have such creatures to do with you? Isthere a trace in their lives of kindred and affinity? Does oil mixwith water? If they grow their beards and call themselves philosophersand look solemn, do these things make them like you? I could havecontained myself if there had been any touch of plausibility in theiracting; but the vulture is more like the nightingale than they likephilosophers. And now I have pleaded my cause to the best of myability. Truth, I rely upon you to confirm my words. 

_Philosophy. _ Parrhesiades, retire to a further distance. Well, andour verdict? How think you the man has spoken?

_Truth. _ Ah, Philosophy, while he was speaking I was ready to sinkthrough the ground; it was all so true. As I listened, I couldidentify every offender, and I was fitting caps all the time--this isso-and-so, that is the other man, all over. I tell you they were allas plain as in a picture--speaking likenesses not of their bodiesonly, but of their very souls. 

_Temperance. _ Yes, Truth, I could not help blushing at it. 

_Philosophy. _ What say you, gentlemen?

_Res. _ Why, of course, that he is acquitted of the charge, and standsrecorded as our friend and benefactor. Our case is just that of theTrojans, who entertained the tragic actor only to find him recitingtheir own calamities. Well, recite away, our tragedian, with thesepests of ours for dramatis personæ. 

_Diogenes. _ I too, Philosophy, give him my meed of praise; I withdrawmy charges, and count him a worthy friend. 

_Philosophy. _ I congratulate you, Parrhesiades; you are unanimouslyacquitted, and are henceforth one of us. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 121: From the "Fisher: A Resurrection Piece. " Translated byH. W. And F. G. Fowler. ]

[Footnote 122: Famous as a mathematician as well as philosopher; bornin Samos about 582 B. C. He founded a famous school of philosophy atCrotona in Southern Italy. ]

[Footnote 123: After Zeno the most eminent of the Stoic philosophers;born in 280 B. C. ]

[Footnote 124: The guardian of the city of Athens. A famous statue ofAthenia Polias of the fifth century B. C. Is preserved in the VillaAlbani at Rome. ]

III

OF LIARS AND LYING[125]

_Tychiades. _ Philocles, what is it that makes most men so fond of alie? Can you explain it? Their delight in romancing themselves is onlyequaled by the earnest attention with which they receive otherpeople's efforts in the same direction. 

_Philocles. _ Why, in some cases there is no lack of motives forlying--motives of self-interest. 

_Tychiades. _ Ah, but that is neither here nor there. I am not speakingof men who lie with an object. There is some excuse for that: indeed, it is sometimes to their credit, when they deceive their country'senemies, for instance, or when mendacity is but the medicine to healtheir sickness. Odysseus, seeking to preserve his life and bring hiscompanions safe home, was a liar of that kind. The men I mean areinnocent of any ulterior motive: they prefer a lie to truth, simply onits own merits; they like lying, it is their favorite occupation;there is no necessity in the case. Now what good can they get out ofit?

_Philocles. _ Why, have you ever known any one with such a strongnatural turn for lying?

_Tychiades. _ Any number of them. 

_Philocles. _ Then I can only say they must be fools, if they reallyprefer evil to good. 

_Tychiades. _ Oh, that is not it. I could point you out plenty of menof first-rate ability, sensible enough in all other respects, who havesomehow picked up this vice of romancing. It makes me quite angry:what satisfaction can there be to men of their good qualities indeceiving themselves and their neighbors? There are instances amongthe ancients with which you must be more familiar than I. Look atHerodotus, or Ctesias of Cnidus;[126] or, to go further back, take thepoets--Homer himself: here are men of world-wide celebrity, perpetuating their mendacity in black and white; not content withdeceiving their hearers, they must send their lies down to posterity, under the protection of the most admirable verse. Many a time I haveblushed for them, as I read of the mutilation of Uranus, the fettersof Prometheus, the revolt of the giants, the torments of hell;enamored Zeus taking the shape of bull or swan; women turning intobirds and bears; Pegasuses, Chimæras, Gorgons, Cyclopes, and the restof it; monstrous medley! fit only to charm the imaginations ofchildren for whom Mormo and Lamia have still their terrors. However, poets, I suppose, will be poets. But when it comes to national lies, when one finds whole cities bouncing collectively like one man, how isone to keep one's countenance? A Cretan will look you in the face, andtell you that yonder is Zeus' tomb. In Athens, you are informed thatErichthonius sprang out of the earth, and that the first Atheniansgrew up from the soil like so many cabbages; and this story assumesquite a sober aspect when compared with that of the Sparti, for whomthe Thebans claim descent from a dragon's teeth. If you presume todoubt these stories, if you choose to exert your common sense, andleave Triptolemus' winged aerial car, and Pan's Marathonian exploits, and Orithyia's mishap, to the stronger digestions of a Coroebus anda Margites, you are a fool and a blasphemer, for questioning suchpalpable truths. Such is the power of lies!

_Philocles. _ I must say I think there is some excuse, Tychiades, bothfor your national liars and for the poets. The latter are quite rightin throwing in a little mythology: it has a very pleasing effect, andis just the thing to secure the attention of their hearers. On theother hand, the Athenians and the Thebans and the rest are only tryingto add to the luster of their respective cities. Take away thelegendary treasures of Greece, and you condemn the whole race ofciceroni to starvation: sightseers do not want the truth; they wouldnot take it at a gift. However, I surrender to your ridicule any onewho has no such motive, and yet rejoices in lies. 

_Tychiades. _ Very well: now I have just been with the great Eucrates, who treated me to a whole string of old wives' tales. I came away inthe middle of it; he was too much for me altogether; Furies could nothave driven me out more effectually than his marvel-working tongue. 

_Philocles. _ What, Eucrates, of all credible witnesses? That venerablybearded sexagenarian, with his philosophic leanings? I could neverhave believed that he would lend his countenance to other people'slies, much less that he was capable of such things himself. 

_Tychiades. _ My dear sir, you should have heard the stuff he told me;the way in which he vouched for the truth of it all too, solemnlystaking the lives of his children on his veracity! I stared at him inamazement, not knowing what to make of it: one moment I thought hemust be out of his mind; the next I concluded he had been a humbug allalong, an ape in a lion's skin. Oh, it was monstrous. .. . 

"When I was a young man, " said he, "I passed some time in Egypt, myfather having sent me to that country for my education. I took it intomy head to sail up the Nile to Coptus, and thence pay a visit to thestatue of Memnon, [127] and hear the curious sound that proceeds fromit at sunrise. In this respect, I was more fortunate than most people, who hear nothing but an indistinct voice: Memnon actually opened hislips, and delivered me an oracle in seven hexameters; it is foreign tomy present purpose, or I would quote you the very lines. "

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 125: From "The Liar. " Translated by H. W. And F. G. Fowler. ]

[Footnote 126: Ctesias who died after 398 B. C. , and wrote a historyof Persia in twenty-four books and a treatise on India. Parts only ofboth are now extant. ]

[Footnote 127: A legendary king of Ethiopia, who was slain at Troy byAchilles--a fable, says Rawlinson, which is "one of those in which itis difficult to determine any germs of truth. " His name was given bythe Greeks to one of the Colossi at Thebes in Egypt, from which, whentouched by the rays of the rising sun, there was said to proceed astrange sound. ]

 * * * * *