The Best of the World's Classics, Restricted to prose. Volume I (of X) - Greece
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Title: The Best of the World's Classics, Restricted to prose. Volume I (of X) - Greece
Editor: Henry Cabot Lodge
Francis W. Halsey
Release date: March 26, 2007 [eBook #20907]
Language: English
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Credits: Produced by Joseph R. Hauser, Sankar Viswanathan, and the
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[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 sought
to make selections from it and thus put his favorite passages together
in a compact and convenient form. Certain it is, at least, that to the
Greeks, masters in all great arts, we owe this habit. They made such
collections and named them, after their pleasant imaginative fashion,
a gathering of flowers, or what we, borrowing their word, call an
anthology. So to those austere souls who regard anthologies as a
labor-saving contrivance for the benefit of persons who like a
smattering of knowledge and are never really learned, we can at least
plead in mitigation that we have high and ancient authority for the
practise. In any event no amount of scholarly deprecation has been
able to turn mankind or that portion of mankind which reads books from
the agreeable habit of making volumes of selections and finding in
them much pleasure, as well as improvement in taste and knowledge.
With the spread of education and with the great increase of literature
among all civilized nations, more especially since the invention of
printing and its vast multiplication of books, the making of volumes
of selections comprizing what is best in one's own or in many
literatures is no longer a mere matter of taste or convenience as with
the Greeks, but has become something little short of a necessity in
this world of many workers, comparatively few scholars, and still
fewer intelligent men of leisure. Anthologies have been multiplied
like all other books, and in the main they have done much good and no
harm. The man who thinks he is a scholar or highly educated because he
is familiar with what is collected in a well-chosen anthology, of
course, errs grievously. Such familiarity no more makes one a master
of literature than a perusal of a dictionary makes the reader a master
of style. But as the latter pursuit can hardly fail to enlarge a man's
vocabulary, so the former adds to his knowledge, increases his stock
of ideas, liberalizes his mind and opens to him new sources of
enjoyment.
The Greek habit was to bring together selections of verse, passages
of especial merit, epigrams and short poems. In the main their example
has been followed. From their days down to the "Elegant Extracts in
Verse" of our grandmothers and grandfathers, and thence on to our own
time with its admirable "Golden Treasury" and "Oxford Handbook of
Verse," there has been no end to the making of poetical anthologies
and apparently no diminution in the public appetite for them. Poetry
indeed lends itself to selection. Much of the best poetry of the world
is contained in short poems, complete in themselves, and capable of
transference bodily to a volume of selections. There are very few
poets of whose quality and genius a fair idea can not be given by a
few judicious selections. A large body of noble and beautiful poetry,
of verse which is "a joy forever," can also be given in a very small
compass. And the mechanical attribute of size, it must be remembered,
is very important in making a successful anthology, for an essential
quality of a volume of selections is that it should be easily
portable, that it should be a book which can be slipt into the pocket
and readily carried about in any wanderings whether near or remote.
An anthology which is stored in one or more huge and heavy volumes is
practically valueless except to those who have neither books nor
access to a public library, or who think that a stately tome printed
on calendered paper and "profusely illustrated" is an ornament to a
center-table in a parlor rarely used except on solemn or official
occasions.
I have mentioned these advantages of verse for the purposes of an
anthology in order to show the difficulties which must be encountered
in making a prose selection. Very little prose is in small parcels
which can be transferred entire, and therefore with the very important
attribute of completeness, to a volume of selections. From most of the
great prose writers it is necessary to take extracts, and the chosen
passage is broken off from what comes before and after. The fame of a
great prose writer as a rule rests on a book, and really to know him
the book must be read and not merely passages from it. Extracts give
no very satisfactory idea of "Paradise Lost" or "The Divine Comedy,"
and the same is true of extracts from a history or a novel. It is
possible by spreading prose selections through a series of small
volumes to overcome the mechanical difficulty and thus make the
selections in form what they ought above all things to be--companions
and not books of reference or table decorations. But the spiritual or
literary problem is not so easily overcome. What prose to take and
where to take it are by no means easy questions to solve. Yet they are
well worth solving, so far as patient effort can do it, for in this
period of easy printing it is desirable to put in convenient form
before those who read examples of the masters which will draw us back
from the perishing chatter of the moment to the literature which is
the highest work of civilization and which is at once noble and
lasting.
Upon that theory this collection has been formed. It is an attempt to
give examples from all periods and languages of Western civilization
of what is best and most memorable in their prose literature. That the
result is not a complete exhibition of the time and the literatures
covered by the selections no one is better aware than the editors.
Inexorable conditions of space make a certain degree of incompleteness
inevitable when he who is gathering flowers traverses so vast a
garden, and is obliged to confine the results of his labors within
such narrow bounds. The editors are also fully conscious that, like
all other similar collections, this one too will give rise to the
familiar criticism and questionings as to why such a passage was
omitted and such another inserted; why this writer was chosen and that
other passed by. In literature we all have our favorites, and even the
most catholic of us has also his dislikes if not his pet aversions. I
will frankly confess that there are authors represented in these
volumes whose writings I should avoid, just as there are certain towns
and cities of the world to which, having once visited them, I would
never willingly return, for the simple reason that I would not
voluntarily subject myself to seeing or reading what I dislike or,
which is worse, what bores and fatigues me. But no editor of an
anthology must seek to impose upon others his own tastes and opinions.
He must at the outset remember and never afterward forget that so far
as possible his work must be free from the personal equation. He must
recognize that some authors who may be mute or dull to him have a
place in literature, past or present, sufficiently assured to entitle
them to a place among selections which are intended above all things
else to be representative.
To those who wonder why some favorite bit of their own was omitted
while something else for which they do not care at all has found a
place I can only say that the editors, having supprest their own
personal preferences, have proceeded on certain general principles
which seem to be essential in making any selection either of verse or
prose which shall possess broader and more enduring qualities than
that of being a mere exhibition of the editor's personal taste. To
illustrate my meaning: Emerson's "Parnassus" is extremely interesting
as an exposition of the tastes and preferences of a remarkable man of
great and original genius. As an anthology it is a failure, for it is
of awkward size, is ill arranged and contains selections made without
system, and which in many cases baffle all attempts to explain their
appearance. On the other hand, Mr. Palgrave, neither a very remarkable
man nor a great and original genius, gave us in the first "Golden
Treasury" a collection which has no interest whatever as reflecting
the tastes of the editor, but which is quite perfect in its kind.
Barring the disproportionate amount of Wordsworth which includes some
of 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 in
almost unerring taste, is the best model of what an anthology should
be which is to be found in any language.
Returning now to our questioner who misses some favorite and finds
something else which he dislikes, the only answer, as I have just
said, 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 the
narrow and technical sense, but rather in that of Thoreau, who defined
classics as "the noblest recorded thoughts of mankind." Therefore, the
first principle of guidance in selection is to take examples of the
great writings which have moved and influenced the thought of the
world, and which have preeminently the quality of "high seriousness"
as required by Aristotle. This test alone, however, would limit the
selections too closely. Therefore the second principle of choice is to
make selections from writers historically important either personally
or by their writings. The third rule is to endeavor to give selections
which shall be representative of the various literatures and the
various periods through which, the collection ranges. Lastly, and this
applies, of course, only to passages taken from the writers of England
and the United States, the effort has been to give specimens of the
masters of English prose, of that prose in its development and at its
best, and to show, so far as may be, what can be accomplished with
that great instrument, and what a fine style really is as exhibited in
the best models. Everything contained in these volumes is there in
obedience to one at least of these principles, many in obedience to
more than one, some in conformity to all four.
No one will become a scholar or a master of any of the great
literatures here represented by reading this collection. Literature
and scholarship are not to be had so cheaply as that. Yet is there
much profit to be had from these little volumes. They contain many
passages which merit Dr. Johnson's fine saying about books: "That they
help us to enjoy life or teach us to endure it." To the man of
letters, to the man of wide reading, they will at least serve to
recall, when far from libraries and books, those authors who have been
the delight and the instructors of a lifetime. They will bring at
least the pleasures of memory and that keener pleasure which arises
when we meet a poem or a passage of prose which we know as an old and
well-loved friend, remote from home, upon some alien page.
To that larger public whose lives are not spent among books and
libraries, and for whose delectation such a collection as this is
primarily intended, these volumes rightly read at odd times, in idle
moments, in out-of-the-way places, on the ship or the train, offer
much. They will bring the reader in contact with many of the greatest
intellects of all time. They contain some of the noblest thoughts that
have passed through the minds of our weak and erring race. There is no
man who will not be the better, for the moment at least, by reading
what Cicero says about old age, Seneca about death, and Socrates
about 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 easily
offer attractions which will lead to a close and intimate friendship,
with all that the word implies in the case of a great author or a
great book. It seems to me, for example, as if no one who read here
the too brief extracts from Erasmus or from Cervantes, to take at
random two writers widely separated in thought, could fail to pursue
the acquaintance thus begun, so potent are the sympathetic charm, the
wit, the wisdom and the humor of both these great men. There is, at
least, variety in these little volumes, and while many things in them
may not appeal to us, they may to our neighbors. That which "is dumb
to us may speak to him."
Again, let it be noticed that there is much more than the "high
seriousness" which is the test of the greatest prose as of the finest
poetry. Humor and pathos, tragedy and comedy, all find their place and
glimpses of the pageant of human history flit through the pages. It
would seem as if it were impossible to read extracts from Thucydides
and Tacitus and Gibbon and not long to go to their histories and learn
all 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 are
unsatisfying and the better they are the more unsatisfying they
become. But this is in reality their great merit. They have much
beauty in themselves, they awaken pleasant memories, they revive old
delights, but, above all, if rightly read they open the gates to the
illimitable gardens whence all the flowers which have here been
gathered may be found blooming in radiance, unplucked and unbroken and
rooted in their native soil.
The most important part of the collection is that which gives
selections from those writers whose native tongue is English. No
translation even of prose can ever quite reproduce its original, and
as a rule can not hope to equal it. There are many translations,
notably the Elizabethan, which are extremely fine in themselves and
memorable examples of English prose. Still they are not the original
writings. Something escapes in the translation into another tongue,
an impalpable something which can not be held or transmitted. The
Bible stands alone, a great literary monument of the noblest and most
beautiful English, which has formed English speech and become a part
of the language as it is of the thought and emotion of the people who
read "King James'" version in all parts of the globe. Yet we know that
the version which the people, so fortunate in its possession, wisely
and absolutely decline to give up in exchange for any revision is
neither an accurate nor a faithful reproduction of its original.
Therefore, putting aside the English Bible as wholly by itself, it may
be safely said that the soul of a language and the beauties of style
which it is capable of exhibiting can only be found and studied in the
productions of writers who not only think in the language in which
they write, but to whom that speech is native, the inalienable
birthright and heritage of their race or country. In such writers we
get not only the thought, the humor, or the pathos, all that can be
transferred in a translation, but also the pleasure to the ear akin to
music, the sense of form, the artistic gratification which form
brings, all those attributes which are possible in the highest degree
to those only to whom the language is native.
For these reasons, as will be readily understood, in making selections
from those writers whose native tongue is English, specimens have been
given of all periods from the earliest time and occasionally of
authors who would not otherwise find a place in such a collection, for
the purpose of tracing in outline the development of English prose and
the formation of an English style which, like all true and great
styles, is peculiar to the language and can not be reproduced in any
other. This is not the place, nor would it be feasible within any
reasonable limits to narrate the history of English prose. But in
these selections it is possible to follow its gradual advance from the
first rude and crude attempts through the splendid irregularities of
the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries to the establishment of a
standard of style in the eighteenth and thence onward to the
modifications and changes in that standard which extend to our own
time.
The purpose of this collection is not didactic. If it were it would be
a school-book and not an anthology in the Greek sense, where the
first principle was to seek what was of literary value, artistic in
expression, and noble in thought. Yet the mere bringing together of
examples of prose from the writings of the great masters of style can
not but teach a lesson never more needed than now.
I do not mean by this to suggest imitation of any writer. Nothing is
more dangerous, especially when the style of the writer imitated is
peculiar and strongly marked. That which is valuable and instructive
is the opportunity given here for a study of fine English styles, and
in this way to learn the capabilities of the language and the general
principles which have governed the production of the best English
prose. We have in the English language an unequaled richness of
vocabulary far surpassing in extent that of any other tongue. It
possesses a great literature and a body of poetry unrivaled in modern
times. It is not only one of the strongest bonds of union in the
United States, but it is the language in which our freedom was won and
in which our history and our laws are written. It is our greatest
heritage. To weaken, corrupt or deprave it would be a misfortune
without parallel to our entire people. Yet we can not disguise from
ourselves the fact that the fertility of the printing-press, the
multiplication of cheap magazines, and the flood of printed words
poured out daily in the newspapers all tend strongly in this
direction. This is an era of haste and hurry stimulated by the great
inventions which have changed human environment. Form and style in any
art require time, and time seems the one thing we can neither spare
nor wisely economize. Yet, in literature above all arts, to abandon
form and style is inevitably destructive and entails misfortunes which
can hardly be estimated, for loose, weak and vulgar writing is a sure
precursor of loose, weak and vulgar thinking. If form of expression is
cast aside, form in thought and in the presentation of thought is
certain to follow. Against all this the fine English prose amply
represented in these selections offers a silent and convincing protest
to every one who will read it attentively.
We can begin with the splendid prose of the age of Elizabeth and of
the seventeenth century. It is irregular and untamed, but exuberant
and brilliant, rich both in texture and substance. We find it at its
height in the strange beauties of Sir Thomas Browne, in the noble
pages of Milton, stiff with golden embroidery, as Macaulay says, and
in the touching and beautiful simplicity of Bunyan's childlike
sentences. Thence we pass to the eighteenth century, when English
prose was freed from its involutions and irregularities and brought to
uniformity and to a standard. The age of Anne gave to English prose
balance, precision and settled form. There have been periods of
greater originality, but the eighteenth century at least lived up to
Pope'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 age
of Anne, so, if we must choose a single writer there is no better
master to be studied than Swift. There have been many great writers
and many fine and beautiful styles since the days of the terrible Dean
of St. Patrick's, from the imposing and finely balanced sentences of
Gibbon to the subtle delicacy of Hawthorne and the careful finish of
Robert Louis Stevenson. But in Swift better than in any one writer can
we find the lessons which are so sorely needed now. He had in the
highest degree force, clearness and concentration all combined with a
marvelous simplicity. Swift's style may have lacked richness, but it
never failed in taste. There is not a line of false fine-writing in
all his books. Those are the qualities which are so needed now,
simplicity and clearness and a scrupulous avoidance of that would-be
fine 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 a
careful standard of good and sober English. Most of them, unhappily,
are filled in the news columns at least with a strange jargon found
nowhere else, spoken by no one and never used in daily life by those
who every night furnish it to the compositors. It is happily
compounded in about equal parts of turgid fine writing, vulgar
jauntiness and indiscriminate slang.
I can best show my meaning by example. A writer in a newspaper wished
to state that a man who had once caused excitement by a book of
temporary interest and who, after the days of his notoriety were over,
lived a long and checkered career, had killed himself. This is the way
he 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 not
the writer have written it, a little more carefully perhaps, but still
in just the language which he would have used naturally in describing
the event to his wife or friend? Simply stated, it would have been far
more solemn and impressive than this turgid, insincere account with
its 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 unaffected
pathos. The art is apparent even in the punctuation. The writer meant
to be touching and pathetic and to awaken emotions of tenderness and
pity and he succeeded. The description is all he meant it to be. The
extract from the newspaper arouses no emotion, unless it be
resentment at its form and leaves us cold and unmoved. The other is
touching and pitiful. Observe the manner in which Sterne obtains his
effect, the perfect simplicity and good taste of every word, the
reserve, the gentleness, the utter absence of any straining for
effect. The one description died the day it appeared. The other has
held its place for a century and a half. Are not the qualities which
produced such a result worth striving for?
Let me take another haphazard selection from a description of a young
girl entitled as such to every one's kindness, courtesy and respect.
In it occurs this sentence: "The college girl is grammatical in
speech, but she has the jolliest, chummiest jargon of slang that ever
rolled from under a pink tongue." That articulate sounds come from
beneath the tongue is at least novel and few persons are fortunate
enough to be able to talk with that portion of their mouths. But I
have no desire to dwell either upon the anatomical peculiarities of
the sentence or upon its abysmal vulgarity. It is supposed to be
effective, it is what is appropriately called "breezy," it is a form
of 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 a
young girl attractively and effectively in much simpler fashion. Let
me 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 of
pain. Again I say, observe the method by which Hawthorne gets his
effect, the simplicity of the language, the balance of the sentences,
the reserve, the refinement, and the final imaginative touch in the
charming comparison with which the passage ends.
To blame the hard working men who write for the day which is passing
over them because they do not write like Sterne and Hawthorne would be
as absurd as it would be unjust. But they ought to recognize the
qualities of fine English prose, they ought to remember that they can
improve their readers by giving them good, simple English, pure and
undefiled, and they ought not to debauch the public taste by vulgar
fine writing and even more vulgar light writing. In short, they ought
to write for the public as they would talk to their wives and children
and friends; a little more formally and carefully perhaps, but in the
same simple and direct fashion.
For the prolific authors of the flood of stories, which every month
bears on its broad bosom many tons of advertisements, no such
allowance need be made. They are not compelled to furnish copy between
daylight and dark. They need a course of study in English prose more
than anyone else, and they would profit by the effort. As a class
they seem to be like the young man in Du Maurier's picture, who, being
asked if he had read Thackeray, replies, "No. I nevah read novels; I
write them."
In this age of quickening movement and restless haste it is, above all
things, important to struggle against the well-nigh universal
inclination to abandon all efforts for form and style. They are the
great preservers of what is best in literature, the salt which ought
never to lose its savor. Those who use English in public speech and
public writing have a serious responsibility too generally forgotten
and disregarded. I would fain call attention to it altho no single man
can hope to effect much by any plea he can make in behalf of the use
of good English, whether written or spoken. Yet no one, I think, can
read the great masterpieces of English prose and not have both lesson
and responsibility brought home to him. He would be insensible,
indeed, if he did not feel after such reading that he was a sharer in
a noble heritage which it behooved him to guard and cherish. If this
series serves no other purpose, it will exhibit to those who read it
some of the splendors and the beauties of English prose. It will at
least open the gates of literature and perhaps lead its readers to
authors they have not known before, or recall the words of writers who
have entered into their lives and thoughts and thus make them more
mindful of the ineffable value to them and their children of the great
language 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 the
prosperity of Sardis[3] was now at its height, there came thither, one
after another, all the sages of Greece living at the time, and among
them Solon, the Athenian. He was on his travels, having left Athens to
be 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 at
the request of the Athenians he had made for them. Without his
sanction the Athenians could not repeal them, as they had bound
themselves under a heavy curse to be governed for ten years by the
laws which should be imposed on them by Solon.
On this account, as well as to see the world, Solon set out upon his
travels, in the course of which he went to Egypt to the court of
Amasis,[4] and also paid a visit to Croesus at Sardis. Croesus
received him as his guest, and lodged him in the royal palace. On the
third or fourth day after, he bade his servants conduct Solon over his
treasuries and show him all their greatness and magnificence. When he
had seen them all, and so far as time allowed inspected them,
Croesus addrest this question to him: "Stranger of Athens, we have
heard much of thy wisdom and of thy travels through many lands, from
love of knowledge and a wish to see the world. I am curious therefore
to inquire of thee, whom of all the men that thou hast seen thou
deemest the most happy?"
This he asked because he thought himself the happiest of mortals; but
Solon answered him without flattery, according to his true sentiments,
"Tellus of Athens, sire." Full of astonishment at what he had heard
Croesus demanded sharply, "And wherefore dost thou deem Tellus
happiest?" To this the other replied: "First, because his country was
flourishing in his days, and he himself had sons both beautiful and
good, and he lived to see children born to each of them, and these
children all grew up; and further, because after a life spent in what
our people look upon as comfort, his end was surpassingly glorious. In
a battle between the Athenians and their neighbors near Eleusis, he
came to the assistance of his countrymen, routed the foe, and died
upon the field most gallantly. The Athenians gave him a public funeral
on 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 had
ended, Croesus inquired a second time, who after Tellus seemed to
him the happiest, expecting that at any rate he would be given the
second place. "Cleobis and Bito," Solon answered: "they were of Argive
race; their fortune was enough for their wants, and they were besides
endowed with so much bodily strength that they had both gained prizes
at the games. Also, this tale is told of them: There was a great
festival in honor of the goddess Juno at Argos, to which their mother
must needs be taken in a car. Now, the oxen did not come home from the
field in time; so the youths, fearful of being too late, put the yoke
on their own necks, and themselves drew the car in which their mother
rode. Five and forty furlongs did they draw her, and stopt before the
temple. This deed of theirs was witnessed by the whole assembly of
worshipers, and then their life closed in the best possible way.
Herein, too, God showed forth most evidently how much better a thing
for man death is than life. For the Argive men stood thick around the
car and extolled the vast strength of the youths; and the Argive women
extolled the mother who was blest with such a pair of sons; and the
mother herself, overjoyed at the deed and at the praises it had won,
standing straight before the image, besought the goddess to bestow on
Cleobis and Bito, the sons who had so mightily honored her, the
highest blessing to which mortals can attain. Her prayer ended, they
offered sacrifice and partook of the holy banquet, after which the two
youths fell asleep in the temple. They never woke again, but so passed
from 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 at
Delphi."
When Solon had thus assigned these youths the second place Croesus
broke in angrily, "What, stranger of Athens! is my happiness then so
utterly set at naught by thee that thou dost not even put me on a
level with private men?"
"O Croesus," replied the other, "thou askedst a question concerning
the condition of man, of one who knows that the Power above us is
full of jealousy, and fond of troubling our lot. A long life gives
one to witness much, and experience much oneself, that one would not
choose. Seventy years I regard as the limit of the life of man. In
these seventy years are contained, without reckoning intercalary
months, twenty-five thousand and two hundred days. Add an intercalary
month to every other year, that the seasons may come round at the
right time, and there will be, besides the seventy years, thirty-five
such months, making an addition of one thousand and fifty days. The
whole number of the days contained in the seventy years will thus be
twenty-six thousand two hundred and fifty, whereof not one but will
produce events unlike the rest. Hence man is wholly accident.
"For thyself, O Croesus, I see that thou art wonderfully rich, and
art the lord of many nations; but with respect to that whereon thou
questionest me, I have no answer to give, until I hear that thou hast
closed thy life happily. For assuredly he who possesses great store of
riches is no nearer happiness than he who has what suffices for his
daily needs, unless it so hap that luck attend upon him, and so he
continue in the enjoyment of all his good things to the end of life.
For many of the wealthiest men have been unfavored of fortune, and
many whose means were moderate have had excellent luck. Men of the
former class excel those of the latter but in two respects; these last
excel the former in many. The wealthy man is better able to content
his desires, and to bear up against a sudden buffet of calamity. The
other has less ability to withstand these evils (from which, however,
his good luck keeps him clear), but he enjoys all these following
blessings: he is whole of limb, a stranger to disease, free from
misfortune, happy in his children, and comely to look upon.
"If in addition to all this he ends his life well, he is of a truth
the man of whom thou art in search, the man who may rightly be termed
happy. Call him, however, until he die, not happy but fortunate.
Scarcely indeed can any man unite all these advantages: as there is no
country which contains within it all that it needs, but each while it
possesses some things lacks others, and the best country is that which
contains the most, so no single human being is complete in every
respect--something is always lacking. He who unites the greatest
number of advantages, and retaining them to the day of his death, then
dies peaceably--that man alone, sire, is in my judgment entitled to
bear the name of 'happy.' But in every matter it behooves us to mark
well the end: for oftentimes God gives men a gleam of happiness, and
then plunges them into ruin."
Such was the speech which Solon addrest to Croesus, a speech which
brought him neither largess nor honor. The king with much indifference
saw Solon depart, since the former thought that a man must be an
arrant fool who made no account of present good, but bade men always
wait and mark the end.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: Herodotus, at a certain period in his life, came under
the influence of Pericles and his contemporaries, but it is clear from
his writings that he received from Attic thought and style little
definite inspiration. J. P. Mahaffy has likened him to Goldsmith in
his aloofness from his environment. Often ridiculed by his friends for
simplicity, Goldsmith far exceeded his clever critics in directness
and pathos, and thus gained a place in literature which contemporaries
never dreamed would be his. The narrative of Herodotus, adds Mahaffy,
gives us more information about the state of the ancient nations and
their culture than all other Greek historians put together. His
purpose, as Herodotus himself declares, was to narrate the great
conflict between the Greeks and barbarians, in order that the causes
might be known and glorious deeds might not perish. Readers are
imprest by the perfect ease and mastery with which a great variety of
subjects are dealt with, his story "advancing with epic grandeur to
its close." Mahaffy pronounces Herodotus an Ionic story-writer, who
never became an Attic one--the chief master of Ionic, as Thucydides
was of Attic prose.]
[Footnote 2: From Book I of the "History." Translated by George
Rawlinson. Croesus reigned from 560 B.C. to 546. The visit of Solon
was made some time before 559.]
[Footnote 3: The capital of Lydia, in Asia Minor, and a flourishing
city in the time of Croesus. It was several times destroyed, the
last time by Tamerlane. Its site is now a village.]
[Footnote 4: Amasis came to the Egyptian throne in 569 B.C., and
reigned 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. Babylon
is situated in an extensive plain. Each side of the city, which forms
a square, measures one hundred and twenty stadia (about fourteen
miles), making the entire circuit of the city four hundred and eighty
stadia--such is the magnitude of this city Babylon! and in
magnificence also it surpassed every city of which we have any
knowledge. It is surrounded by a trench, deep, wide, and full of
water. Within this is a wall, the width of which is fifty royal
cubits, and its height two hundred cubits.[6] The royal cubit exceeds
the common measure by three fingers' breadth.
It is proper I should say in what manner the earth removed from the
trench was disposed of, and how the wall was constructed. The earth,
as fast as it was removed from the trench, was converted into bricks
and baked in furnaces: when thus prepared, melted bitumen was used
instead of mortar; and between every thirtieth course of bricks there
was inserted a layer of reeds. The sides of the trench were first
lined with brickwork, and then the wall raised in the manner
described. On the upper edges of the wall, and opposite to one
another, were constructed turrets; between these turrets a space was
left wide enough for a chariot and four horses to pass and turn. In
the walls were one hundred gates, all of brass, with posts and upper
lintels of the same. Eight days' journey from Babylon is a city named
Is, near which runs a small river of the same name, discharging itself
into the Euphrates; this river brings down with its waters clots of
bitumen in large quantities. From this source was derived the bitumen
used in cementing the walls of Babylon.
Such are the fortifications of Babylon. The city is divided into two
portions 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 city
walls is extended to the river, where it makes an angle, and, with a
coating of burnt bricks, lines the sides of the river. The city is
filled with houses of three or four stories, forming streets in
straight lines, and running parallel with one another, the cross
streets opening upon the river through as many smaller brazen gates,
placed in the breastwork of the river walls. Within the principal wall
just mentioned is a second, not much inferior to the first in
strength, tho less in width.
In the center of each portion of the city is an enclosed space--the
one occupied by the royal palace, a building of vast extent and great
strength; in the other stands the temple of Jupiter Belus, with its
brazen gates, remaining in my time: it is a square structure; each
side measures two stadia. Within the enclosure is erected a solid
tower, measuring a stadium both in width and depth; upon this tower is
raised 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 the
topmost tower stands a large temple; and in this temple is a great
couch, handsomely fitted up; and near it stands a golden table: no
statue whatever is erected in the temple, nor does any man ever pass
the 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 same
persons say--tho I give no credit to the story--that the god himself
comes to the temple and reposes on the bed, in like manner as at
Thebes in Egypt, where also, in the temple of Jupiter, a woman passes
the night. A similar custom is observed at Pataris, in Lycia, where
there is at times an oracle, on which occasions the priestess is shut
up by night in the temple.
Within the precincts of the temple at Babylon there is a smaller
sacred edifice on the ground, containing an immense golden statue of
Jupiter in a sitting posture: around the statue are large tables,
which, with the steps and throne, are all of gold, and, as the
Chaldeans affirm, contain eight hundred talents of gold. Without this
edifice is a golden altar; there is also another altar of great size,
on which are offered full-grown animals: upon the golden altar it is
not lawful to offer sacrifices except sucklings. Once in every year,
when the festival of this god is celebrated, the Chaldeans burn upon
the 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 not
myself see it. This figure Darius Hystaspes would fain have taken, but
dared not execute his wishes; however, his son Xerxes not only took
it, but put to death the priests who endeavored to prevent its
removal. Such was the magnificence of this temple, which contained
also many private offerings.
Of this Babylon there were several monarchs--as I shall mention in my
history of the Assyrians--who adorned the city and its temples. Among
these, two young women must be mentioned. The former, named
Semiramis,[8] reigned five generations before the latter. This queen
raised an embankment worthy of admiration through the plain to confine
the river, which heretofore often spread over the level like a lake.
The latter of these two queens, named Nitocris,[9] excelled the
former in intelligence: she left monuments, some of which I must
describe. Seeing the Medes already possest of extensive empire, and
restlessly extending their power, by taking city after city, among
which was Nineveh, she resolved in good time to secure herself against
them in the best manner possible. In the first place, therefore, as
the river Euphrates ran in a straight course through the city, she
formed excavations at a distance above it, by which means its course
became so tortuous that it three times passed a certain town of
Assyria, called Ardericca; travelers from our sea,[10] in descending
the Euphrates toward Babylon, three times arrive at that town in the
course of three days. She also raised both banks of the river to an
amazing height and thickness. At some distance above Babylon, and near
the river, she dug a reservoir in the marsh, of such depth as to drain
it. The width of this excavation was such as to make its circuit four
hundred and twenty stadia. The earth removed from it was taken to
raise the banks of the river; this done, she brought stones, with
which the sides of the lake were lined. Both these works--the
diverting of the river and the reservoir--were formed with the
intention of rendering the current less rapid by its many windings,
which broke its force, and at the same time made the navigation more
circuitous; so that those who descended toward Babylon by water might
have to make a long circuit around the lake. These works were
effective 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 keep
them in ignorance of her movements.
Thus did this princess raise from the depths a fortification, within
which she was included. The city being divided into two portions by
the river in former times, whoever wished to pass from one to the
other was obliged to take a boat, which manifestly was a great
inconvenience. This defect she supplied. When she had dug the lake in
the marsh, she availed herself of the occasion to construct another
monument also, by which her fame will be perpetuated. She caused
stones of great magnitude to be hewn, and when they were ready, the
lake being empty, she turned the waters of the Euphrates into it;
which, as it filled, left the old channel dry. Then she lined both
sides of the river and the descent from the gates with burnt bricks,
in like manner as the city walls; and with the stones already
mentioned she constructed, as near the middle of the city as possible,
a bridge, binding the stones together with iron and lead. During the
day, planks of wood were extended from pier to pier, so as to form a
pathway; these were withdrawn at night, to prevent the people from
passing over to plunder one another. This bridge was, as we have said,
formed by withdrawing the water of the Euphrates into the artificial
lake; when completed, the river was restored to its ancient channel;
the propriety of this mode of proceeding then become apparent, by
means of which the citizens obtained the accommodation of a bridge.
The same queen also executed the following machination: she
constructed for herself a tomb, aloft upon a gate in one of the most
frequented ways of the city; upon the sepulcher she engraved this
inscription: "If any one of my successors, the kings of Babylon, shall
lack money, let him open the sepulcher, and take what treasures he
pleases. But let him beware of opening it from any other cause than
necessity; 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 remain
useless, and that the wealth deposited in it, and which invited
research, should not be appropriated. The gate was not used, because
no one could pass through it without having a dead body over his head.
He therefore opened the tomb, in which he found--of treasures indeed
nothing, but the corpse, and an inscription to this effect: "If thou
hadst not been insatiably eager for riches, and greedy of filthy
lucre, thou wouldst not have opened the depository of the dead." So
much for this queen and the reports that have been handed down
concerning 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 the
Great King[11] goes out to battle, he is attended by ample provisions
and cattle drawn from the home stock; and even water from the
Choaspian spring at Susa,[12] of which alone the king drinks, is
carried about for his use; for he can taste no other stream. This
Choaspian water, after having been boiled, is put into vases of
silver, 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 the
Dardanians (or Darnians), empties itself into the Tigris; and this
river, passing by the city Opis, discharges its waters into the Red
Sea.[13] When Cyrus attempted to pass this river Gyndes, which could
only be done by boats, one of the white horses called sacred, full of
mettle, plunged into the stream and endeavored to reach the opposite
bank; but, being submerged in the current, it was carried away. Cyrus,
enraged at the river for this injury, threatened to reduce it so low
that in future women should ford it with ease, not wetting their
knees. Having uttered this threat, he delayed the progress of his army
toward Babylon, and, dividing his forces into two bodies, measured out
one hundred and eighty channels to be cut from both banks of the
river, thus diverting the Gyndes on all sides. He enjoined upon his
army the work of digging these trenches, and by their numbers they
completed it; but the whole summer was spent there in the labor.
Cyrus having in this manner punished the river Gyndes, by distributing
its waters into three hundred and sixty trenches, as soon as the next
spring appeared, advanced toward Babylon. The Babylonians, coming out
in battle-array, waited his approach; when he drew nigh to the city
they engaged him, but, being defeated, retired within the walls. Some
time before, well knowing the restless intentions of Cyrus, and seeing
him attack one nation after another, they had brought into the city an
abundance of corn for many years. They therefore disregarded the
siege. But Cyrus, beset with difficulties, saw a long time pass away
without his making any progress toward the accomplishment of his
object.
At length, either at the suggestion of some one else or from a thought
of his own, he resorted to the following means: He disposed the whole
of his army, by placing one part above the city, where the river
enters it, and another part below, where it makes its exit, commanding
them as soon as they should perceive the river to be sufficiently
shallow to enter by that way. This order being given, he himself went
off with the inferior troops of the army. Arriving at the lake, he did
what 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 diverted
the water from the ancient channel, till it so far subsided as to
become fordable.
As soon as this happened, the Persians who had been appointed for this
purpose entered Babylon by the bed of the river, the water of which
was little more than knee-deep. If the Babylonians had been before
apprized of the intentions of Cyrus, or if they had learned at the
moment what he was doing, they would not have suffered the Persians to
enter the city, nor would the Babylonians have perished so
shamefully; 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 the
Persians as in a net. But the Persians came upon their opponents quite
unexpectedly; and from the great extent of the city--as it has been
affirmed by some of the inhabitants--those who dwelt in the outskirts
of the city were made prisoners before the people in the center of
Babylon knew that the place was taken. But, as it happened, they were
celebrating a festival, and were dancing and feasting when they
learned 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 Darius
Hystaspes who razed its walls and towers. Darius Hystaspes was the
father of that Darius who succeeded to the Persian throne after the
failure of male heirs to Cyrus. Xerxes carried further the work of
destruction at Babylon. Its permanent decay was accelerated still more
by the founding, in its neighborhood, of Seleucia in 300 B.C. In the
time of Pliny it had become a dismal and silent place.]
[Footnote 6: Equivalents in English feet for these measurements have
been estimated as eighty-five feet for the width and three hundred and
thirty-five feet for the height.]
[Footnote 7: Now called the Persian Gulf.]
[Footnote 8: Semiramis is regarded by modern antiquarians as a
fabulous personage. By some of them she has been identified with the
goddess Astarte.]
[Footnote 9: Antiquarians have great doubts as to the identity of this
queen. 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 of
Belshazzar, 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 the
head 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 was
excellently governed, and flourished greatly; but after him Cheops
succeeded to the throne, and plunged into all manner of wickedness. He
closed the temples and forbade the Egyptians to offer sacrifice,
compelling them instead to labor, one and all, in his service. Some
were required to drag blocks of stone down to the Nile from the
quarries in the Arabian range of hills; others received the blocks
after they had been conveyed in boats across the river, and drew them
to the range of hills called the Libyan. A hundred thousand men
labored constantly, and were relieved every three months by a fresh
lot. It took ten years' oppression of the people to make the causeway
for the conveyance of the stones, a work not much inferior, in my
judgment, to the pyramid itself. This causeway is five furlongs in
length, ten fathoms wide, and in height, at the highest part, eight
fathoms. It is built of polished stone, and is covered with carvings
of animals. To make it took ten years, as I said--or rather to make
the causeway, the works on the mound where the pyramid stands, and the
underground chambers, which Cheops intended as vaults for his own use;
these last were built on a sort of island, surrounded by water
introduced from the Nile by a canal. The pyramid itself was twenty
years in building. It is a square, eight hundred feet each way, and
the height the game, built entirely of polished stone, fitted together
with the utmost care. The stones of which it is composed are none of
them 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 machines
formed of short wooden planks. The first machine raised them from the
ground to the top of the first step. On this there was another
machine, which received the stone upon its arrival, and conveyed it to
the second step, whence a third machine advanced it still higher.
Either they had as many machines as there were steps in the pyramid or
possibly they had but a single machine, which, being easily moved,
was transferred from tier to tier as the stone rose--both accounts are
given, and therefore I mention both. The upper portion of the pyramid
was finished first, then the middle, and finally the part which was
lowest and nearest the ground. There is an inscription in Egyptian
characters on the pyramid which records the quantity of radishes,
onions, and garlic consumed by the laborers who constructed it; and I
perfectly well remember that the interpreter who read the writing to
me said that the money expended in this way was 1,600 talents of
silver. If this then is a true record, what a vast sum must have been
spent on the iron tools used in the work, and on the feeding and
clothing of the laborers, considering the length of time the work
lasted, which has already been stated, and the additional time--no
small space, I imagine--which must have been occupied by the quarrying
of the stones, their conveyance, and the formation of the underground
apartments!
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 14: From Book II of the "History." Translated by George
Rawlinson. 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 on
his first affliction a second followed of a different kind. His wife
had borne him two sons, and one of them had now reached the age of
seventeen, 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 the
time for parting came, Procles as he was sending them on their way
said, "Know you now, my children, who it was that caused your mother's
death?" The elder son took no account of this speech, but the younger,
whose name was Lycophron, was sorely troubled at it--so much so that
when he got back to Corinth, looking upon his father as his mother's
murderer, he would neither speak to him nor answer when spoken to nor
utter a word in reply to all his father's questionings. So Periander,
at last growing furious at such behavior, banished his son from his
house.
The younger son gone, he turned to the elder and asked him what it was
that their grandfather had said to them. Then the son related in how
kind and friendly a fashion the grandfather had received them; but,
not having taken any notice of the speech which Procles had uttered at
parting, he quite forgot to mention it. Periander insisted that it was
not possible this should be all--their grandfather must have given
them some hint or other--and he went on pressing his son till at last
he remembered the parting speech and told it. Periander, after he had
turned the whole matter over in his thoughts and felt unwilling to
give way at all, sent a messenger to the persons who had opened their
houses to his outcast son and forbade them to harbor him. Then the
boy, when he had been driven from one friend, sought refuge with
another, but was forced from shelter to shelter by the threats of his
father, who menaced all those that took him in, and commanded them to
shut their doors against him. Still, as fast as he was forced to leave
one house he went to another, and was received by the inmates; for his
acquaintances, altho in no small alarm, yet gave him shelter, as he
was Periander's son.
At last Periander made proclamation that whoever harbored his son, or
even spoke to him, should forfeit a certain sum of money to Apollo. On
hearing this no one any longer liked to take him in, or even to hold
converse with him, and he himself did not think it right to seek to do
what was forbidden; so, abiding by his resolve, he made his lodging in
the public porticoes. When four days had passed in this way,
Periander, seeing how wretched his son was, that he neither washed nor
took any food, felt moved with compassion toward him; wherefore,
foregoing his anger, he approached the lad, and said, "Which is
better, oh, my son, to fare as now thou farest or to receive my crown
and all the good things that I possess, on the one condition of
submitting thyself to thy father? See, now, tho my own child, and lord
of this wealthy Corinth, thou hast brought thyself to a beggar's life,
because thou must resist and treat with anger him whom it least
behooves thee to oppose. If there has been a calamity, and thou
bearest 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 deed
was done. For thyself, now that thou knowest how much better a thing
it is to be envied than pitied, and how dangerous it is to indulge
anger against parents and superiors, come back with me to thy home."
With such words as these did Periander chide his son; but the latter
made no reply except to remind his father that he was indebted to the
god in the penalty for coming and holding converse with him. Then
Periander knew there was no cure for the youth's malady, nor means of
overcoming it; so he prepared a ship and sent him away out of his
sight to Corcyra,[17] which island at that time belonged to him. As
for Procles, Periander, regarding him as the true author of all his
present troubles, went to war with him as soon as his son was gone,
and not only made himself master of his kingdom, Epidaurus, but also
took Procles himself, and carried him into captivity.
As time went on, and Periander came to be old, he found himself no
longer equal to the oversight and management of affairs. Seeing
therefore in his elder son no manner of ability, but knowing him to be
dull and blockish, he sent to Corcyra and recalled Lycophron to take
the kingdom. Lycophron, however, did not even deign to ask the bearer
of this message a question. But Periander's heart was set upon the
youth, so he sent again to him, this time by his own daughter, the
sister of Lycophron, who would, he thought, have more power to
persuade him than any other person. Then the daughter, when she had
reached Corcyra, spoke thus with her brother: "Dost thou wish the
kingdom, brother, to pass into strange hands, and our father's wealth
to be made a prey rather than thyself return to enjoy it? Come back
home with me, and cease to punish thyself. It is scant gain, this
obstinacy. Why seek to cure evil by evil? Mercy, remember, is by many
set above justice. Many, also while pushing their mother's claims have
forfeited their father's fortune. Power is a slippery thing--it has
many suitors; and he is old and stricken in years--let not thy own
inheritance 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 be
still alive, he would never go back to Corinth. When the sister
brought Periander this reply, he sent to his son a third time by a
herald, and said he would come himself to Corcyra, and let his son
take his place at Corinth, as heir to his kingdom. To these terms
Lycophron agreed; and Periander was making ready to pass into Corcyra
and his son to return to Corinth, when the Corcyreans, being informed
of what was taking place, to keep Periander away, put the young man to
death. For this reason it was that Periander took vengeance on the
Corcyreans.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 15: From Book III of the "History." Translated by George
Rawlinson. Periander was tyrant of Corinth, succeeding to power about
625 B.C. He is believed to have reigned forty years.]
[Footnote 16: A city on the coast of Argolis, one of the states of
southern Greece.]
[Footnote 17: Now known as Corfu, an island lying off the western
coast 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 between
the Athenians and Peloponnesians;[20] the Corinthians complaining that
the Athenians were blockading their colony of Potidæa, which was
occupied by a Corinthian and Peloponnesian garrison; the Athenians
rejoining that the Peloponnesians had excited to revolt a state which
was an ally and tributary of theirs, and that they had now openly
joined the Potidæans, and were fighting on their side. The
Peloponnesian war, however, had not yet broken out; the peace still
continued; for thus far the Corinthians had acted alone.
But now, seeing Potidæa[21] besieged, they bestirred themselves in
earnest. Corinthian troops were shut up within the walls, and they
were afraid of losing the town; so without delay they invited the
allies to meet at Sparta. There they inveighed against the Athenians,
whom they affirmed to have broken the treaty and to have wronged the
Peloponnesians.... The Megarians alleged, among other grounds of
complaint, that they were excluded from all harbors within the
Athenian dominion and from the Athenian market, contrary to the
treaty. The Corinthians waited until the other allies had stirred up
the Lacedæmonians; at length they came forward, and, last of all,
spoke as follows:
"The spirit of trust, Lacedæmonians, which animates your own political
and social life makes you distrust others who, like ourselves, have
something unpleasant to say, and this temper of mind, tho favorable to
moderation, too often leaves you in ignorance of what is going on
outside your own country. Time after time we have warned you of the
mischief which the Athenians would do to us, but instead of taking our
words to heart, you chose to suspect that we spoke only from
interested motives. And this is the reason why you have brought the
allies to Sparta, too late, not before but after the injury has been
inflicted, and when they are smarting under the sense of it. Which of
them all has a better right to speak than ourselves, who have the
heaviest accusations to make, outraged as we are by the Athenians, and
neglected by you? If the crimes which they are committing against
Hellas were being done in a corner, then you might be ignorant, and we
should 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 this
moment intriguing against others, notably against allies of ours; and
long ago they had made all their preparations in expectation of war.
Else why did they seduce from her allegiance Corcyra, which they still
hold in defiance of us, and why are they blockading Potidæa, the
latter a most advantageous post for the command of the Thracian
peninsula, the former a great naval power which might have assisted
the Peloponnesians?
"And the blame of all this rests on you; for you originally allowed
them to fortify their city after the Persian war, and afterward to
build their Long Walls;[22] and to this hour you have gone on
defrauding of liberty their unfortunate subjects, and are now
beginning to take it away from your own allies. For the true enslaver
of a people is he who can put an end to their slavery, but has no care
about it; and all the more, if he be reputed the champion of liberty
in Hellas. And so we have met at last, but with what difficulty! and
even now we have no definite object. By this time we ought to have
been considering, not whether we are wronged, but how we are to be
revenged. The aggressor is not now threatening, but advancing; he has
made up his mind, while we are resolved about nothing. And we know too
well how by slow degrees and with stealthy steps the Athenians
encroach upon their neighbors. While they think that you are too dull
to observe them, they are more careful; but, when they know that you
wilfully overlook their aggressions, they will strike you and not
spare. Of all Hellenes, Lacedæmonians, you are the only people who
never do anything; on the approach of an enemy, you are content to
defend yourselves against him, not by acts, but by intentions, and
seek to overthrow him, not in the infancy but in the fulness of his
strength. How came you to be considered safe? That reputation of
yours was never justified by facts. We all know that the Persian made
his way from the ends of the earth against Peloponnesus before you
encountered him in a worthy manner; and now you are blind to the
doings of the Athenians, who are not at a distance, as he was, but
close at hand. Instead of attacking your enemy, you wait to be
attacked, and take the chances of a struggle which has been deferred
until his power is doubled. And you know that the barbarian miscarried
chiefly through his own errors, and that we have oftener been
delivered from these very Athenians by blunders of their own than by
any aid from you. Some have already been ruined by the hopes which you
inspired in them; for so entirely did they trust you that they took no
precautions themselves. These things we say in no accusing or hostile
spirit--let that be understood--but by way of expostulation. For men
expostulate with erring friends; they bring accusations against
enemies who have done them a wrong.
"And surely we have a right to find fault with our neighbors if any
one ever had. There are important interests at stake to which, as far
as we can see, you are insensible. And you have never considered what
manner of men are these Athenians with whom you will have to fight,
and how utterly unlike yourselves. They are revolutionary, equally
quick in the conception and in the execution of every new plan; while
you are conservative--careful only to keep what you have, originating
nothing, and not acting even when action is most necessary. They are
bold beyond their strength; they run risks which prudence would
condemn; and in the midst of misfortune they are full of hope. Whereas
it is your nature, tho strong, to act feebly; when your plans are most
prudent, to distrust them; and when calamities come upon you, to think
that you will never be delivered from them. They are impetuous, and
you are dilatory; they are always abroad, and you are always at home.
For they hope to gain something by leaving their homes; but you are
afraid that any new enterprise may imperil what you have already. When
conquerors, they pursue their victory to the utmost; when defeated,
they fall back the least. Their bodies they devote to their country as
tho they belonged to other men; their true self is in their mind,
which is most truly their own when employed in her service. When they
do not carry out an intention which they have formed, they seem to
have sustained a personal bereavement; when an enterprise succeeds,
they have gained a mere instalment of what is to come; but if they
fail, they at once conceive new hopes and so fill up the void. With
them alone to hope is to have, for they lose not a moment in the
execution of an idea. This is the lifelong task, full of danger and
toil, which they are always imposing upon themselves. None enjoy their
good things less, because they are always seeking for more. To do
their duty is their only holiday, and they deem the quiet of inaction
to be as disagreeable as the most tiresome business. If a man should
say to them, in a word, that they were born neither to have peace
themselves nor to allow peace to other men, he would simply speak the
truth.
"In the face of such an enemy, Lacedæmonians, you persist in doing
nothing. You do not see that peace is best secured by those who use
their strength justly, but whose attitude shows that they have no
intention of submitting to wrong. Justice with you seems to consist in
giving no annoyance to others and in defending yourselves only against
positive injury. But this policy would hardly be successful, even if
your neighbors were like yourselves; and in the present case, as we
pointed out just now, your ways compared with theirs are
old-fashioned. And, as in the arts, so also in politics, the new must
always prevail over the old. In settled times the traditions of
government should be observed; but when circumstances are changing and
men are compelled to meet them, much originality is required.
"The Athenians have had a wider experience, and therefore the
administration of their state has improved faster than yours. But here
let your procrastination end; send an army at once into Attica and
assist your allies, especially the Potidæans, to whom your word is
pledged. Do not allow friends and kindred to fall into the hands of
their worst enemies, or drive us in despair to seek the alliance of
others; in taking such a course we should be doing wrong either before
the gods who are witnesses of our oaths or before men whose eyes are
upon us. For the true breakers of treaties are not only those who,
when forsaken, turn to others, but those who forsake allies whom they
have sworn to defend. We will remain your friends if you choose to
bestir yourselves; for we should be guilty of an impiety if we
deserted you without cause; and we shall not easily find allies
equally congenial to us. Take heed then; you have inherited from your
fathers the leadership of Peloponnesus; see that her greatness suffers
no diminution at your hands."
Thus spake the Corinthians. Now there happened to be staying at
Lacedæmon an Athenian embassy which had come on other business, and
when the envoys heard what the Corinthians had said, they felt bound
to go before the Lacedæmonian assembly, not with the views of
answering the accusations brought against them by the cities, but they
wanted to put before the Lacedæmonians the whole question, and make
them understand that they should take time to deliberate and not be
rash. They desired also to set forth the greatness of their city,
reminding the elder men of what they knew, and informing the younger
of what lay beyond their experience. They thought that their words
would sway the Lacedæmonians in the direction of peace. So they came
and said that, if they might be allowed, they too would like to
address 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 special
mission; observing, however, that no small outcry has arisen against
us, we have come forward, not to answer the accusations which they
bring (for you are not judges before whom either we or they have to
plead), but to prevent you from lending too ready an ear to their bad
advice and so deciding wrongly about a very serious question. We
propose also, in reply to the wider charges which are raised against
us, to show that what we have acquired we hold rightfully.
"Of the ancient deeds handed down by tradition and which no eye of any
one who hears us ever saw, why should we speak? But of the Persian
war, and other events which you yourselves remember, speak we must,
altho we have brought them forward so often that the repetition of
them is disagreeable to us. When we faced those perils we did so for
the 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 in
evidence the character of the city with which, unless you are very
careful, you will soon be involved in war. We tell you that we, first
and alone, dared to engage with the barbarian at Marathon,[23] and
that, when he came again, being too weak to defend ourselves by land,
we and our whole people embarked on shipboard and shared with the
other Hellenes in the victory of Salamis.[24] Thereby he was prevented
from sailing to the Peloponnesus and ravaging city after city; for
against so mighty a fleet how could you have helped one another? He
himself is the best witness of our words; for when he was once
defeated at sea, he felt that his power was gone and quickly retreated
with the greater part of his army.
"The event proved undeniably that the fate of Hellas depended on her
navy. And the three chief elements of success were contributed by us;
namely, the greatest number of ships, the ablest general, the most
devoted patriotism. The ships in all numbered four hundred, and of
these, our own contingent amounted to nearly two-thirds. To the
influence of Themistocles, our general, it was chiefly due that we
fought in the strait, which was confessedly our salvation; and for
this service you yourselves honored him above any stranger who ever
visited you. Thirdly, we displayed the most extraordinary courage and
devotion; there was no one to help us by land; for up to our frontier
those who lay in the enemy's path were already slaves; so we
determined to leave our city and sacrifice our homes. Even in that
extremity we did not choose to desert the cause of the allies who
still resisted, and by dispersing ourselves to become useless to them;
but we embarked and fought, taking no offense at your failure to
assist us sooner. We maintain then that we rendered you a service at
least as great as you rendered us. The cities from which you came to
help us were still inhabited and you might hope to return to them;
your concern was for yourselves and not for us; at any rate, you
remained at a distance while we had anything to lose. But we went
forth from a city which was no more, and fought for one of which there
was small hope; and yet we saved ourselves, and bore our part in
saving you. If, in order to preserve our land, like other states, we
had gone over to the Persians at first, or afterward had not ventured
to embark because our ruin was already complete, it would have been
useless for you with your weak navy to fight at sea, but everything
would have gone quietly just as the Persian desired.
"Considering, Lacedæmonians, the energy and sagacity which we then
displayed, do we deserve to be so bitterly hated by the other Hellenes
merely because we have an empire? That empire was not acquired by
force; but you would not stay and make an end of the barbarian, and
the allies came of their own accord and asked us to be their leaders.
The subsequent development of our power was originally forced upon us
by circumstances; fear was our first motive; afterward ambition, and
then interest stept in. And when we had incurred the hatred of most of
our allies, when some of them had already revolted and been
subjugated, and you were no longer the friends to us which you once
had been, but suspicious and ill-disposed, how could we without great
risk relax our hold? For the cities as fast as they fell away from us
would have gone over to you. And no man is to be reproached who seizes
every possible advantage when the danger is so great.
"At all events, Lacedæmonians, we may retort that you, in the exercise
of your supremacy, manage the cities of Peloponnesus to suit your own
views, and that if you, and not we, had persevered in the command of
the allies long enough to be hated, you would have been quite as
intolerable to them as we are, and would have been compelled, for the
sake of your own safety, to rule with a strong hand. An empire was
offered to us: can you wonder that, acting as human nature always
will, we accepted it, and refused to give it up again, constrained by
three all powerful motives, ambition, fear, interest? We are not the
first who have aspired to rule; the world has ever held that the
weaker must be kept down by the stronger. And we think that we are
worthy of power; and there was a time when you thought so too; but now
when you mean expediency you talk about justice. Did justice ever
deter any one from taking by force whatever he could? Men who indulge
the natural ambition of empire deserve credit if they are in any
degree more careful of justice than they need be. How moderate we are
would speedily appear if others took our place; indeed, our very
moderation, which should be our glory, has been unjustly converted
into a reproach.
"For because in our suits with our allies, regulated by treaty, we do
not even stand upon our rights, but have instituted the practise of
deciding them at Athens and by Athenian law, we are supposed to be
litigious. None of our opponents observes why others, who exercise
dominion elsewhere and are less moderate than we are in their dealings
with their subjects, escape this reproach. Why is it? Because men who
practise violence have no longer any need of law. But we are in the
habit of meeting our allies on terms of equality, and, therefore, if
through some legal decision of ours, or exercise of our imperial
power, contrary to their own ideas of right, they suffer ever so
little, they are not grateful for our moderation in leaving them so
much, but are far more offended at their trifling loss than if we had
from the first plundered them in the face of day, laying aside all
thought of law. For then they would themselves have admitted that the
weaker must give way to the stronger. Mankind resents injustice more
than violence, because the one seems to be an unfair advantage taken
by an equal, the other is the irresistible force of a superior. They
were patient under the yoke of the Persian, who inflicted on them far
more grievous wrongs; but now our dominion is odious in their eyes.
And no wonder: the ruler of the day is always detested by his
subjects. And should your empire supplant ours, may not you lose the
good-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 specimen
when, for a short time, you led the confederacy against the Persian.
For the institutions under which you live are incompatible with those
of foreign states; and further, when any of you goes abroad, he
respects neither these nor any other Hellenic laws.
"Do not then be hasty in deciding a question which is serious; and do
not, by listening to the misrepresentations and complaints of others,
bring trouble upon yourselves. Realize, while there is time, the
inscrutable nature of war; and how when protracted it generally ends
in becoming a mere matter of chance, over which neither of us can have
any control, the event being equally unknown and equally hazardous to
both. The misfortune is that in their hurry to go to war, men begin
with blows, and when a reverse comes upon them, then have recourse to
words. But neither you nor we have as yet committed this mistake; and
therefore while both of us can still choose the prudent part, we tell
you not to break the peace or violate your oaths. Let our differences
be determined by arbitration, according to the treaty. If you refuse,
we call to witness the gods by whom you have sworn that you are the
authors of the war; and we will do our best to strike in return."
When the Lacedæmonians had heard the charges brought by the allies
against the Athenians, and their rejoinder, they ordered everybody but
themselves to withdraw, and deliberated alone. The majority were
agreed that there was now a clear case against the Athenians, and that
they must fight at once.[25]
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 18: Jowett says Thucydides "stands absolutely alone among
historians, not only of Hellas, but of the world, in his impartiality
and love of truth." Macaulay's enthusiasm for him is well known.
Mahaffy says his work was intended to be a military history, compiled
from original documents and from personal observations made by himself
and other eye-witnesses. "There can not be the smallest doubt," adds
Mahaffy, "that, in the hands of Thucydides, the art of writing history
made an extraordinary stride and attained a perfection which no
subsequent Hellenic, and few modern writers have attained." He is
praised for the "lofty dignity" which he imparts to every subject. His
temper is so solemn and severe as to be "strangely un-Attic." Among
his great and enduring merits is the fact that he has "taught us to
know more of Greek interpolitical life than all other Greek writers
put together." No historian has been greater than he, not only in
dignity of language, but in calmness of judgment, in intellectual
force, 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 peninsula
which forms the southern part of Greece, and which is now known as
Morea. In ancient times this territory was called the Peloponnesus.
Its people comprized the inhabitants of several political domains
called Achaia, Sicyonia, Corinthia, Argolis, Arcadia, Laconia,
Messenia, and Elis. Laconia was otherwise, and quite anciently, known
as Lacedæmon, its capital being the city of Sparta.]
[Footnote 21: Potidæa, the modern Pinaka, had revolted from Athens in
432 B.C., but did not capitulate until the end of the second year of
the Peloponnesian war. It was a rich and flourishing town, originally
Dorian, but colonized later from Corinth. During one of the Eastern
invasions 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 were
separated from each other by about 500 feet of space. This intervening
land was used for a carriage road, on either side of which were
houses. Thus was formed a continuous walled street from Athens to the
sea, so that communication in case of war was made secure.]
[Footnote 23: The battle of Marathon was fought in September, 490. It
ended the attempts of Darius to subdue Greece.]
[Footnote 24: The battle of Salamis took place in September, 480, and
was fought in waters lying between the Piræus and the island of
Salamis. Themistocles commanded the Greeks. The Persian ships were
practically 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 the
plague broke out at Athens for the first time. A similar disorder is
said to have previously smitten many places, particularly Lemnos;[27]
but there is no record of such a pestilence occurring elsewhere, or of
so great a destruction of human life. For a while physicians, in
ignorance of the nature of the disease, sought to apply remedies; but
it was in vain, and they themselves were among the first victims,
because they oftenest came into contact with it. No human art was of
any avail, and as to supplications in temples, inquiries of oracles,
and the like, they were utterly useless, and at last men were
overpowered by the calamity and gave up all remedies.
The disease is said to have begun south of Egypt in Ethiopia; thence
it descended into Egypt and Libya, and after spreading over the
greater part of the Persian empire, suddenly fell upon Athens. It
first attacked the inhabitants of the Piræus, and it was supposed that
the Peloponnesians had poisoned the cisterns, no conduits having as
yet been made there. It afterward reached the upper city, and then the
mortality became far greater. As to its probable origin or the causes
which might or could have produced such a disturbance of nature, every
man, whether a physician or not, will give his own opinion. But I
shall describe its actual course, and the symptoms by which any one
who knows them beforehand may recognize the disorder should it ever
reappear. For I was myself attacked, and witnessed the sufferings of
others.
The season was admitted to have been remarkably free from ordinary
sickness; and if anybody was already ill of any other disease, it was
absorbed in this. Many who were in perfect health, all in a moment,
and without any apparent reason, were seized with violent heats in the
head and with redness and inflammation of the eyes. Internally the
throat and the tongue were quickly suffused with blood, and the breath
became unnatural and fetid. There followed sneezing and hoarseness; in
a short time the disorder, accompanied by a violent cough, reached the
chest; then fastening lower down, it would move the stomach and bring
on all the vomits of bile to which physicians have ever given names;
and they were very distressing. An ineffectual retching producing
violent convulsions attacked most of the sufferers; some as soon as
the previous symptoms had abated, others not until long afterward. The
body externally was not so very hot to the touch, nor yet pale; it was
of a livid color inclining to red, and breaking out in pustules and
ulcers. But the internal fever was intense; the sufferers could not
bear to have on them even the finest linen garment; they insisted on
being naked, and there was nothing which they longed for more eagerly
than to throw themselves into cold water. And many of those who had no
one to look after them actually plunged into the cisterns, for they
were tormented by unceasing thirst, which was not in the least
assuaged whether they drank little or much. They could not sleep; a
restlessness 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 they
died on the seventh or ninth day, not of weakness, for their strength
was not exhausted, but of internal fever, which was the end of most;
or, if they survived, then the disease descended into the bowels and
there produced violent ulcerations; severe diarrhea at the same time
set in, and at a later stage caused exhaustion, which finally with few
exceptions carried them off. For the disorder, which had originally
settled in the head, passed gradually through the whole body, and, if
a person got over the worst, would often seize the extremities and
leave its mark, attacking the privy parts and the fingers and the
toes; and some escaped with the loss of these, some with the loss of
their eyes. Some, again, had no sooner recovered than they were seized
with a forgetfulness of all things and knew neither themselves nor
their friends.
The malady took a form not to be described, and the fury with which it
fastened upon each sufferer was too much for human nature to endure.
There was one circumstance in particular which distinguished it from
ordinary diseases. The birds and animals, which feed on human flesh,
altho so many bodies were lying unburied, either never went near them
or died if they touched them. This was proved by a remarkable
disappearance of the birds of prey, which were not to be seen either
about the bodies or anywhere else; while in the case of the dogs the
fact was even more obvious, because they live with man.
Such was the general nature of the disease; I omit many strange
peculiarities which characterized individual cases. None of the
ordinary sicknesses attacked any one while it lasted, or, if they did,
they ended in the plague. Some of the sufferers died from want of
care, others equally who were receiving the greatest attention. No
single remedy could be deemed a specific; for that which did good to
one did harm to another. No constitution was of itself strong enough
to resist or weak enough to escape the attacks; the disease carried
off all alike and defied every mode of treatment. Most appalling was
the despondency which seized upon any one who felt himself sickening;
for he instantly abandoned his mind to despair and, instead of holding
out, absolutely threw away his chance of life. Appalling too was the
rapidity with which men caught the infection, dying like sheep if they
attended on one another, and this was the principal cause of
mortality. When they were afraid to visit one another, the sufferers
died in their solitude, so that many houses were empty because there
had been no one left to take care of the sick; or if they ventured
they perished, especially those who aspired to heroism. For they went
to see their friends without thought of themselves and were ashamed to
leave them, even at a time when the very relatives of the dying were
at last growing weary and ceased to make lamentations, overwhelmed by
the vastness of the calamity. But whatever instances there may have
been of such devotion, more often the sick and the dying were tended
by the pitying care of those who had recovered, because they knew the
course of the disease and were themselves free from apprehension. For
no one was ever attacked a second time, or not with a fatal result.
All men congratulated them; and they themselves, in the excess of
their joy at the moment, had an innocent fancy that they could not die
of any other sickness.
The crowding of the people out of the country into the city aggravated
the misery, and the newly arrived suffered most. For, having no houses
of their own, but inhabiting, in the height of summer, stifling huts,
the mortality among them was dreadful, and they perished in wild
disorder. The dead lay as they had died, one upon another, while
others hardly alive wallowed in the streets and crawled about every
fountain craving for water. The temples in which they lodged were full
of the corpses of those who had died in them; for the violence of the
calamity was such that men, not knowing where to turn, grew reckless
of all law, human and divine. The customs which had hitherto been
observed at funerals were universally violated, and they buried their
dead each one as best he could. Many, having no proper appliances,
because the deaths in their household had been so frequent, made no
scruple of using the burial-place of others. When one man had raised a
funeral pile, others would come, and throwing on their dead first, set
fire to it; or when some other corpse was already burning, before they
could be stopt would throw their own dead upon it and depart.
There were other and worse forms of lawlessness which the plague
introduced at Athens. Men who had hitherto concealed their indulgence
in pleasure now grew bolder. For, seeing the sudden change--how the
rich died in a moment, and those who had nothing immediately inherited
their property--they reflected that life and riches were alike
transitory, and they resolved to enjoy themselves while they could,
and to think only of pleasure. Who would be willing to sacrifice
himself to the law of honor when he knew not whether he would ever
live to be held in honor? The pleasure of the moment and any sort of
thing which conduced to it took the place both of honor and of
expediency. No fear of God or law of man deterred a criminal. Those
who saw all perishing alike thought that the worship or neglect of the
gods made no difference. For offenses against human law no punishment
was to be feared; no one would live long enough to be called to
account. Already a far heavier sentence had been passed and was
hanging over a man's head; before that feeling, why should he not take
a little pleasure?
Such was the grievous calamity which now afflicted the Athenians;
within the walls their people were dying, and without, their country
was being ravaged. In their troubles they naturally called to mind a
verse which the elder men among them declared to have been current
long ago:
"A Dorian war will come and a plague with it."
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 25: The Peloponnesian war broke out in 431 B.C., and lasted
until 404. Its result was the abasement of Athens and the elevation of
Sparta to supreme power in Greece. When it began, Athens with her
allies included all the coast cities of Asia Minor as far south as
Lycia, the cities bordering on the Thracian and Chalcidian shores, and
nearly all the islands of the Ægean Sea. Sparta at the same time was
leader in a confederacy of independent states, among which were nearly
all the Peloponnesian states, besides some of those in northern
Greece, those of Magna Græcia and Sicily. Athens was strong in her
navy, which comprized 300 galleys, while the Spartan strength lay in
her land forces. The treasury of Athens was full, that of Sparta weak.
After the war, the walls of Athens were demolished and she was
deprived of her foreign possessions. The government set over her was
an oligarchy of thirty persons, known in history as the thirty
tyrants. These men soon made their harsh rule so intolerable that
within sixteen months after Athens surrendered to Sparta they were
deposed 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 area
being 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. Orders
had been previously given to most of the allies, to the corn-ships,
the smaller craft, and generally to the vessels in attendance on the
armament that they should muster at Corcyra, whence the whole fleet
was to strike across the Ionian Gulf to the promontory of Iapygia.[29]
Early in the morning of the day appointed for their departure, the
Athenians and such of their allies as had already joined them went
down to the Piræus and began to man the ships. The entire population
of Athens accompanied them, citizens and strangers alike. The citizens
came 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 and
full of tears; hope of conquering Sicily, tears because they doubted
whether they would ever see their friends again, when they thought of
the long voyage on which they were sending them. At the moment of
parting, the danger was nearer; and terrors which had never occurred
to them when they were voting the expedition now entered into their
souls. Nevertheless their spirits revived at the sight of the armament
in 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 exceeded
belief.
No armament so magnificent or costly had ever been sent out by any
single Hellenic power, tho in mere number of ships and hoplites that
which sailed to Epidaurus under Pericles and afterward under Hagnon to
Potidæa was not inferior. For that expedition consisted of a hundred
Athenian and fifty Chian and Lesbian triremes, conveying four thousand
hoplites, all Athenian citizens, three hundred cavalry, and a
multitude of allied troops. Still the voyage was short and the
equipments were poor, whereas this expedition was intended to be long
absent, 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 the
trierarchs and the state. The public treasury gave a drachma a day to
each sailor, and furnished empty hulls for sixty swift sailing
vessels, and for forty transports carrying hoplites. All these were
manned with the best crews which could be obtained. The trierarchs,
besides the pay given by the state, added somewhat more out of their
own means to the wages of the upper ranks of rowers and of the petty
officers. The figureheads and other fittings provided by the
trierarchs were of the most costly description. Every one strove to
the utmost that his own ship might excel both in beauty and
swiftness. The infantry had been well selected and the lists carefully
made up. There was the keenest rivalry among the soldiers in the
matter of arms and personal equipment.
And while at home the Athenians were thus competing with one another
in the performance of their several duties, to the rest of Hellas the
expedition seemed to be a grand display of their power and greatness,
rather than a preparation for war. If any one had reckoned up the
whole expenditure (1) of the state, (2) of individual soldiers and
others, including in the first not only what the city had already laid
out, but what was entrusted to the generals, and in the second what
either at the time or afterward private persons spent upon their
outfit, or the trierarchs upon their ships, the provision for the long
voyage which every one may be supposed to have carried with him over
and above his public pay, and what soldiers or traders may have taken
for purposes of exchange, he would have found that altogether an
immense sum amounting to many talents was withdrawn from the city. Men
were quite amazed at the boldness of the scheme and the magnificence
of the spectacle, which were everywhere spoken of, no less than at the
great disproportion of the force when compared with that of the enemy
against whom it was intended. Never had a greater expedition been sent
to a foreign land; never was there an enterprise in which the hope of
future success seemed to be better justified by actual power.
When the ships were manned and everything required for the voyage had
been placed on board, silence was proclaimed by the sound of the
trumpet, and all with one voice before setting sail offered up the
customary prayers; these were recited, not in each ship, but by a
single herald, the whole fleet accompanying him. On every deck both
officers and men, mingling wine in bowls, made libations from vessels
of gold and silver. The multitude of citizens and other well-wishers
who were looking on from the land joined in the prayer. The crews
raised the pæan, and when the libations were completed, put to sea.
After sailing out for some distance in single file, the ships raced
with one another as far as Ægina;[30] thence they hastened onward to
Corcyra, where the allies who formed the rest of the army were
assembling.
Meanwhile reports of the expedition were coming in to Syracuse from
many quarters, but for a long time nobody gave credit to them. At
length an assembly was held. Even then different opinions were
exprest, some affirming and others denying that the expedition was
coming. At last Hermocrates,[31] the son of Hermon, believing that he
had certain information, came forward, and warned the Syracusans....
Great was the contention which his words aroused among the Syracusan
people, some asserting that the Athenians would never come, and that
he 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 whole
matter. A few only believed Hermocrates and realized the danger. At
last Athenagoras, the popular leader, who had at that time the
greatest 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, and
disposed them in the order in which they were to anchor at their
stations. The fleet was divided into three squadrons, and one of them
assigned by lot to each of the three generals, in order to avoid any
difficulties which might occur, if they sailed together, in finding
water, anchorage, and provisions where they touched; they thought also
that the presence of a general in each division would promote good
order and discipline throughout the fleet. They then sent before them
to Italy and Sicily three ships, which had orders to find out what
cities in those regions would receive them, and to meet them again on
their way, that they might know before they put in.
At length the great armament proceeded to cross from Corcyra to
Sicily. It consisted of a hundred and thirty-four triremes in all,
besides two Rhodian vessels of fifty oars. Of these a hundred were
Athenian, sixty being swift vessels, and the remaining forty
transports; the rest of the fleet was furnished by the Chians and
other allies. The hoplites numbered in all five thousand one hundred,
of whom fifteen hundred were Athenians taken from the roll, and seven
hundred who served as marines were of the fourth and lowest class of
Athenian citizens. The remainder of the hoplites were furnished by the
allies, mostly by the subject states; but five hundred came from
Argos, besides two hundred and fifty Mantinean and other mercenaries.
The archers were in all four hundred and eighty, of whom eighty were
Cretans. There were seven hundred Rhodian slingers, a hundred and
twenty light-armed Megarians who were exiles, and one horse transport
which 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 also
conveyed bakers, masons, carpenters, and tools such as are required in
sieges, were included in the armament. It was likewise attended by a
hundred small vessels; these as well as the merchant-vessels, were
prest into the service. Other merchant-vessels and lesser craft in
great numbers followed of their own accord for purposes of trade. The
whole fleet now struck across the Ionian Sea from Corcyra. They
arrived at the promontory of Iapygia and at Tarentum,[32] each ship
taking its own course, and passed along the coast of Italy. The
Italian cities did not admit them within their walls, or open a market
to them, but allowed them water and anchorage; Tarentum and Locri[33]
refused even these. At length they reached Rhegium,[34] the extreme
point of Italy, where the fleet reunited. As they were not received
within the walls, they encamped outside the city, at the temple of
Artemis; there they were provided by the inhabitants with a market,
and drawing up their ships on shore they took a rest. They held a
conference with the Rhegians, and prest them, being Chalcidians
themselves, to aid their Chalcidian kinsmen the Leontines. But the
Rhegians replied that they would be neutral, and would only act in
accordance with the decision of all the Italian Greeks. The Athenian
commanders now began to consider how they could best commence
operations in Sicily. Meanwhile they were expecting the ships which
had gone on and were to meet them from Egesta;[35] for they wished to
know whether the Egestæans really had the money of which the
messengers 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 this
fleet the war had been in progress sixteen years. Syracuse, a Greek
colony, founded from Corinth, had now become an ally of Sparta against
Athens.]
[Footnote 29: Iapygia lies in what is now Apulia, southern Italy. It
is the extreme southern point of the "heel" of the "boot."]
[Footnote 30: An island in the Saronic Gulf, lying immediately south
of Attica; in an artistic and historical sense, one of the most
celebrated of Greek islands.]
[Footnote 31: One of the three generals of Syracuse entrusted with the
defense of the city. His character was "one of the brightest and
purest" 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 of
that name.]
[Footnote 33: The city of Locri lay near Gerace, a town in the
extremity of the "toe" of the "boot." It was allied with Syracuse in
the fourth century.]
[Footnote 34: The modern Reggio, which lies opposite Messina, and
which, like Messina, was destroyed in the earthquake of 1908.]
[Footnote 35: Also written Segesta, a city in northwestern Sicily, six
miles from the coast and about twenty-five miles west of Palermo. The
modern city of Aleamo stands near its site. Segesta traced its
foundation to fugitives from Troy. Among its notable ruins is a Greek
temple in the Doric order, which is one of the finest that have
survived to our time.]
IV
COMPLETION OF THE ATHENIAN DEFEAT AT SYRACUSE[36] (413 B.C.)
The Syracusans and the allies naturally thought that the struggle
would be brought to a glorious end if, after having defeated the
Athenian fleet, they took captive the whole of their great armament,
and did not allow them to escape either by sea or land. So they at
once began to close the mouth of the Great Harbor, which was about a
mile wide, by means of triremes, merchant-vessels, and small boats,
placed broadside, which they moored there. They made every preparation
also for a naval engagement, should the Athenians be willing to hazard
another; and all their thoughts were on a grand scale.
The Athenians, seeing the closing of the harbor and inferring the
intentions of the enemy, proceeded to hold a council. The generals and
officers met and considered the difficulties of their position. The
most pressing was the want of food. For they had already sent to
Catana,[37] when they intended to depart, and stopt the supplies; and
they could get no more unless they recovered the command of the sea.
They resolved therefore to quit their lines on the higher ground and
to cut off by a cross-wall a space close to their ships, no greater
than was absolutely required for their baggage and for their sick;
after leaving a guard there, they meant to put on board every other
man, and to launch all their ships, whether fit for service or not;
they would then fight a decisive battle, and, if they conquered, go to
Catana; but if not, they would burn their ships, and retreat by land
in good order, taking the nearest way to some friendly country,
barbarian or Hellenic.
This design they proceeded to execute, and, withdrawing quietly from
the upper walls, manned their whole fleet, compelling every man of any
age at all suitable for service to embark. The entire number of the
ships which they manned was about a hundred and ten. They put on board
numerous archers and javelin-men, Acarnanians,[38] and other
foreigners, and made such preparations for action as the nature of the
plan imposed upon them by their necessities allowed. When all was
nearly ready, Nicias,[39] perceiving that the soldiers were deprest by
their severe defeat at sea, which was no new experience to them,
while at the same time the want of provisions made them impatient to
risk a battle with the least possible delay, called his men together
and before they engaged exhorted them....
Nicias gave orders to man the ships. Gylippus[40] and the Syracusans
could see clearly enough from the preparations which the Athenians
were making that they were going to fight. But they had also previous
notice, and had been told of the iron grapnels; and they took
precautions against this as against all the other devices of the
Athenians. They covered the prows of their vessels with hides,
extending a good way along the upper part of their sides, so that the
grapnels might slip and find no hold. When all was ready, Gylippus and
the other generals exhorted their men....
When Gylippus and the other Syracusan generals had, like Nicias,
encouraged their troops, perceiving the Athenians to be manning their
ships, they presently did the same. Nicias, overwhelmed by the
situation, and seeing how great and how near the peril was (for the
ships were on the very point of rowing out), feeling too, as men do on
the 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, and
the name of his tribe, he entreated those who had made any reputation
for themselves not to be false to it, and those whose ancestors were
eminent not to tarnish their hereditary fame. He reminded them that
they were the inhabitants of the freest country in the world, and how
in Athens there was no interference with the daily life of any man. He
spoke to them of their wives and children and their fathers' gods, as
men will at such a time; for then they do not care whether their
common-place phrases seem to be out of date or not, but loudly
reiterate the old appeals, believing that they may be of some service
at the awful moment. When he thought that he had exhorted them, not
enough, but as much as the scanty time allowed, he retired, and led
the land-forces to the shore, extending the line as far as he could,
so that they might be of the greatest use in encouraging the
combatants on board ship. Demosthenes,[41] Menander, and Euthydemus,
who had gone on board the Athenian fleet to take command, now quitted
their own station, and proceeded straight to the closed mouth of the
harbor, intending to force their way to the open sea where a passage
was still left.
The Syracusans and their allies had already put out with nearly the
same number of ships as before. A detachment of them guarded the
entrance of the harbor; the remainder were disposed all round it in
such a manner that they might fall on the Athenians from every side at
once, and that their land-forces might at the same time be able to
cooperate whenever the ships retreated to the shore. Sicanus and
Agatharchus commanded the Syracusan fleet, each of them a wing; Pythen
and the Corinthians occupied the center.
When the Athenians approached the closed mouth of the harbor, the
violence of their onset overpowered the ships which were stationed
there; they then attempted to loosen the fastenings. Whereupon from
all sides the Syracusans and their allies came bearing down upon them,
and the conflict was no longer confined to the entrance, but extended
throughout the harbor. No previous engagement had been so fierce and
obstinate. Great was the eagerness with which the rowers on both sides
rushed upon their enemies whenever the word of command was given; and
keen was the contest between the pilots as they maneuvered one against
another. The marines too were full of anxiety that, when ship struck
ship, the service on deck should not fall short of the rest; every one
in the place assigned to him was eager to be foremost among his
fellows. Many vessels meeting--and never did so many fight in so small
a space, for the two fleets together amounted to nearly two
hundred--they were seldom able to strike in the regular manner,
because they had no opportunity of first retiring or breaking the
line; they generally fouled one another as ship dashed against ship in
the hurry of flight or pursuit. All the time that another vessel was
bearing down, the men on deck poured showers of javelins and arrows
and stones upon the enemy; and when the two closed, the marines fought
hand to hand, and endeavored to board. In many places, owing to the
want of room, they who had struck another found that they were struck
themselves; often two or even more vessels were unavoidably entangled
about one, and the pilots had to make plans of attack and defense,
not against one adversary only, but against several coming from
different sides.
The crash of so many ships dashing against one another took away the
wits of the sailors, and made it impossible to hear the boatswains,
whose voices in both fleets rose high, as they gave directions to the
rowers, or cheered them on in the excitement of the struggle. On the
Athenians' side they were shouting to their men that they must force a
passage and seize the opportunity now or never of returning in safety
to their native land. To the Syracusans and their allies was
represented the glory of preventing the escape of their enemies, and
of a victory by which every man would exalt the honor of his own city.
The commanders, too, when they saw any ship backing water without
necessity, would call the captain by his name, and ask, of the
Athenians, whether they were retreating because they expected to be
more at home upon the land of their bitterest foes than upon that sea
which had been their own so long; on the Syracusan side, whether, when
they knew perfectly well that the Athenians were only eager to find
some means of flight, they would themselves fly from the fugitives.
While the naval engagement hung in the balance, the two armies on
shore had great trial and conflict of soul. The Sicilian soldier was
animated by the hope of increasing the glory which he had already won,
while the invader was tormented by the fear that his fortunes might
sink lower still. The last chance of the Athenians lay in their ships,
and their anxiety was dreadful. The fortune of the battle varied; and
it was not possible that the spectators on the shore should all
receive the same impression of it. Being quite close and having
different points of view, they would some of them see their own ships
victorious; their courage would then revive, and they would earnestly
call upon the gods not to take from them their hope of deliverance.
But others, who saw their ships worsted, cried and shrieked aloud, and
were by the sight alone more utterly unnerved than the defeated
combatants themselves. Others again who had fixt their gaze on some
part of the struggle which was undecided, were in a state of
excitement still more terrible; they kept swaying their bodies to and
fro in an agony of hope and fear as the stubborn conflict went on and
on; for at every instant they were all but saved or all but lost. And
while the strife hung in the balance, you might hear in the Athenian
army at once lamentation, shouting, cries of victory or defeat, and
all the various sounds which are wrung from a great host in extremity
of danger. Not less agonizing were the feelings of those on board.
At length the Syracusans and their allies, after a protracted
struggle, put the Athenians to flight, and triumphantly bearing down
upon them, and encouraging one another with loud cries and
exhortations, drove them to the land. Then that part of the navy which
had not been taken in the deep water fell back in confusion to the
shore, and the crews rushed out of the ships into the camp. And the
land-forces, no longer now divided in feeling, but uttering one
universal groan of intolerable anguish ran, some of them to save the
ships, others to defend what remained of the wall; but the greater
number began to look to themselves and to their own safety. Never had
there been a greater panic in an Athenian army than at that moment.
They now suffered what they had done to others at Pylos. For at
Pylos[42] the Lacedæmonians, when they saw their ships destroyed, knew
that their friends who had crossed over into the island of
Sphacteria[43] were lost with them. And so now the Athenians, after
the rout of their fleet, knew that they had no hope of saving
themselves by land unless events took some extraordinary turn.
Thus, after a fierce battle and great destruction of ships and men on
both sides, the Syracusans and their allies gained the victory. They
gathered up the wrecks and bodies of the dead, and sailing back to the
city, erected a trophy. The Athenians, overwhelmed by their misery,
never so much as thought of recovering their wrecks or of asking leave
to collect their dead. Their intention was to retreat that very
night....
On the third day after the sea-fight, when Nicias and Demosthenes
thought that their preparations were complete, the army began to move.
They were in a dreadful condition; not only was there the great fact
that they had lost their whole fleet, and instead of their expected
triumph had brought the utmost peril upon Athens as well as upon
themselves, but also the sights which presented themselves as they
quitted the camp were painful to every eye and mind. The dead were
unburied, and when any one saw the body of a friend lying on the
ground he was smitten with sorrow and dread, while the sick or wounded
who still survived but had to be left were even a greater trial to the
living, and more to be pitied than those who were gone. Their prayers
and lamentations drove their companions to distraction; they would beg
that they might be taken with them, and call by name any friend or
relative whom they saw passing; they would hang upon their departing
comrades and follow as far as they could, and when their limbs and
strength failed them and they dropt behind, many were the imprecations
and cries which they uttered. So that the whole army was in tears, and
such was their despair that they could hardly make up their minds to
stir altho they were leaving an enemy's country, having suffered
calamities too great for tears already, and dreading miseries yet
greater in the unknown future.
There was also a general feeling of shame and self-reproach--indeed
they seemed, not like an army, but like a fugitive population of a
city captured after a siege, and of a great city too. For the whole
multitude who were marching together numbered not less than forty
thousand. Each of them took with him anything he could carry which was
likely to be of use. Even the heavy-armed and cavalry, contrary to
their practise when under arms, conveyed about their persons their own
food, some because they had no attendants, others because they could
not trust them; for they had long been deserting, and most of them
had gone off all at once. Nor was the food which they carried
sufficient, for the supplies of the camp had failed. Their disgrace
and the universality of the misery, altho there might be some
consolation in the very community of suffering, was nevertheless at
that moment hard to bear, especially when they remembered from what
pomp and splendor they had fallen into their present low estate. Never
had a Hellenic army experienced such a reverse. They had come
intending to enslave others, and they were going away in fear that
they would be themselves enslaved. Instead of the prayers and hymns
with which they had put to sea, they were now departing amid appeals
to heaven of another sort. They were no longer sailors but landsmen,
depending, not upon their fleet but upon their infantry. Yet in face
of the great danger which still threatened them all these things
appeared endurable....
When daylight broke and the Syracusans and their allies saw that the
Athenians had departed, most of them thought that Gylippus had let
them go on purpose, and were very angry with him. They easily found
the line of their retreat, and quickly following came up with them
about the time of the midday meal. The troops of Demosthenes were
last; they were marching slowly and in disorder, not having recovered
from the panic of the previous night, when they were overtaken by the
Syracusans, who immediately fell upon them and fought. Separated as
they were from the others, they were easily hemmed in by the Syracusan
cavalry and driven into a narrow space. The division of Nicias was as
much as six miles in advance, for he marched faster, thinking that
their 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 harassed
throughout the retreat, because marching last, was first attacked by
the enemy; now, when he saw the Syracusans pursuing him, instead of
pressing onward, had ranged his army in order of battle. Thus
lingering he was surrounded, and he and the Athenians under his
command were in the greatest danger and confusion. For they were
crusht into a walled enclosure, having a road on both sides and
planted thickly with olive-trees, and missiles were hurled at them
from all points. The Syracusans naturally preferred this mode of
attack to a regular engagement. For to risk themselves against
desperate men would have been only playing into the hands of the
Athenians. Moreover, every one was sparing of his life; their good
fortune was already assured, and they did not wish to fall in the hour
of victory. Even by this irregular mode of fighting they thought that
they could overpower and capture the Athenians.
And so when they had gone on all day assailing them with missiles from
every quarter, and saw that they were quite worn out with their wounds
and all their other sufferings, Gylippus and the Syracusans made a
proclamation, first of all to the islanders, that any of them who
pleased might come over to them and have their freedom. But only a few
cities accepted the offer. At length an agreement was made for the
entire force under Demosthenes. Their arms were to be surrendered but
no one was to suffer death, either from violence or from imprisonment,
or from want of the bare means of life. So they all surrendered, being
in number six thousand, and gave up what money they had. This they
threw into the hollows of shields and filled four. The captives were
at once taken to the city. On the same day Nicias and his division
reached the river Erineus, which he crossed, and halted his army on a
rising ground.
On the following day, he was overtaken by the Syracusans, who told him
that Demosthenes had surrendered, and bade him do the same. He, not
believing them, procured a truce while he sent a horseman to go and
see. Upon the return of the horseman bringing assurance of the fact,
he sent a herald to Gylippus and the Syracusans, saying that he would
agree, on behalf of the Athenian state, to pay the expenses which the
Syracusans had incurred in the war, on condition that they should let
his army go; until the money was paid he would give Athenian citizens
as hostages, a man for a talent. Gylippus and the Syracusans would not
accept these proposals, but attacked and surrounded this division of
the army as well as the other, and hurled missiles at them from every
side until the evening. They too were grievously in want of food and
necessaries. Nevertheless they meant to wait for the dead of the night
and then to proceed. They were just resuming their arms, when the
Syracusans discovered them and raised the pæan. The Athenians,
perceiving that they were detected, laid down their arms again, with
the exception of about three hundred men who broke through the enemy's
guard, and made their escape in the darkness as best they could.
When the day dawned Nicias led forward his army, and the Syracusans
and the allies again assailed them on every side, hurling javelins and
other missiles at them. The Athenians hurried on to the river
Assinarus. They hoped to gain a little relief if they forded the
river, for the mass of horsemen and other troops overwhelmed and
crusht them; and they were worn out by fatigue and thirst. But no
sooner did they reach the water than they lost all order and rushed
in; every man was trying to cross first, and, the enemy pressing upon
them at the same time, the passage of the river became hopeless. Being
compelled to keep close together they fell one upon another, and
trampled each other under foot; some at once perished, pierced by
their own spears; others got entangled in the baggage and were carried
down the stream. The Syracusans stood upon the further bank of the
river, which was steep, and hurled missiles from above on the
Athenians, who were huddled together in the deep bed of the stream and
for the most part were drinking greedily. The Peloponnesians came down
the bank and slaughtered them, falling chiefly upon those who were in
the river. Whereupon the water at once became foul but was drunk all
the same, altho muddy and dyed with blood, and the crowd fought for
it.
At last, when the dead bodies were lying in heaps upon one another in
the water and the army was utterly undone, some perishing in the
river, and any one who escaped being cut off by the cavalry, Nicias
surrendered to Gylippus, in whom he had more confidence than in the
Syracusans. He entreated him and the Lacedæmonians to do what they
pleased with himself, but not to go on killing the men. So Gylippus
gave the word to make prisoners. Thereupon the survivors, not
including, however, a large number whom the soldiers concealed, were
brought in alive. As for the three hundred who had broken through the
guard in the night, the Syracusans sent in pursuit and seized them.
The total of the public prisoners when collected was not great; for
many were appropriated by the soldiers, and the whole of Sicily was
full of them, they not having capitulated like the troops under
Demosthenes. A large number also perished; the slaughter at the river
being very great, quite as great as any which took place in the
Sicilian war; and not a few had fallen in the frequent attacks which
were made upon the Athenians during the march. Still many escaped,
some at the time, others ran away after an interval of slavery, and
all these found refuge at Catana.
The Syracusans and their allies collected their forces and returned
with the spoil, and as many prisoners as they could take with them,
into the city. The captive Athenians and allies they deposited in the
quarries, which they thought would be the safest place of confinement.
Nicias and Demosthenes they put to the sword, altho against the will
of Gylippus. For Gylippus thought that to carry home with him to
Lacedæmon the generals of the enemy, over and above all his other
successes, would be a brilliant triumph. One of them, Demosthenes,
happened to be the greatest foe, and the other the greatest friend of
the Lacedæmonians, both in the same matter of Pylos and Sphacteria....
Those who were imprisoned in the quarries were at the beginning of
their captivity harshly treated by the Syracusans. There were great
numbers of them, and they were crowded in a deep and narrow place. At
first the sun by day was scorching and suffocating, for they had no
roof over their heads, while the autumn nights were cold, and the
extremes of temperature engendered violent disorders. Being cramped
for room, they had to do everything on the same spot. The corpses of
those who had died from their wounds, exposure to the weather, and the
like lay heaped one upon another. The smells were intolerable; and the
prisoners were at the same time afflicted by hunger and thirst. During
eight months they were allowed only about half a pint of water and a
pint of food a day.[44] Every kind of misery which could befall man in
such a place befell them. This was the condition of all the captives
for about ten weeks. At length the Syracusans sold them, with the
exception of the Athenians and of any Sicilian or Italian Greeks who
had sided with them in the war. The whole number of the public
prisoners is not accurately known, but they were not less than seven
thousand.
Of all the Hellenic actions which took place in this war, or indeed of
all Hellenic actions which are on record, this was the greatest--the
most glorious to the victors, the most ruinous to the vanquished; for
they were utterly and at all points defeated, and their sufferings
were 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 all
written history," says John Morley of this book. Gray, the poet, in
one of his letters, inquired, "Is it, or is it not, the finest thing
you ever read in your life?" Macaulay, in a letter once wrote: "I do
assure you that there is no prose composition in the world that I
place so high as the Seventh book of Thucydides. Tacitus was a great
man, but he was not up to the Sicilian expedition." Praise is given to
this chapter by Mahaffy for "the sustained splendor of the narrative."
Grote had profound admiration for the famous picture contained in the
selection here given. He refers to its "condensed and burning phrases"
as imparting an impression which modern historians have sought in vain
to convey.]
[Footnote 37: The modern Catania, on the east coast of Sicily.]
[Footnote 38: The people of Acarnania, a province of Greece, lying on
the Ionian Sea south of the Ambracian Gulf.]
[Footnote 39: Commander of the Athenians.]
[Footnote 40: The Spartan general who had been sent to Syracuse by
advice of Alcibiades after he went over to the enemy.]
[Footnote 41: Next under Nicias in command of the expedition. He died
twenty-nine years before the birth of the orator of the same name.]
[Footnote 42: Here occurred one of the most memorable events in the
Peloponnesian war, the defense of Pylos under Demosthenes.]
[Footnote 43: This island lies immediately south of Pylos. It is long
and narrow and guards the Bay of Navarino, the largest harbor in
Greece, 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 the
amount 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 the
Elder, was the most princely and most worthy of empire, as is agreed
by all who appear to have had personal knowledge of him. In the first
place, while he was yet with his brother and the other youths, he was
a boy, and when he was receiving his education thought to surpass them
all in everything. For without exception the sons of the Persian
nobles are educated at the gates of the king;[46] where they may learn
many a lesson of virtuous conduct, but can see or hear nothing
disgraceful. In this place the boys see some honored by the king, and
others disgraced, and hear of them; so that in their very childhood
they learn to govern and to obey.
Here Cyrus, first of all, showed himself most remarkable for modesty
among those of his own age, and for paying more ready obedience to his
elders than even those who were inferior to him in station; and next
he was noted for his fondness for horses, and for managing them in a
superior manner. They found him, too, very desirous of learning and
most assiduous in practising the warlike exercises of archery and
hurling the javelin. When it suited his age, he grew extremely fond of
the chase, and of braving dangers in encounters with wild beasts. On
one occasion he did not shrink from a she bear that attacked him;
however, in grappling with her, he was dragged from his horse, and
received some wounds, the scars of which were visible on his body, but
at last killed her. The person who first came to his assistance he
made a happy man in the eyes of many.
When he was sent down by his father, as satrap of Lydia and Great
Phrygia and Cappadocia, and was also appointed commander of all the
troops whose duty it is to muster in the plain of Castolus, he soon
showed that if he made a league or compact with any one, or gave a
promise, he deemed it of the utmost importance not to break his word.
Accordingly, the states that were committed to his charge, as well as
individuals, had the greatest confidence in him; and if any one had
been his enemy, he felt secure that if Cyrus entered into a treaty
with him, he should suffer no infraction of the stipulations. When,
therefore, he waged war against Tissaphernes,[47] all the cities, of
their own accord, chose to adhere to Cyrus in preference to
Tissaphernes, except the Milesians; but they feared Cyrus, because he
would not abandon the cause of the exiles; for he both showed by his
deeds, and declared in words, that he would never desert them, since
he had once become a friend to them, not even tho they should grow
still fewer in number, and be in a worse condition than they were.
Whenever any one did Cyrus a kindness or an injury, he showed himself
anxious to go beyond him in those respects; and some used to mention a
wish of his, that he "desired to live long enough to outdo both those
who had done him good, and those who had done him ill, in the requital
that he should make." Accordingly, to him alone of the men of our days
were so great a number of people desirous of committing the disposal
of their property, their cities, and their own person.
Yet no one could with truth say this of him, that he suffered the
criminal or unjust to deride his authority; for he of all men
inflicted punishment most unsparingly; and there were often to be
seen, along the most frequented roads, men deprived of their feet, or
hands, or eyes; so that in Cyrus' dominions it was possible for any
one, Greek or barbarian, who did no wrong, to travel without fear
whithersoever he pleased, and having with him whatever might suit his
convenience.
To those who showed ability for war, it is acknowledged that he paid
distinguished honor. His first war was with the Pisidians and Mysians;
and, marching in person into these countries, he made those whom he
saw voluntarily hazarding their lives in his service governors over
the territory that he subdued, and distinguished them with rewards in
other ways, so that the brave appeared to be the most fortunate of
men, while the cowardly were deemed fit only to be their slaves. There
were, therefore, great numbers of persons who voluntarily exposed
themselves to danger wherever they thought that Cyrus would become
aware of their exertions.
With regard to justice, if any appeared to him inclined to display
that virtue, he made a point of making such men richer than those who
sought to profit by injustice. Accordingly, while in many other
respects his affairs were administered judiciously, he likewise
possest an army worthy of the name. For it was not for money that
generals and captains came from foreign lands to enter into his
service, but because they were persuaded that to serve Cyrus well
would be more profitable than any amount of monthly pay. Besides, if
any one executed his orders in a superior manner, he never suffered
his 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 regard
to justice, stocking the land of which he had the direction, and
securing income from it, he would never take anything from such a
person, but was ever ready to give him something in addition; so that
men labored with cheerfulness, acquired property with confidence, and
made no concealment from Cyrus of what each possest; for he did not
appear to envy those who amassed riches openly, but to endeavor to
bring into use the wealth of those who concealed it.
Whatever friends he made, and felt to be well disposed to him, and
considered to be capable of assisting him in anything that he might
wish to accomplish, he is acknowledged by all to have been most
successful in attaching them to him. For, on the very same account on
which he thought that he himself had need of friends--namely, that he
might have cooperators in his undertakings--did he endeavor to prove
an efficient assistant to his friends in whatever he perceived any of
them desirous of effecting.
He received, for many reasons, more presents than perhaps any other
single individual; and these he outdid every one else in distributing
among his friends, having a view to the character of each, and to what
he perceived each most needed. Whatever presents any one sent him of
articles of personal ornament, whether for warlike accouterment or
merely for dress, concerning these, they said, he used to remark that
he could not decorate his own person with them all, but that he
thought friends well equipped were the greatest ornament a man could
have. That he should outdo his friends, indeed, in conferring great
benefits is not at all wonderful, since he was so much more able; but
that he should surpass his friends in kind attentions and an anxious
desire 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, with
a message to this effect, "Cyrus has not for some time met with
pleasanter wine than this; and he has therefore sent some of it to
you, and begs you will drink it to-day, with those whom you love
best." He would often, too, send geese partly eaten and the halves of
loaves, and other such things, desiring the bearer to say, in
presenting them, "Cyrus has been delighted with these, and therefore
wishes you also to taste of them."
Wherever provender was scarce, but he himself, from having many
attendants, and from the care which he took, was able to procure some,
he would send it about, and desire his friends to give that provender
to the horses that carried them, so that hungry steeds might not carry
his friends. Whenever he rode out and many were likely to see him, he
would call to him his friends, and hold earnest conversation with
them, that he might show whom he held in honor; so that, from what I
have heard, I should think that no one was ever beloved by a greater
number of persons, either Greeks or barbarians. Of this fact the
following 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 he
soon found the person whom he believed faithful to him more a friend
to Cyrus than to himself), while many came over to Cyrus from the
king, after they had become enemies to each other, and these, too, men
who were greatly beloved by the king; for they felt persuaded that if
they proved themselves brave soldiers under Cyrus, they would obtain
from 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 well
that he himself was a man of merit as that he could accurately
distinguish such as were trustworthy, well disposed, and constant to
their attachment. For when he was killed, all his friends and the
partakers of his table who were with him fell fighting in his defense
except Ariæus, who had been posted in command of the cavalry on the
left; and, when he learned that Cyrus had fallen in the battle, he
took to flight, with all the troops which he had under his command.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 45: From the "Anabasis." Translated by J. S. Watson. Cyrus
the Younger, son of Darius Nothus, with the help of 10,000 Greeks,
sought to conquer his brother Artaxerxes, but was defeated and killed
in 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 the
retreat of the 10,000 Greeks that Xenophon chronicles in the
"Anabasis."]
[Footnote 46: By this is meant at the palace of the king, tho not
literally within the palace. Among the ancient Persians, as to-day
among the Turks at Constantinople, the king's palace was called "the
Porte."]
[Footnote 47: A Persian satrap who took part in the battle of Cunaxa.
He became chief ruler of Western Asia, but was overthrown by the
Greeks in 395 and put to death.]
[Footnote 48: A Persian of royal blood, one of the officers of Cyrus
the Younger, several times in revolt against him, and finally
condemned.]
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 as
possible, before the enemy's force should be reassembled, and get
possession 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 had
intended to attack them, they encamped. Hence they proceeded three
days' journey, through a desert tract of country, a distance of
fifteen parasangs, to the river Euphrates, and passed it without being
wet higher than the middle. The sources of the river were said not to
be far off.
Hence they advanced three days' march, through much snow and a level
plain, a distance of fifteen parasangs; the third day's march was
extremely troublesome, as the north wind blew full in their faces,
completely parching up everything and benumbing the men. One of the
augurs, in consequence, advised that they should sacrifice to the
wind; and a sacrifice was accordingly offered, when the vehemence of
the wind appeared to every one manifestly to abate. The depth of the
snow was a fathom; so that many of the baggage-cattle and slaves
perished, with about thirty of the soldiers. They continued to burn
fires through the whole night, for there was plenty of wood at the
place of encampment. But those who came up late could get no wood;
those therefore who had arrived before, and had kindled fires, would
not admit the late comers to the fire unless they gave them a share of
the corn or other provisions that they had brought. Thus they shared
with one another what they respectively had. In the places where the
fires were made, as the snow melted, there were formed large pits that
reached to the ground; and here there was accordingly opportunity to
measure the depth of the snow.
Hence they marched through snow the whole of the following day, and
many of the men contracted the bulimia. Xenophon, who commanded in the
rear, 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 it
told him that they were evidently affected with bulimia, and that they
would get up if they had something to eat, he went round among the
baggage, and, wherever he saw anything eatable, he gave it out, and
sent 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. As
they proceeded, Cheirisophus[50] came, just as it grew dark, to a
village, and found a spring in front of the rampart, some women and
girls belonging to the place fetching water. The women asked them who
they were; and the interpreter answered, in the Persian language, that
they were people going from the king to the satrap. They replied that
he was not there, but about a parasang off.
However, as it was late, they went with the water-carriers within the
rampart to the head man of the village; and here Cheirisophus, and as
many of the troops as could come up, encamped; but of the rest, such
as were unable to get to the end of the journey spent the night on the
way without food or fire; and some of the soldiers lost their lives on
that occasion. Some of the enemy too, who had collected themselves
into a body, pursued our rear, and seized any of the baggage-cattle
that were unable to proceed, fighting with one another for the
possession of them. Such of the soldiers, also, as had lost their
sight from the effects of the snow, or had had their toes mortified by
the cold, were left behind. It was found to be a relief to the eyes
against the snow if the soldiers kept something black before them on
the march, and to the feet, if they kept constantly in motion, and
allowed themselves no rest, and if they took off their shoes in the
night; but as to such as slept with their shoes on, the straps worked
into their feet, and the soles were frozen about them; for when their
old shoes had failed them, shoes of raw hides had been made by the
men themselves from the newly skinned oxen.
From such unavoidable sufferings, some of the soldiers were left
behind, who, seeing a piece of ground of a black appearance, from the
snow 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. Turning
aside thither, they sat down and refused to proceed farther. Xenophon,
who was with the rear-guard, as soon as he heard this, tried to
prevail on them by every art and means not to be left behind, telling
them, at the same time, that the enemy were collected and pursuing
them in great numbers. At last he grew angry; and they told him to
kill them, as they were quite unable to go forward. He then thought it
the best course to strike terror, if possible, into the enemy that
were behind, lest they should fall upon the exhausted soldiers. It was
now dark, and the enemy were advancing with a great noise, quarreling
about the booty that they had taken, when such of the rear-guard as
were not disabled started up, and rushed toward them, while the tired
men, shouting as loud as they could, clashed their spears against
their shields. The enemy, struck with alarm, threw themselves into the
hollow amid the snow, and no one of them afterward made himself heard
from any quarter.
Xenophon, and those with him, telling the sick men that a party would
come to their relief next day, proceeded on their march, but before
they had gone four stadia they found other soldiers resting by the
way in the snow, and covered up with it, no guard being stationed over
them. They roused them up, but they said that the head of the army was
not moving forward. Xenophon, going past them, and sending on some of
the ablest of the peltasts, ordered them to ascertain what it was that
hindered their progress. They brought word that the whole army was in
that manner taking rest. Xenophon and his men, therefore, stationing
such a guard as they could, took up quarters there without fire or
supper. When it was near day, he sent the youngest of his men to the
sick, telling them to rouse them and oblige them to proceed.
At this juncture Cheirisophus sent some of his people from the
villages to see how the rear were faring. The young men were rejoiced
to see them, and gave them the sick to conduct to the camp, while they
themselves 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 the
troops up and down in the villages. Cheirisophus accordingly remained
where he was, and the other officers, appropriating by lot the several
villages that they had in sight, went to their respective quarters
with their men.
Here Polycrates, an Athenian captain, requested leave of absence, and,
taking with him the most active of his men, and hastening to the
village which Xenophon had been allotted, surprized all the villagers
and their head man in their houses, together with seventeen colts that
were bred as a tribute for the king, and the head man's daughter, who
had been but nine days married; her husband was gone out to hunt
hares, and was not found in any of the villages. Their houses were
under ground, the entrance like the mouth of a well, but spacious
below; there were passages dug into them for the cattle, but the
people descended by ladders. In the houses were goats, sheep, cows,
and fowls, with their young; all the cattle were kept on fodder within
the walls.[51] There were also wheat, barley, leguminous vegetables,
and barley-wine, in large bowls; the grains of barley floated in it
even with the brims of the vessels, and reeds also lay in it, some
larger and some smaller, without joints; and these, when any one was
thirsty, he was to take in his mouth and suck. The liquor is very
strong, unless one mixed water with it, and a very pleasant drink to
those accustomed to it.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 49: From the "Anabasis." Translated by J. S. Watson. The
"Anabasis" has made Xenophon perhaps the most prominent figure of
ancient classical literature, largely because every schoolboy who
studies Greek knows at least this book. It stands in that sense to
Greek literature as Cæsar's "Commentaries" stands to Latin. The book
has further value, not only as authentic history, but for the curious
details it gives of the manners and customs of savage tribes living
along the shores of the Euxine, and of those which prevailed at the
Persian court and elsewhere in the Persian state.]
[Footnote 50: A Spartan general who, at the instance of Xenophon, had
been appointed to lead the van of the retreating Greek army.]
[Footnote 51: W. T. Ainsworth, who has made a geographical commentary
on Xenophon's "Anabasis," says: "This description of a village on the
Armenian uplands applies itself to many that I visited." Houses on
exposed elevations he found to be still semisubterranean. Whatever
might be the kind of cottage used, domestic animals "participated with
the 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 the
Lacedæmonians, while to the enemy everything was rendered favorable by
fortune. It was after dinner that the last council of war was held by
Cleombrotus; and, as the officers had drunk a little at noon, it was
said that the wine in some degree inspired them. And as, when both
sides were fully armed, and it was now evident that a battle would
take place, the people who had provisions for sale, with some of the
baggage-carriers and others who were unwilling to fight, were
proceeding first of all to quit the camp of the Boeotians, the
mercenaries under Hiero the Phocian peltasts, and the Heraclean and
Phliasian cavalry, making a circuit, fell upon them as they were going
off, turned them back, and pursued them to the Boeotian camp; so
that they made the army of the Boeotians larger and more numerous
than before.
Besides, as there was a plain between the armies, the Lacedæmonians
drew up their cavalry before their main body and the Thebans drew up
theirs over against them; but the cavalry of the Thebans had been
exercised in wars with the Orchomenians and Thespians, while that of
the Lacedæmonians was at that time in a very inefficient condition;
for the richest men maintained the horses, and, when notice of an
expedition was given, the men appointed came to ride them, and each
taking his horse, and whatever arms were given him, proceeded at once
to the field; and thus the weakest and least spirited of all the men
were mounted on horseback. Such was the cavalry on either side. Of the
foot, it was said that the Lacedæmonians advanced with each enomoty
drawn up three deep, this arrangement making them not more than twelve
deep in all. The Theban infantry, in close array, were not less than
fifty deep, considering that if they could defeat the body of the
enemy posted around the king, the rest of the army would be an easy
conquest.
As soon as Cleombrotus began to lead forward against the enemy, and
even before the troops about him were aware that he was putting them
in motion, the cavalry had already engaged, and those of the
Lacedæmonians were at once defeated, who, as they fled, fell in among
their own heavy-armed infantry, on which the troops of the Thebans
were also pressing. But that the troops round Cleombrotus had at first
the advantage in the contest, any one may be convinced by certain
proof; for they would not have been able to take him and carry him off
alive unless those who fought in front of him had been at that time
victorious. When, however, Deimon the polemarch, Sphodrias, one of the
attendants at the royal tent, and Cleonymus, his son, were killed, and
the horse-guard, those who are called supporters of the polemarch,
and the rest, being overpowered by the mass of the enemy, were forced
to fall back, the Lacedæmonians on the left, seeing the right wing
thus repulsed, also gave way; yet, tho many were killed, and they were
quite defeated, they were able, when they had repassed the trench
which was in front of the camp, to form themselves under arms in the
place from which they had set out. Their camp was nevertheless not on
level ground, but rather somewhat on an acclivity.
Some of the Lacedæmonians, at the time, who thought their disaster an
insupportable disgrace, exclaimed that they ought to prevent the enemy
from erecting a trophy, and endeavor to recover the dead, not by
making a truce, but by fighting another battle. However, the
polemarchs, seeing that of the Lacedæmonians in all nearly a thousand
had lost their lives; and that of the Spartans, who were in the field
to the number of about seven hundred, about four hundred had fallen;
and observing, also, that all the auxiliaries were too dispirited to
renew the combat, and some of them not even concerned at what had
happened, called a council of the chief officers, and deliberated what
course they ought to pursue; and as all were of opinion that "they
ought to fetch off the dead by truce," they accordingly despatched a
herald to treat respecting a truce. The Thebans soon afterward erected
a trophy, and gave up the dead under truce.
After these occurrences, the messenger who was sent with the news of
the calamity to Lacedæmon arrived there on the last day of the
gymnopædiæ and after the chorus of men had made their entry. The
ephors, when they heard of the calamity, were greatly concerned, as, I
think, they naturally must have been; yet they did not order that
chorus to withdraw, but allowed them to finish the entertainment. They
then sent the names of the dead to their several relatives, and gave
notice to the women to make no lamentations, but to bear their
affliction in silence. The day after, a person might have seen those
whose relatives had died appearing in public with looks of
cheerfulness and joy; however, of those whose relatives were said to
be alive, he would have seen but few, and those going about with
gloomy and dejected countenances.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 52: From Book VI of the "Hellenica." At Leuctra, which lies
near Thebes in Boetia, Epaminondas commanding the Boeotians,
overwhelmed the Spartans under Cleombrotus. From this event dates the
decline of Sparta.]
IV
OF THE ARMY OF THE SPARTANS[53]
The regulations which I have mentioned are beneficial alike in peace
and in war; but if any one wishes to learn what the lawgiver contrived
better 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 infantry
public notice of the years during which they must join the army, as
well as the artizans; for the Lacedæmonians provide themselves in the
field with an abundance of all those things which people use in a
city; and of whatever instruments an army may require in common,
orders are given to bring some on wagons and others on beasts of
burden, as by this arrangement anything left behind is least likely to
escape notice.
For engagements in the field he made the following arrangements: He
ordered that each soldier should have a purple robe and a brazen
shield; for he thought that such a dress had least resemblance to that
of women, and was excellently adapted for the field of battle, as it
is soonest made splendid, and is longest in growing soiled. He
permitted also those above the age of puberty to let their hair grow,
as he thought that they thus appeared taller, more manly, and more
terrible in the eyes of the enemy.
When they were thus equipped, he divided them into six moræ of cavalry
and heavy-armed infantry. Each of these moræ of the citizens has one
polemarch, four centurions, eight captains of fifty, and sixteen
enomotarchs. The men of these moræ are sometimes, according to the
command issued, formed in enomotiæ, sometimes by threes, sometimes by
sixes. As to what most people imagine, that the arrangement of the
Lacedæmonians under arms is extremely complex, they conceive the exact
contrary to what is the fact; for in the Lacedæmonian order the
officers are placed in the front ranks, and each rank is in a
condition to perform everything which it is necessary for it to
perform. So easy is it to understand this arrangement that no one who
can distinguish one man from another would fail of learning it; for it
is 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 in
these there is nothing in the least difficult to learn.
But how it is possible for men in this arrangement, even if they are
thrown into confusion, to fight with an enemy presenting themselves on
any quarter alike, it is not so easy to understand, except for those
who have been brought up under the institution of Lycurgus. The
Lacedæmonians do with the greatest ease what appears extremely
difficult to other men that are even accustomed to arms. For when they
march 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 in
front, orders are given to each enomotarch to bring up his enomotia to
the front on the left; and this movement is made throughout the whole
army, until it presents itself in full array against the enemy. But if
again, while they are in this order, the enemy should show themselves
in the rear, each rank performs the evolution, that the strongest may
always be presented to the enemy.
But when the commander is on the left, they do not in that case
consider themselves in a worse condition, but sometimes even in a
better; for if an enemy should attempt to encompass them, he would
come round, not on the defenseless, but on the armed side. If on any
occasion, again, it should appear advantageous, for any particular
object, that the commander should occupy the right wing, they wheel
the troop toward the wing, and maneuver the main body until the
commander 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 as
to front the enemy; and thus the century which was in the rear comes
to the right. But if the enemy approach on the left, they do not allow
them to come near, but repulse them, or turn their centuries round to
face the enemy; and thus again the century that was in the rear takes
its 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 earliest
extant specimen of Attic prose. Mahaffy describes it as "one of the
most interesting and instructive documents of the age, very remarkable
for its Machiavellian tone, in its calm ignoring of the right and
wrong 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 shall
subjoin some admonitions which he ought to bear in mind, if he would
not be cheated in his purchase. In the first place, then, let it not
escape his notice what the _age_ is; for a horse that has no longer
the marks in his teeth neither delights the buyer with hope nor is so
easy 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 plain
to them that they can not receive without being compelled to work. It
must likewise be observed whether, when he is mounted, he wishes to
separate himself from other horses, or whether, if he be ridden near
horses standing by, he carries off his rider toward them. There are
some horses too that, from bad training, run off from the place of
exercise to their stalls at home.
As for horses whose jaws are not alike, that sort of riding which is
called the _pede_ exposes them, and, still more, a change in the
direction in which they are ridden; for many horses will not attempt
to run away with their riders unless a hard jaw, and their course
directed 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 a
horse is equally willing to obey when he is roused with a blow; for a
servant and an army, if disobedient, are useless, but a disobedient
horse is not only useless, but often plays the traitor.
However, when we take upon ourselves to purchase a warhorse, we must
make trial of him in all things in which war will make trial of him;
and these are leaping across ditches, springing over walls, jumping on
to mounds, and jumping down from them; and we must try him in riding
up and down steep places, and along them; for all such efforts show
his spirit, whether it is bold and whether his body is sound. Yet we
must not at once reject a horse that does not accomplish all these
feats perfectly; for many fail, not from being unable, but from want
of training; and if they are taught, and used, and exercised in such
performances, they will execute them all well, provided they are sound
in other respects, and not wanting in spirit.
We must, however, be cautious of having anything to do with horses
that are naturally shy; for horses that are excessively timorous will
not only not allow the rider on their back to harm the enemy, but will
often take him by surprize, and expose him to great danger. We must
also learn whether the horse has anything of vice either toward other
horses or toward men, and whether he is averse to being handled; for
all such defects are troublesome to his owner.
As to any reluctance to being bridled and mounted, and other tricks, a
person will much sooner discover them if, when the horse has been
thoroughly exercised, he attempt to do to him what he did before he
began to ride him; since horses that, after having been exercised, are
ready to submit to exercise again give sufficient proofs of a
mettlesome spirit.
To sum up all in a few words, whatever horse has good feet, is
mild-tempered, sufficiently swift, is willing and able to endure
fatigue, and is in the highest degree obedient will probably give
least trouble to his rider, and contribute most to his safety in
military occupations. But horses that from sluggishness require a
great deal of driving or, from excess of mettle, much coaxing and
care, afford plenty of employment to the rider, as well as much
apprehension in time of danger....
We shall now show how a man may groom a horse with least danger to
himself and most benefit to the animal. If, when he cleans him, he
look the same way as the horse, there is danger that he may be struck
in the face with his knee or his hoof. But if he look in the opposite
direction to the horse when he cleans him, keeping himself out of the
reach of his leg, and rubs gradually down by the shoulder, he will
thus receive no injury, and may clean the frog of the horse's foot by
turning 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 these
things, and everything else that he has to do, he must come as little
as possible near the face and the tail; for if a horse be inclined to
be vicious, he has in both these parts the advantage of the man. But a
person who approaches him at the side may manage the horse with least
danger to himself, and with most power over the beast.
When we have to lead a horse, we do not approve of the practise of
leading from behind, for these reasons: that the person leading the
horse is thus least able to keep on his guard against him, and the
horse has most liberty to do what he pleases. To the mode, again, of
conducting him with a long rein, to teach him to go forward and take
the lead, we object for the following reasons: that the horse can do
mischief on whichever side he pleases, and that, by turning himself
round, he can set himself opposite his leader. When there are a number
of horses together, too, how, if they are thus led, can they be
prevented from annoying one another? But a horse that is accustomed to
be led at the side will be least in a condition to molest either other
horses or men, and will be readiest at hand for his rider whenever he
may require to mount in haste.
That the groom may put on the bridle properly, let him first approach
the horse on the left side, and then throwing the reins over the
horse's head, let him suffer them to rest on the point of the
shoulder; and next let him take the headpiece in his right hand, and
apply 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 the
horse 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's
bars; for most horses, when this is done, open their mouths; should
the horse, however, not even then receive the bit, let him press the
lip 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 great
precept and maxim of conduct in regard to the treatment of a horse;
for anger is destitute of forethought, and consequently often does
that of which the agent must necessarily repent.
When a horse is shy of any object, and reluctant to approach it, the
rider 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 rider
must himself touch that which appears so alarming, and lead the horse
up gently to it. As to those who force horses forward with blows in
such a case they merely inspire the animals with greater terror; for
they imagine when they suffer any pain at such a time, that what they
look upon with alarm is in some way the cause of it.
When the groom brings the horse to the rider, we have no objection
that he should know how to make the horse stoop, so that it may be
easy to mount him; yet we think every rider ought to take care to be
able to mount even if the horse does not bend to him; for sometimes a
different horse will present himself, and the same horse will not
always be equally obedient....
When he has taken his seat, whether on the horse's bare back or on the
cloth, we do not like that he should sit as if he were on a
carriage-seat, but as if he were standing upright with his legs
somewhat apart, for thus he will cling more firmly to the horse with
his thighs, and keeping himself erect, he will be able to throw a
javelin, or to strike a blow on horseback, if it be necessary, with
greater force.
But it is necessary to allow the leg, as well as the foot, to hang
loose from the knee; for if a rider keep his leg stiff, and strike it
against anything, it may be broken; but if the leg hang easy, and
anything strikes against it, it will yield, and yet not move the thigh
from its position.
A rider should also accustom himself to keep the parts of his body
above the hips as flexible as possible; for he will by this means be
better able to exert himself, and if any person should drag or push
him, he will be less likely to be thrown off.
Let it be observed, that when he is seated on the horse's back, he
must first teach the horse to stand quiet, until he has drawn up his
mantle, if necessary, and adjusted the reins, and taken hold of his
lance in such a way as it may most conveniently be carried. Then let
him keep his left arm close to his side; for in such an attitude a
rider 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 be
able also to hold the spear when it is necessary.
When the rider gives the signal to the horse to start, let him begin
to advance at a walking pace, as this pace is least likely to disturb
the horse. Let him hold the reins, if the horse be inclined to hold
down his head, rather high, but if he be more disposed to carry it
erect, let him keep them lower, for thus he will best set off the
horse's figure. After a little, if he trot at his natural pace, he
will find his limbs become pliant without inconvenience, and will come
with the greatest readiness to obey the whip. Since too it is the most
approved practise to set off toward the left side, the horse will most
readily start on that side, if, when he lifts, as he is trotting, the
right foot, the rider then give him the signal to gallop. For, being
then 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 will
make the first spring in his gallop; for a horse, when he is turned to
the right, naturally leads off with the right foot, and when turned to
the 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 insight
into the character of horses which would do credit to a modern book."
Most readers of the treatise who are familiar with horses have
remarked how true it all is of the horse as we know him to-day. One
commentator has remarked that the book reads as if it might have been
written by some educated man professionally attached to racing
stables.]
[Footnote 55: The ancients did not use the stirrup; nor did they have
a 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 nature
in 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 necks
chained so that they can not move, and can see only before them; for the
chains are arranged in such a manner as to prevent them from turning
round their heads. At a distance above and behind them the light of a
fire is blazing, and between the fire and the prisoners there is a
raised way; and you will see, if you look, a low wall built along the
way, like the screen which marionette-players have before them, over
which 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 of
wood and stone and various materials; and some of the passengers, as
you 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 the
shadows of one another, which the fire throws on the opposite wall of
the cave.
True, he said; how could they see anything but the shadows if they
were never allowed to move their heads?
And of the objects which are being carried in like manner they would
see only the shadows.
Yes, he said.
And if they were able to talk to one another, would they not suppose
that they were naming what was actually before them.
Very true.
And suppose further that the prison had an echo which came from the
other side, would they not be sure to fancy that the voice which they
heard was that of a passing shadow?
No question, he replied.
There can be no question, I said, that the truth would be to them just
nothing but the shadows of the images.
That is certain.
And now look again, and see how they are released and cured of their
folly. At first, when any one of them is liberated and compelled
suddenly to go up and turn his neck round and walk and look at the
light, he will suffer sharp pains; the glare will distress him, and he
will be unable to see the realities of which in his former state he
had seen the shadows; and then imagine some one saying to him that
what he saw before was an illusion, but that now he is approaching
real being and has a truer sight and vision of more real things--what
will be his reply? And you may further imagine that his instructor is
pointing to the objects as they pass and requiring him to name
them--will he not be in a difficulty? Will he not fancy that the
shadows which he formerly saw are truer than the objects which are now
shown to him?
Far truer.
And if he is compelled to look at the light, will he not have a pain
in his eyes which will make him turn away to take refuge in the
objects of vision which he can see, and which he will conceive to be
clearer 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 and
rugged ascent, and held fast and forced into the presence of the sun
himself, do you not think that he will be pained and irritated, and
when he approaches the light he will have his eyes dazzled, and will
not be able to see any of the realities which are now affirmed to be
the truth?
Not all in a moment, he said.
He will require to get accustomed to the sight of the upper world. And
first he will see the shadows best, next the reflections of men and
other objects in the water, and then the objects themselves; next he
will gaze upon the light of the moon and the stars; and he will see
the sky and the stars by night better than the sun, or the light of
the sun, by day.
Certainly.
And at last he will be able to see the sun, and not mere reflections
of him in the water, but he will see him as he is in his own proper
place, and not in another; and he will contemplate his nature.
Certainly.
And after this, he will reason that the sun is he who gives the
seasons and the years, and is the guardian of all that is in the
visible world, and in a certain way the cause of all things which he
and 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 the
upward progress of the soul into the intellectual world; that is my
poor 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 appears
last of all, and is seen only with an effort; and, when seen, is
inferred also to be the universal author of all things beautiful and
right, parent of light and the lord of light in his world, and the
source of truth and reason in the other; this is the first great cause
which he who would act rationally either in public or private life
must 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 I
would not have you marvel that those who attain to this beatific
vision are unwilling to descend to human affairs; but their souls are
ever hastening into the upper world in which they desire to dwell; and
this is very natural, if our allegory may be trusted.
Certainly, that is quite natural.
And is there anything surprizing in one who passes from divine
contemplation to human things, misbehaving himself in a ridiculous
manner; if, while his eyes are blinking and before he has become
accustomed to the darkness visible, he is compelled to fight in courts
of law, or in other places, about the images or shadows of images of
justice, and is endeavoring to meet the conceptions of those who have
never yet seen the absolute justice?
There is nothing surprizing in that, he replied.
Any one who has common sense will remember that the bewilderments of
the eyes are of two kinds, and arise from two causes, either from
coming out of the light or from going into the light, which is true of
the mind's eye, quite as much as of the bodily eye; and he who
remembers this when he sees the soul of any one whose vision is
perplexed and weak will not be too ready to laugh; he will first ask
whether that soul has come out of the brighter life, and is unable to
see because unaccustomed to the dark, or having turned from darkness
to the day is dazzled by excess of light. And then he will count the
one happy in his condition and state of being, and he will pity the
other; or, if he have a mind to laugh at the soul which comes from
below into the light there will be more reason in this than in the
laugh 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 be
mistaken in saying that they can put a knowledge into the soul which
was 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 the
soul; and that as the eye can not turn from darkness to light without
the whole body, so too, when the eye of the soul is turned round, the
whole soul must be turned from the world of generation into that of
being, and become able to endure the sight of being and of the
brightest 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 as
easily and completely as possible; not implanting eyes, for they exist
already, 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, being
infused by habit and exercise and not originally innate, the virtue of
wisdom is part of a divine essence, and has a power which is
everlasting, and by this conversion is rendered useful and profitable,
and is also capable of becoming hurtful and useless. Did you never
observe the narrow intelligence flashing from the keen eye of a clever
rogue--how eager he is, how clearly his paltry soul sees the way to
his end; he is the reverse of blind, but his keen sight is taken into
the service of evil, and he is dangerous in proportion to his
intelligence?
Very true, he said.
But what if there had been a circumcision of such natures in the days
of their youth; and they had been severed from the leaden weights, as
I may call them, with which they are born into the world, which lead
on to sensual pleasures, such as those of eating and drinking, and
drag them down and turn the vision of their souls about the things
that are below--if, I say, these natures had been released from these
tendencies and turned round to the truth, the very same faculty in
these very same persons would have seen the other as keenly as they
now 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 a
necessary inference from what has proceeded, that neither the
uneducated and uninformed of the truth, nor yet those who never make
an end of their education, will be able ministers of state; not the
former, because they have no single aim of duty which is the rule of
their actions, private as well as public; nor the latter, because they
will not act at all except upon compulsion, fancying that they are
already in the islands of the blest.
Very true, he replied.
Then, I said, the business of us who are the founders of the state
will be to compel the best minds to attain that knowledge which has
been already declared by us to be the greatest of all--to that
eminence they must ascend and arrive at the good, and when they have
ascended 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 be
allowed; they must be made to descend again among the prisoners in the
den, and partake of their labors and honors, whether they are worth
having or not.
But is not this unjust? he said; ought we to give them an inferior
life, when they might have a superior one?
You have again forgotten, my friend, I said, the intention of the
legislator; he did not aim at making any one class in the state happy
above the rest; the happiness was to be in the whole state, and he
held the citizens together by persuasion and necessity, making them
benefactors of one another; to this end he created them, not that they
should please themselves, but they were to be his instruments in
binding up the state.
True, he said, I had forgotten that.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 56: Plato is one of the very few Greek authors none of whose
work has been lost. He shares this good fortune with Xenophon. Of the
dialog Plato was practically, if not actually, the originator, and the
form has survived to our day.]
[Footnote 57: From "The Republic." Translated by Benjamin Jowett. In
this 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 is
without pain. And if you are satisfied, and if you are unable to show
any good or evil which does not end in pleasure and pain, hear the
consequences: If this is true, then I say that the argument is absurd
which affirms that a man often does evil knowingly when he might
abstain, because he is seduced and amazed by pleasure; or again, when
you say that a man knowingly refuses to do what is good because he is
overcome at the moment by pleasure. Now that this is ridiculous will
be evident if we only give up the use of various names, such as
pleasant and painful and good and evil. As there are two things, let
us call them by two names--first, good and evil, and then pleasant and
painful. Assuming this, let us go on to say that a man does evil
knowing that he does evil. But some one will ask, Why? Because he is
overcome, is the first answer. And by what is he overcome? the
inquirer will proceed to ask. And we shall not be able to reply, by
pleasure, for the name of pleasure has been exchanged for that of
good.
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, we
shall. Nay, but our questioner will rejoin with a laugh, if he be one
of the swaggering sort, that is too ridiculous, that a man should do
what he knows to be evil when he ought not, because he is overcome by
good. Is that, he will ask, because the good was worthy or not worthy
of 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, as
we 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 of
the good? Is not the real explanation that they are out of proportion
to each other, either as greater and smaller, or more and fewer? This
we can not deny. And when you speak of being overcome, what do you
mean, he will say, but that you choose the greater evil in exchange
for the lesser good? This being the case, let us now substitute the
names of pleasure and pain, and say, not as before, that a man does
what 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 other
than excess and defect, which means that they become greater and
smaller, and more and fewer, and differ in degree? For if any one
says, Yes, Socrates, but immediate pleasure differs widely from future
pleasure and pain, to which I should reply: And do they differ in any
other way except by reason of pleasure and pain? There can be no other
measure of them. And do you, like a skilful weigher, put into the
balance the pleasures and the pains, near and distant, and weigh them,
and then say which outweighs the other? If you weigh pleasures against
pleasures, you of course take the more and greater; or if you weigh
pains against pains, you take the fewer and the less; or if pleasures
against pains, then you choose that course of action in which the
painful is exceeded by the pleasant, whether the distant by the near
or the near by the distant; and you avoid that course of action in
which the pleasant is exceeded by the painful. Would you not admit, my
friends, that this is true? I am confident that they can not deny
this.
He agreed with me.
Well then, I shall say, if you admit that, be so good as to answer me
a question: Do not the same magnitudes appear larger to your sight
when near, and smaller when at a distance. They will acknowledge that.
And the same holds of thickness and number; also sounds which are in
themselves equal are greater when near and lesser when at a distance.
They will grant that also. Now supposing that happiness consisted in
making and taking large things, what would be the saving principle of
human life? Would the art of measuring be the saving principle or
would the power of appearance? Is not the latter that deceiving art
which makes us wander up and down and take the things at one time of
which we repent at another, both in our actions and in our choice of
things great and small? But the art of measurement is that which would
do away with the effect of appearances, and, showing the truth, would
fain teach the soul at last to find rest in the truth, and would thus
save our life. Would not mankind generally acknowledge that the art
which 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 of
odd and even, and on the knowledge of when men ought to choose the
greater or less, either in reference to themselves or to each other
whether near or at a distance; what would be the saving principles of
our lives? Would not knowledge?--a knowledge of measuring, when the
question is one of excess and defect, and a knowledge of number, when
the question is of odd and even? The world will acknowledge that, will
they not?
Protagoras admitted that they would.
Well then, I say to them, my friends, seeing that the salvation of
human life has been found to consist in the right choice of pleasures
and pains--in the choice of the more and the fewer, and the greater
and the less, and the nearer and remoter--must not this measuring be a
consideration of excess and defect and equality in relation to one
another?
That is undeniably true.
And this, as possessing measure, must undeniably also be an art and
science?
They will agree to that....
Then you agree, I said, that the pleasant is the good, and the painful
evil. And here I would beg my friend Prodicus not to introduce his
distinction of names, whether he is disposed to say pleasurable,
delightful, joyful. However and in whatever way he rejoices to name
them, I will ask you, most excellent Prodicus, to answer this in my
sense.
Prodicus laughed and assented, as did the others.
Then, my friends, I said, what do you say to this? Are not all actions
the tendency of which is to make life painless and pleasant honorable
and useful? The honorable work is also useful and good.
This was admitted.
Then, I said, if the pleasant is the good, nobody does anything under
the idea or conviction that some other thing would be better and is
also attainable when he might do the better. And this inferiority of a
man to himself is merely ignorance, as the superiority of a man to
himself is wisdom.
They all assented.
And does not ignorance consist in having a false opinion and being
deceived about important matters?
To that they unanimously assented also.
Then, I said, no man voluntarily pursues evil or that which he thinks
to be evil. To prefer evil to good is not in human nature; and when a
man is compelled to choose one of two evils, no one will choose the
greater 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; and
here, Prodicus, I should particularly like to know whether you would
agree with me in defining this fear or terror as expectation of evil.
Protagoras and Hippias agreed, but Prodicus said that this was fear
and not terror.
Never mind about that, Prodicus, I said; but let me ask whether, if
our former assertions are true, a man will pursue that which he fears
when he need not? Would not this be in contradiction to the admission
which has been already made, that he thinks the things which he fears
to be evil? And no one will pursue or voluntarily accept that which he
thinks to be evil.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 59: From the "Protagoras," translated by Benjamin Jowett.
Protagoras, from wh
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